“You don’t have a baby,” he muttered. Well, except for Lindsay, he thought as he walked downstairs. The stairs creaked and groaned as they absorbed his weight. Great. Just one more thing to fix. By the time he got to the landing he could hear the conversation in the kitchen.
“You’re the executor of your mother’s will. She said she wants him out. It’s up to you.”
Lindsay glanced over her shoulder and looked right into Scott’s eyes. Then the front door slammed shut and he turned.
“Two more bags of garbage. You don’t mind?”
Scott shook his head as his brother-in-law set the bags down.
“Thanks,” David said with a toothy smile. “Clearing out all this old junk is putting me over the limit.”
“It’s no problem.”
“And you won’t forget about the paint and…”
Scott shook his head. “Don’t worry.”
The next few moments were a series of tiresome formalities as the doctor and the lawyer left.
Lindsay tilted her head and put on what Scott took as a patient, motherly smile. “You’ve been remembering about the fan and the door, right?”
“Stop badgering him, Lindsay,” David said as he put his hand on her arm.
Lindsay bridled at his touch but didn’t respond. Scott watched silently as they escaped into the sunlit world.
The spot on the floor that had been illuminated by natural light went dark as he shut the door and reached up, undoing the top button of his shirt. His shoulders sagged as he dragged himself up the stairs.
***
He cringed and jerked his arm back from the frail woman’s limited range as the hot soup seared his skin.
The effort had cost her and he felt a mix of gratification and guilt as she sputtered and wheezed, trying to regain her breath after she’d propelled her lunch across her son’s outstretched arm.
Scott dabbed the red blotch with a damp cloth.
“Mother, you need to eat. You’re so weak. Please.” He dipped the spoon into the bowl, taking care to blow on the soup a little longer this time and extended it towards her face.
She mashed her thin, salmon-coloured lips together and twisted her head from side to side.
Scott drew his arm back. It was hopeless. He didn’t know how much more of this he could manage.
“Lindsay will be here soon.”
He set the bowl down on the bedside table, feeling her dark eyes staring at him, her tense muscles exaggerating the wrinkles that had multiplied across her face over the years at such a slow pace nobody had noticed until one day she was suddenly old. If she pulled away from me with any more force she’d be embedded in the headboard. He closed the door behind him, the latch clicking shut.
Each stair creaked and groaned, much like the almost-expired body of his mother when she had to be moved. But the aging two-story still had warmth and charm that could be revived, unlike Mildred Earle.
It was one of those bleary days that hung oppressively. No ray of light pierced the shroud of clouds that lingered in the air. The unnatural stillness added to the ominous feeling. In the front yard the maple stretched up from the ground, almost bare branches reaching out, a stark reminder that autumn’s time was coming to an end.
A slight gust scattered the leaves, tearing golden-brown emblems from his neighbour’s tree and sprinkling them across the lawn.
“Figures.” He leaned against the counter, eyeing the travel brochure wistfully, dreaming of the feel of warm sand beneath his feet…
A gleaming, silver Mercedes turned into the drive. Only Lindsay can make exiting a vehicle look as chic as catwalk strut. She knew how to attract attention and she’d been doing it since before she was born. The miracle child. Eleven years younger and it hadn’t been enough for her to thrust herself into Scott’s world. She’d arrived sixteen days late and managed to usurp his birthday and his mother’s love just by existing.
Now here she was, coming to visit her invalid mother and her dutiful brother, her short skirt concealed beneath the sleek leather coat that hugged her body tighter than a frightened child clings to their mother’s leg.
She’d had her hair done again, he noticed. The auburn curls had been straightened into ebony locks that were pulled back smoothly from her face, making her creamy skin look pale by contrast.
It also made the angles of her face sharper. He was used to seeing the edges softened with the wispy curls she’d inherited from Mother.
No knock, no formality. She shrugged off the coat and her cherry-red lips curled on cue.
“David sent more garbage,” she said, sliding the black leather gloves off, revealing a fresh manicure.
“Again? I’ll take care of it.” He watched his sister smile again. Appreciative. Expectant. Satisfied. It was hard to tell with Lindsay, but the look was likely a mix of all three. He took her keys so that he could get into the trunk.
As the screen door trickled shut behind him he could hear the clip-clip sound of her heels overriding the squeak of the stairs.
***
She knocked softly and opened the door.
“You really must eat,” Lindsay said, sighing as she sat down on the very edge of the bed.
Mildred Earle leaned forward, drawing her withering frame up towards her daughter with a desperate, wide-eyed stare. “He’ll kill me Lindsay. It’s poison. Poison!”
The old woman’s shoulders sagged back against the pillow as though the words had sapped what little was left of her strength. Her lips were still parted, cracked and dry as she stared at her daughter.
“Mother, please. Scott is taking good care of you. See?” She lifted a spoonful of soup to her lips and ingested the tepid broth without slurping or spilling or smudging her lipstick, her manners more polished than the Queen’s silver.
She held up the bowl. “You must eat.” The woman licked her lips, shrinking down into herself, but didn’t protest.
Once she’d fed her mother the remaining contents of the bowl Lindsay stood, smoothing her skirt as she surveyed the room.
The walls had faded to grey with age before David had decided to paint the room. Now, all it needed were a few finishing touches.
The thick curtains were dull and worn. Lindsay stepped toward the window, pulling them back and letting natural light into the room.
What natural light there is, she mused, her own thoughts on her forthcoming sojourn to the Bahamas. Sand and sun, and a sleek tan to augment her new outfit in the Christmas card photos.
The heavy steps of her brother got louder and she turned as he entered the room. “The humidifier is empty again.”
