by Ladew, Lisa
Heather pushed open the door of her childhood home, grimacing as the smell of mothballs hit her in the face. Was her mom going out of her mind? She walked into the front parlor and pushed open the two windows there. She wouldn’t be able to eat a bite if the place still smelled like that when the food made it onto the table.
“Mom,” she called towards the kitchen, trying to sound normal, even though she felt anything but. “I’m here.”
“That’s nice, dear, tell your brother it’s time for dinner.”
Heather clomped up the stairs, then turned right and followed the hallway all the way around to Jimmy’s room, passing two empty rooms on the way, one of which used to be hers. Jimmy’s door was partially open, but she knocked anyway.
Jimmy didn’t hear her. He faced his computer, his back to her, large headphones over his head. In front of him, lines and lines of text streamed by so fast she didn’t have a chance of reading it.
She knocked louder, then called his name. He turned and his face broke into a wide smile when he saw her. “Hey, sis, good to see you.” He pulled his headphones off and hung them on a hook next to him.
She crossed the room to hug him, then sat on the bed next to him. He held out his hand, palm up, like he was waiting for her to give him something.
“What?” she teased.
He scoffed. “Come on. If you don’t want your cold-blooded buddies to starve next time you go out of town, you know what.”
“Yeah, I know.” She pulled a fifty out of her pocket and dropped it onto his palm.
He made it disappear. “You’re welcome,” he said, and looked back to his screen.
Heather watched his profile as he turned back to his work, thinking again how little he looked like her. Most people didn’t even believe they were related. He was all dark skin and large features, lanky, with huge hands and feet, while she was slight and blond, with little button features.
He was the dead spit of their father, while she favored their mother and looked nothing like their father.
“Hey,” she said, leaning towards him. “Mom found out where I live.”
Jimmy snorted. “I’m more surprised you were able to keep it from her for so long.” He lowered his voice and stared at her under his eyebrows. “The guilt is strong with that one.”
Heather ignored him. “Did she maybe follow you when you went over last week?”
Jimmy gave her a disgusted look. “I’m sixteen, not stupid. I bet she followed you. You’re more likely to walk around in a trance and not know what’s going on around you.”
Heather bit her lip. So much for hoping no one noticed how spacey she got sometimes, like her mind was not just elsewhere, but on a completely different planet. A fear gripped her, and she wanted to ask him if he’d ever noticed anything else about her, but she didn’t dare.
Jimmy turned in his chair so he faced her, his expression serious. “Hey, there’s actually something I need to tell you,” he said slowly, and she could tell immediately it was something he’d thought a great deal about, something he was dreading talking about. She could read him like a book, having practically raised him when he was little.
“Shoot,” she said, dropping her head and matching her expression to his.
“I, ah, I’m not sure how you’re gonna take this, but I think you have a right to know,” he said, taking a deep breath.
“Okaaaay,” she said. “You’re freaking me out here.”
He opened his mouth but before he could say a word, their mother appeared at the door, her words clipped like she meant business. “Heather, there you are. Dinner is served. I’ve been yelling up for you for ten minutes.”
Heather looked at her mother. “I just got here, Mom, but message received, we’re coming.”
Judith stood in the doorway and folded her hands, her face unsmiling. She pressed her lips together and gave Heather the look.
“Mom, just give me a sec, ok?”
“Heather, the dinner bell has rung. Wash your hands. Don’t make me talk to your father.”
Heather stared her mother down. Short of physically pushing her out of the way and slamming the door, she knew her mother was not going to move until they did.
“Fine. Fine.” She stood, pulling at Jimmy’s sleeve. If she was heading down to dinner, he better damn well be on her heels. She couldn’t face it alone.
Their mother watched until they were both within a few feet of her, then she turned and walked down the hallway, waiting by the bathroom for them like they were both five years old.
