The Empty Cradle

by Jill Nojack

  “Really good, Cass. How’s the pregnancy going? I suffered terribly with morning sickness with Deborah here, but having such a beautiful daughter was worth it. Have they told you the sex yet?”

  Cassie shook her head. “Tom and I decided we want them to keep it to themselves. I like the idea of being surprised after putting nine months of work into it.”

  Deborah groaned. “Mother, must you constantly go on about babies? You know I can’t get pregnant. Stop rubbing my face in it.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Cassie said. “I didn’t know.”

  “And if my mother could keep her mouth shut, you still wouldn’t.” Cassie’s eyes darted to Zelda. Her expression didn’t change. Cassie knew she must be used to being talked to like that, but she felt sorry for her just the same.

  Deborah continued, “Anyway, as you probably know, assuming Dash has kept you up to date on the local artists, I’m an accomplished painter. I’ve had to work part-time to supplement my income—it’s so difficult for artists to make a living before they break out—but I’d like to offer the Giles gallery the first opportunity to showcase my most recent work.”

  “Sure. I can take a look at what you’ve got. Dash isn’t here, but I have the authority to take on artists.” Cassie waved a hand toward the small table by the counter and continued, “How about over there?”

  Deborah flopped the portfolio down. “I normally wouldn’t make an offer like this to Giles’s little gallery, but I need cash quickly. You might as well know, now that my mother has opened her big mouth—I’ve been looking in to expanding my family another way. I need that kind of unconditional love in my life.”

  “Oh,” Cassie said, her hand slipping over her abdomen protectively, wondering if Deborah knew that having a child was about taking care of it and not the other way around. “Is that really expensive, adopting?”

  Deborah flipped the portfolio open wide. “Adoption? Don’t be ridiculous. I’m thinking about getting another pig. A baby? I don’t think so.” She sighed heavily. “But I am tired of everyone talking about that wench Jenny Holgerson. She followed me around like a puppy in high school until she bewitched Butch away from me. Like she should be queen of Giles for being able to pop babies out. This whole triplets thing is only another example of her pettiness.”

  That stunned Cassie into silence. But it wasn’t just the bizarre accusation that someone would have triplets just to spite Deborah. It was also the absolutely juvenile, drecktastic array of artwork Deborah now held up for her to view. There were ten of them, each worse than the one before. They were traditional woodland landscapes in oil on cheap unstretched canvases. The colors were murky from overmixing and the laughable attempts at perspective attested to an unskilled hand at work.

  She was also sure that if she questioned Deborah, she’d hear the “it’s modern art” explanation that unschooled artists often made. But Cassie loved the Modern era. And there was nothing Modern nor art about the canvases in front of her.

  She hated having to turn people down. Not only that, she was terrible at it, and she always ended up having to hide in the back while Dash took over in his ever-so-gentle but persuasive way.

  Still, she didn’t have a choice now, so how would her excellent boss handle it?

  She slapped her hands to the sides of her face and imagined herself with a long mustache that turned up like a smile at the points. Her mouth formed a perfect, surprised O before she moved her hands downward, clasping them in front of her chest, and said, “Oh dear, oh dear. We just committed to a landscape artist from Boston for the next several months. And we try so hard to keep a range of styles available. We don’t want to trap ourselves into becoming known for just one thing.” She took one of Deborah’s hands gently, patting it as she finished. “I don’t see how we can possibly fit your work in this season.”

  Deborah pulled her hand away with a frown. “I’ll be back to talk to Dash. The Jameses don’t take the word of an underling.” She looked to Zelda, and said, “Do we, Mom?”

  Zelda responded with a firm, “Of course not. Our name is respected in this town.”

  Instead of choking on her own tongue, Cassie replied the way she thought Dash would. “I understand. Absolutely. I’d insist on talking to Dash if it was me, too. But to save you the time of making a trip in again with this heavy portfolio, I say let’s get some pictures of these so he can enjoy them at his leisure. And then he’ll call to give you his answer? That way you can shop them around in the meantime and see who makes the best offer.”

  Deborah looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “I guess that would be okay. But tell him not to wait too long. I might have to take another offer if he doesn’t move quick.”

  “I understand. I’ll just ‘dash’ into the back for a minute, then.” Cassie smirked at her own pun and felt Dash’s spirit riding along with her as she went; there was a touch of strut in her walk.

  She returned from the back room with the DSLR they used to take pictures for press releases to the area papers. She took a picture of each one of the paintings in turn, letting Deborah approve the previews before she moved to the next one.

  After she’d recorded Deborah’s phone number and ushered them back into the street with a, “Kisses, dears,” Cassie locked the door and rushed through the heavy embroidered curtains into the back room. She laughed until she was out of breath and had to lean over with her hands on her knees to get it back.

  ***

  “Lavinia, I ain’t seen Fluffy since you come down and got ‘im that time I picked ‘im up out in Corey Woods.” It was past quitting time at the pound, and Junior Rangel wanted to go home, grab a beer, and sack out in front of the TV instead of dealing with dog owners who couldn’t keep track of their animals. He liked the pets a lot better than the owners, that’s for sure. He’d never met a Great Dane that drove him to drink. He was sure if the owners got the death sentence in place of their unclaimed pets the animal control situation around town would be way more manageable. He had to be in his liquid happy place whenever he had to put one down.

  “It’s not just my Fluffy.” Lavinia Green was near tears. “I’ve talked to three friends this week whose pets have also gone missing. Dogs and cats both. Something or someone is taking them. I just know it. You had him at the pound before. Are you trying to fill a quota?”

  “Look, I already told you. I haven’t seen yer blasted dog, and you got no business accusin’ me of snatching pets I got no business taking. I could lose my job fer that. There ain’t no quota. But I’ll keep an eye out fer ‘im anyway.” He put a hand down below his knee, measuring. “A yorkie about yay high?”

  “Yes. With a jeweled collar. It’s light blue with red accents.”

  “Got it. I’ll keep an eyeball or two peeled. And I’ll let you know if someone brings him into the pound. That work for you?”

  Lavinia pulled a lace-edged handkerchief out of a pocket and dabbed it delicately at one red-rimmed eye. “Thank you. I do appreciate it. I’m sorry that I’m so cross.”

  Junior shook his head as he walked away, then made sure she was in her ancient Cadillac before he took a pull on his flask. The last thing he needed was the nice granny-lady turning him in for drinking on the job.

  He glanced at his watch. Good deal. This Fluffy business had earned him fifteen minutes of overtime. No one had to know he’d also taken an extra long lunch out in one of the pull offs around Corey Woods, in his secret place.

  As he leaned on the steering wheel of the county van he got to drive as his own, he reconsidered whether or not he should go straight home. He sure was missing the warm dinner and warmer bed over at Maureen’s since her kid moved in and he got caught coming out of Zelda’s place after a drunken mistake.

  Maybe that wasn’t all of it, though. He needed another peek at that thing she was dressing up in baby clothes.

  It was somethin’ with serious claws, he knew that, but he’d only seen the back of its head, which didn’t look like any animal he co
uld think of. What she needed was a little male attention to keep her sane, that’s what he thought. But it’s not like he was going to be able to give her any. She’d made that clear.

  He took a pull on his hip flask as he started the van. Maybe, just maybe, ol’ Maureen deserved a big letdown like the one she’d given him. If pets were disappearing maybe hers should, too. Yeah, that would be justice. Somethin’ to think on. Least for a while. Shake her up before he claimed a hero’s welcome for bringing it home.

  He took another pull before he put the flask away and shifted into first to pull away from the curb. But he shoved it back into neutral when a text alert came through. Maybe Maureen had thought about what he said and he’d be gettin’ a warm dinner after all—maybe she was missin’ him.

  No luck. Zelda.

  Dbrh out 2nite!!!!!!!! cm by :-) :-P :-) !!!!!!!!!!!