Hands washed, they headed down the stairs together and entered the dining area. Dad was already in his chair, fork raised expectantly. “Hi, Dad,” Heather said, pushing into the booth seat and not bothering to try to kiss him hello. He hated any display of affection from her, always had.
Judith sat and watched as Heather and Jimmy scooched to their spots, then bowed their heads. Her dad’s quiet baritone filled the room. “Bless us, oh Lord, and these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty, through Christ, our Lord. Amen.”
“Amen,” Heather echoed as her mother and brother did the same. She watched her father’s face as he dug into his food and began eating. She would bet a hundred dollars she wouldn’t hear him say another word the entire night.
“So, Heather, I gave your number to the man who cleans the windows at the retired living community my friend, Shirley, moved into.”
Heather groaned out loud and held her head while Jimmy elbowed her. “Mom, you can’t do that. How many times do I have to tell you not to give my number to strangers? Do you want me to end up murdered?”
Judith put down her fork and stared sternly at Heather. “I want you to end up married. You can’t have babies if you aren’t married.”
Heather looked to Jimmy for help but he was staring at his plate of food. Her dad didn’t even seem to be able to hear the conversation. Her retort rose to her lips automatically. “I can have babies if I’m not─”
She stopped talking and shut her mouth with a snap. Actually, she couldn’t have babies. At all. Ever. The visit from her mother the day before and her worry after her botched trip out to the doctor’s place where the gorgeous man had been had driven that realization completely out of her mind. She’d spent the rest of the morning at work and all of the afternoon hiding in her studio again, trying to forget that man and the lapse she’d had while standing over him.
She cleared her throat, then figured she’d just say it. She had to tell her mother sometime. She wasn’t telling her just to spite her. She wasn’t. “Mom, I have something to tell you,” she started gently. “I, ah, I went to my ob-gyn yesterday and he told me something that you’re not going to want to hear.”
Judith blinked at her, the blood draining from her face.
Heather nodded. She didn’t care if this wasn’t dinner conversation. There was never a good time for something like this. “Yeah, uh, turns out there is a reason I’ve never had a period in my life. Turns out the last doctor was completely wrong with everything he said. I, ah, well, my uterus is just a wrinkled mass of dried-out flesh that is never going to menstruate or hold babies and the doctor, well, he actually wants to take it out. He’s afraid it’s pre-cancerous and he says if I don’t have the surgery, there’s a 95% chance of me developing uterine cancer in the next ten years.”
Judith gasped and held her hand to her throat. Heather looked down at her spaghetti and twirled some around her fork while her throat closed up. It was real. She’d said the C-word. Out loud.
“That can’t be true,” her mom finally managed to say.
Jimmy had stopped eating and put a hand on her arm. Her father was still staring at his plate and chewing, but his fork motion had stopped.
Heather let herself be pulled into Jimmy’s arms. He didn’t say a word, just hugged her. Too late, she yelled at herself for not considering him when she decided to tell their mother. Their dad was an emotionless robot, he could handle it. But Jimmy? He was sensi
tive, and he probably loved her more than anyone. He hadn’t needed to hear it like that. At the dinner table. No warning.
“He’s absolutely sure you’ll never be able to give me grandkids?” Judith finally sputtered, and Heather felt her chest tighten. She never should have said a word.
She sat up and pulled away from Jimmy, then gave him a weak smile, dismayed to see the concern on his face. “It’s ok,” she told him. “I’m going to do everything the doctor says. I’ll make sure it all ends up ok. I’ll be fine.”
Jimmy nodded and stared at his food. Judith started talking, mostly to herself. “You know what, it’s probably a mistake. You’ll go back in there next week, and the doctor will tell you that he made a mistake. He switched your chart with someone else’s. It happens all the time. In fact, Heather, what’s his name? I’ll go see him. I’ll tell him he made a mistake.”
Heather stared at her mother, not sure what to do about her, about any of it. Finally, she just made up a name. She’d deal with it later. “It’s Doctor Stevens, Mom. His office is by the river.”