  She’d been almost good looking before she’d put on all that weight, but they’d broken up five years ago now, and Zelda sure wasn’t a woman he’d go for anymore without his beer goggles on.

  He emptied the flask and put the van back in gear, leaving the text unanswered. Looked like it was gonna be just him and a friendly bottle tonight. But he sure needed to get that good bottle of bourbon back from Maureen. She had no right to it now.

  With the back latch broke like it was, maybe he could sneak in and out without her catchin’ him. He only needed to make it to the liquor cabinet, and she almost never used the family room. He could grab it up and be gone with no one the wiser if he wasn’t already too drink to thunk.

  He laughed at his own joke. Nah, he was fine. He could get that bottle of bourbon tomorrow.

  ***

  As the last sliver of sun shone through her bedroom window, Deborah pulled a summer-weight sweater on over her head, then surveyed herself in the mirror. Not bad, except for the black blotch on her cheek where a damp clump of mascara had landed. She spit on a piece of toilet paper and rubbed it off, leaving a red mark to fade back into her skin.

  As she passed by her mother who sat in semi-darkness watching TV, she announced, “Goin’ to the Toad, mom. Don’t wait up,” then grabbed her mother’s car keys off the table and slammed the door soon after, cutting off Zelda’s protest.

  When she entered the bar, she swayed her wide, straight hips to the barstool closest to the door and took the drink Josh already had waiting for her. He looked around to make sure the owner wasn’t watching, then waved off payment. Like she would have paid him anyway; he could just wait for the same treatment when he came in on his night off. The only things in her purse were a three-pack of condoms and two lightly glowing deep red potions, a matched set, neither of which would be welcome in a cash drawer.

  With the potion, there was no doubt she was going to get lucky; she could be rail-thin blonde or curvy redhead with a few drops of the right potion in both of their drinks.

  She wasn’t the most powerful witch in Giles, or even, as her mother often pointed out, the most powerful witch at her own house, but she’d have no problem mesmerizing the man of her choice if her own physical charms and plenty of alcohol turned out not to be enough.

  Not a lot going on tonight, she noted, as she flipped back her long dark hair and surveyed the room. But somebody interesting was bound to arrive sooner or later. They always did if you waited long enough. The town’s residents skewed older, and it was too early in the year for summer people, but the old boys were just that much more grateful.

  Five free beers later, she made her pick for the night when a tall, blond, Viking of a man walked through the door and made her wait worthwhile. Butch Holgerson, father of the stupid triplets everyone was talking about.

  Knowing Butch’s habits as she did, she’d even be able to save her potion for another day.

  3

  Deborah’s head pulsed to the dull thud, thud, reverberating through the truck. She stifled a groan when Butch yelled out, “Keep your hair on!” and unzipped the barrier between the seats and sleeper compartment of the truck cab wide enough to stick his face out to take a look.

  “Whatta you want?” he bellowed.

  Maureen’s muffled voice came back. “Jenny’s milk is exhausted. I have to run out for formula because it’ll be out after the next feeding. She’s napping because the babies are quiet for now. Could you go in and keep an eye on them? Pick the darling up and rock it, maybe, if one of them starts to fuss?”

  “I have to gas up before I take off today. She can take care of it herself if one of the brats starts wailing. And tell her I want breakfast on the table when I get back.”

  After he’d pulled his head back in and rezipped the vinyl partition, Deborah whispered, “She gone?”

  “Yeah. And you can get gone right behind her.” He cut a look at his watch, which he still wore, along with everything else but his pants. Then he smacked her hard on her exposed backside and said, “Thanks for the ride. Now hustle.”

  She smarted where he’d smacked her as she pulled on her jeans and boots, holding her pinky out gingerly when she noticed its red press-on nail was trying to work its way off. She squeezed it back into place firmly before she snapped her pants. He was dressed before she was and slid off the bed to travel the foot to the driver’s seat. “You know the meaning of hustle, right?”