Judith smiled. “Ok, that’s taken care of, then. I’ll go see him tomorrow. It will all work itself out.”
Heather nodded remotely. “Sure, Mom, sure it will.”
Judith’s smile brightened. “Good. Jack and I have something we want to talk to you about,” she said, putting her hand on her husband’s arm. Jack resumed eating.
Heather waited. Here it was. Her announcement hadn’t changed anything.
“Jack hired that assistant he’s been talking about to work under you for years now. He’s an older man and you don’t even need to train him. Used to work for Burns Funeral Home over in Roscoe. He’s prepared to work three days a week. More if you say so. He’ll be in tomorrow so you can show him the ropes.”
Heather gaped at her mother and father, her eyes jumping between them. She settled on her father “Wait, are you firing me?”
“No, dear, didn’t you hear me? Assistant. You’re still in charge of the crematorium.” Judith grimaced as she said it. She had always hated that Heather had been most at home in the furnace facility of the family-run funeral home Jack was the director for. Along with a few employees to help out, Judith manned the phones and the books and Jimmy had been running the computer network since he first installed it when he was twelve.
“I don’t need an assistant,” Heather said, trying to catch her father’s eye. “We’re always on time. Three people working down there is more than enough. We don’t need a fourth.”
Her father kept eating.
“Dad!” Heather almost screamed.
“Your mother’s right,” Jack intoned, his eyes still on his plate.
Heather shook her head, trying to clear her sudden lightheadedness. “I can’t believe it. She finally talked you into pushing me out. How long until I’m completely gone? It’s her way or the highway, huh, Dad? I swear, sometimes I’m embarrassed to be related to you. Even a jellyfish has more backbone than you.”
Jimmy dropped the fork he had picked back up and mumbled something. Heather faced him. “What?”
He lifted his eyes to hers, his gaze scared. “I’m sure this is the exact wrong time to tell you this, but if Mom has her way, you’ll never find out.”
Heather tried to get her breathing under control as he wrestled with whatever he was trying to say.
“Mom and Dad met in 1995. I overheard them fighting about it two nights ago. Dad wants her to tell you now that you are an adult that you’re not his. Apparently, they’ve been fighting about it for years.”
Cue the screeching tires, the record needle scratching across the plastic grooves. Cue the liquid memories of her dad’s awkwardness around her since she could remember. She swung her head towards her mother, her eyes trying to pop out of her head. They’d met when Heather was four years old?
“What in the actual hell, Mother?”
“Heather Herrin, swearing! Need I remind you that at this table, we do not swear.”
Heather scooched out of the booth seat, hunched over and vowing she would never sit in it again. When she was finally able to stand, she faced her mother. “No, we just lie. For twenty-one years. Next time, swear at me, ok? It’ll be less painful.”
She stalked out of the kitchen, heading for the door, but turning right to head up the stairs at the last minute, the angry outburst in her head replaced by something softer, a static-y sound that overlaid any thought or purpose. At the top of the steps she turned left, towards her mother and Jack’s room. That was easy. Replace the noun dad with the proper name Jack. Simple. Barely any pain associated with it. Right? As long as she didn’t lose Jimmy, too, she’d be fine, right? They were still half-brother and sister, right?
She ended up in front of her mother’s jewelry box, barely aware of the tears slipping down her face. Her hands reached out on their own and sorted through her mother’s things. Costume jewelry, silver, just for show. She lifted out the tray where all the cheap stuff was. Ah, there it was. The gold. She grabbed the three necklaces and the two rings she saw there, thrusting them in her pocket, one ear to the steps just outside the door. No one was coming yet.
She laid the tray back in, her brain still buzzing with that strange overlay that made it hard to think about what she was doing and why. Just doing was so much simpler, and she didn’t have the strength of will anymore to fight it. As long as there was no thought of starting a fire. She would fight that with her dying breath. Stealing her mother’s jewelry was acceptable when you compared it to starting her mother’s house on fire.