  She slipped between the seats into the front and asked, “Could you at least give me a ride home?”

  “Nope. I gotta get gas, and it’s the other way. You can take the walk of shame. You’ve got enough practice. Your place isn’t that far from here.”

  He stood up and leaned across the passenger seat to open the door and then sat back down, ready to drive. She clambered out as he started the rig, and the truck started backing as soon as the door latched. She wondered if her mother had any curses handy she’d be willing to use. But she wouldn’t. Good ol’ Zelda was too busy kissing High Priestess Taylor’s skinny backside to risk any of the fun stuff anymore.

  Well, Deborah wasn’t afraid of the high priestess. She just had to find something small but effective if she wanted to get Butch back for being such a creep. Not that she’d care the next time he walked into the Toad and she was looking for adventure.

  She started down the street, then stopped herself. Maybe she ought to take a peek at those babies everybody had been talking about. Most people said how sweet they were, and how healthy, and how big they were for showing up so early, but her mother had overheard other talk; real hush hush stuff between the nurses at the hospital when she’d gone for her mammogram. The rumor was that one of the babies was badly deformed. And wouldn’t that be hilarious? If she managed to get a shot of the deformo on her phone and put it out over the grapevine, that would sure take stuck-up Jenny Holgerson down a peg.

  She stopped for a minute, indecisive. The pigs would need slopping. But if she could sneak in and out while Jenny was still asleep….

  ***

  Jenny drifted up from a dream of a baby crying endlessly as she hunted through a hall of mirrors to find it, only to realize the squalling child was no dream as she reached full wakefulness. Her life had contained little else but her daughters’ needs since the triplets were born. She yawned and rubbed her eyes, then squeezed them closed for just another minute.

  All of this would be a whole lot easier if Butch helped. He’d done nothing with them other than take one group selfie. And that was only so he could brag to his buddies about his virility; afterward, he’d plopped the girls down again as fast as he could.

  Woman’s work. That’s what he called it. A man’s work was apparently accomplished sitting on a barstool while his wife and mother-in-law struggled to keep up with the needs of three infants. She hated that her mother was pulling more than her fair share of the care, but she was so tired, and she felt woozy all the time. It was hard to breath now that her upper body was no longer supported by the shelf of babies she’d carried for so long. She felt like she’d collapsed on the inside, and it wore her out just walking one of them around for a few
minutes.

  Mostly she sat and rocked and dispensed milk.

  But they were amazing, her girls. She yawned. Time to dispense, if she could dispense anything other than dust.

  It almost took more strength than she had to sit up and swing her feet to the floor as she swung her eyes to the clock. It had been only two hours since her head hit the pillow. She was surprised her mother hadn’t already responded to the cries; she’d said she was going to let Jenny sleep till noon. Maybe her mother had had the good luck to drop off for a nap, too.

  She rubbed her eyes and stretched, marshaling her small store of energy. Babies needed constant care. But oh, the noise and crying….

  ***

  Jenny traveled down the hallway into the living room which her mother had set up as the nursery. Butch was there, his back to her, bending down to pick up her mother’s coat, which lay on the floor.

  It certainly wasn’t like him to help tidy up. Maybe he was finally coming around.

  But it wasn’t just her mother’s coat, she realized suddenly, as she went from sleep-fogged to hyper-alert and reality slapped her hard.

  Her mother was still wearing the coat, which was in shreds, her unseeing eyes staring blankly at the red-stained carpet beneath her with Butch looming above.

  Jenny’s knees tried to give out, but she found her strength, and although she did not also find the magic she had suppressed for so long, it found her. Her hand flew forward and Butch blasted through the air across the room, bellowing. His hard head hit the harder brick fireplace with a loud crack. She watched numbly as his unconscious body slid into a sitting position at the fireplace’s base.

  When his head flopped forward to loll against his chest, the small bald spot he denied shone pink and exposed. Without her even thinking about it, the fancy gold drapery ties unbound themselves from the curtains and flew across the room to tie his hands and feet.