The lid on the jewelry box dropped shut as she pushed the tray into place, catching her fingers. She left them there, as a strange pulsing thing she could only feel called out to her. Called her by name.
Heather stared at her hand, the fingers half obscured by the lid lying on them and felt her blood pulse in time with something… something external.
She lifted the lid again, then took out the tray, but there was nothing left under it. Her fingers caressed the felt at the bottom of the box, then her hand curled into a fist and knocked there. It didn’t sound hollow, but the thought wouldn’t leave her brain. She put the tray in, shut the lid, and picked the box up level with her eye, then turned it around. As she moved it, one of the sides gave way just a little under her fingers. She put the box down and jiggled that side until it slid up, revealing a hidden drawer.
Heather felt her heart speed up and her mouth go dry. She pried at the drawer with her fingers, knowing there was something in there more valuable than anything else her mother owned. More valuable than the entire house, probably.
The drawer slid open, revealing a small, colorful pendant, approximately an inch and a half high, caught on a delicate chain.
Her dragon.
He was real, exactly as she saw him in her mind. Strong red scales lined a powerful body. Head kicked up in an arrogant, alert pose. Chest a lighter color than the rest of the body, maybe a yellow, she couldn’t tell. Her senses clamped down and her focus narrowed to a small field, pointed at the dragon.
Without realizing she had reached for it, her fingers grazed it and an electric shock shot through her body, startling her and wiping her emotional slate clean for just a second. Her earlier sadness and frustration fell away, and the rest of her life, her real life, stood in front of her. A life where she mattered, where she was powerful and strong and accepted herself fully. A life in which her mate was different than all the other males that stood with him, but he was still accepted fully. A life where she could choose to drop her old life completely, with a whispered prayer of appreciation to everyone in it for bringing her to this exact point… or merge the old life with the new life.
Heather’s fingers curled around the pendant and she lifted it out of the drawer, feeling power course through her hand and arm as she did so. The power felt good, but also dangerous, because she knew she had no control over it. She loved it, but she feared it, as well, especially here, in this enclosed
space, this wooden house, this den of her mother’s.
A pop sounded behind her and Heather whirled around to see the top of her mother’s bed on fire.
“Oh, fuck,” she whispered, shoving the pendant in her pocket and pressing her hands frantically to the flames, putting them out. She crossed hand over hand until the entire blanket was smoking, but no longer on fire.
Heather backed away from the bed, watching the smoke as it lazily made its way to the ceiling, to the four smoke detectors strategically placed around the room. This was bad. She couldn’t be caught up here like this, in the middle of her worst nightmare. Her ass hit the dresser and she turned her body enough to put the jewelry box back exactly the way she found it, then rushed to the bed and pulled the bedspread off it just as the smoke alarms began to blare, in that room and in every other room in the house.
Heather ran for the stairs, scorched bedspread tucked under her arm, pendant and jewelry in her pockets, this time heading straight out the door, ignoring the high-pitched voices of her family in the kitchen.
For the second time that day, she snuck out of a house, hoping to keep her secret just a little while longer.
Chapter 7
The fire. It was so lovely. Warmth. Power. The colors of life swirling within it. She wanted it to burn. Wanted it all to burn. She would dance, frolic really, as indiscriminant flames consumed everything in their path.
Her consciousness asleep, Heather celebrated the fire in a way she would never let herself dream of while awake. Her fire-lust, as she had called it as long as she could remember, was dangerous. Terrifying on some level. Something that no normal person would ever feel. She knew how people ended up in prison for arson, though. She knew that desire to watch it all burn intimately.
The year before, someone had set fourteen fires in a desperately dry California, and, while most of the country expressed outrage, Heather had only understood, even while she hated the part of her that watched the footage on TV, and never condemned the fire-setter once.
Her hands worked while her eyes saw nothing, forming, shaping, preparing. The night wore on without her conscious thought about what she was doing and why, as she worked in the shadows.