Scott bit his lip, his eyes narrowing, but he didn’t offer the argument she expected. He took the reservoir off the machine and went to the bathroom. When he returned he pointed at the humidifier as he twisted the knob. “This is the highest rate of circulation.”
They turned to leave as Mother protested Lindsay’s departure. “Don’t leave me! He’ll kill me! He’s going to kill me,” she whispered hoarsely. Lindsay shook her head while Scott tried in his consoling tones to reassure his mother that he was going to take good care of her but the old woman’s frenzy only appeared to intensify, to the point where she wheezed with the shallow, raspy, straggled breaths a half-century of smoking produced.
“Mother, that’s enough! If you don’t stop talking this way, I’m not going to come to see you anymore!”
Mildred trembled and cowered under her blankets. Lindsay deftly straightened the comforter and leaned down to kiss her mother gently on the forehead.
“That’s better. Be nice to Scott. He’s taking good care of you.” She followed her brother downstairs.
“I must confess I’m not fussy about green, but the room looks better,” she said as he opened the storm door. “Don’t you think it would have made more sense to wait until Mother’s gone?”
“Lindsay!”
“Ahem.”
They turned to see the mailman, Frank, standing at the door,
a bundle of papers in his hand. Scott opened the screen door, reached out and took them, offering a feeble smile and a muttered, “Thank you,” before the postman turned and left.
“Be reasonable. You know she doesn’t have much time left. You won’t have to worry much longer.”
“But the doctor…”
“Nonsense,” Lindsay said with a wave of her hand. Her eyes scanned his face for a moment, her brow pinched as though she was seeing something for the first time. She’d been studying her own facial expressions for years, so she knew what she looked like, knew the effect her expression would have. Sympathy. Concern. Compassion. Whatever she needed to portray herself as. “You look tired. You should get away, have a break.” She nodded towards the travel brochure on the counter. “Go someplace warm and cheery.”
“I can’t manage that right now. All my money is tied up in investments and my benefits from work ran out. They’re pressuring me to come back.”
“Heartless bastards.”
“I don’t suppose…”
She shook her head. “Sorry. David has all our extra money tied up in those old houses he’s restoring. He says he’s dealing with the old to make way for the new and in the process he’ll make a fortune. ‘That, Lindsay, is the beauty of restoration. Everything looks better and its worth more, too.’ God, how many times have I heard that since he got this crazy idea? At first I thought he was going to suggest I get a boob job.”
“Lindsay, really. You’re letting him squander your money?”
“He tells me when he puts the first house on the market he’ll triple our investment.”
“Is that where all the junk is coming from?”
“You wouldn’t believe the crap that people keep stashed in their basements.”
“I know. David and I cleaned out the cellar here a few weeks ago. We found all kinds of…”
“Which reminds me. He wants you to take care of the things on this list.” As she passed him the slip of paper her lips curled down. “Great taste in clothes, lousy taste in men. David’s likely dreaming about what he’ll take when Mother passes. He spends so much time with the Elizabeth Hurley clone he must have her measurements down by heart.”
Scott didn’t comment as he watched her fasten her coat and reach into her pockets for her gloves. He wondered if the sleek interior designer David was working with had motivated his sister’s shift in fashion but he didn’t want to get drawn into a conversation about David’s ever-wandering eye.
After all, he was married when he started messing around with Lindsay. What goes around comes around.
“Those squeaky steps need to be fixed. If you could ask David…”
“You’re lazy, not incapable Scott.”
The heavy oak door closed behind her.
Scott let out a long, slow breath, saw the room fade to static and then his eyes focused again as he read David’s note. A small smile flickered on his lips as he went to the kitchen and tacked it up on the fridge.
***
The room was ready. He’d shifted the bed the night before and centered the musty area rug on the floor on top of the plastic sheet.
Scott removed the canister and turned, then paused. He backtracked, retrieved the humidifier, took both items into the bathroom and filled them. Once the humidifier had been repositioned and plugged in, he went back, got the other container, poured the soap into the slot and started the shampooer.
Crazy old woman. There was no bitterness, nothing but his awareness of the inevitable, his acceptance of the fact that his relationship with his mother was already far beyond repair.
***
Scott groaned. Just my luck. The old woman’s bug is contagious.
He couldn’t imagine anything less pleasant than changing sheets soiled with excrement and washing the crusted waste from the sagging skin that drooped over his mother’s bony legs but the thought of changing her stained sheets while he fought against the compulsion of his own bowels was definitely lowering the bar. He hoped this was a passing queasiness and nothing more.
“Scott. Why… Don’t… Kill… Me...” The woman had cried out suddenly, his name said as an alert, calling him to her. He’d turned automatically.
“Are you okay?”
Her quivering fingers reached out and clawed his arm. “Don’t… Don’t let… Please.” She pleaded, looking up at him with her sunken cheeks, her chaffed lips quivering.
He pulled his arm away, surprised by the force with which she’d dug her nails into his flesh, and stomped from the room.
***
Mildred’s shaking hand fell against her wilted chest as she strained to hear him through the silence. She could always hear Scott. He moved with the same lumbering motions her Edward had. But she couldn’t hear him now. Had something happened to her? Were her ears the latest in a long list of things to break down on her body before her soul was ready to depart?
Damn kids don’t care. Can’t really blame them. Don’t even know I see what’s going on. Not telling me David was married before. Not telling me he can’t keep it in his pants. They think I’m too far-gone to notice such things, or too primitive to have ever been aware. But I know.
She licked her lips, which smarted from the sting. Why does it matter if he kills me? It’s only me who wants for more. One more sunset, one more sunrise. Another clear Christmas morning to hear the church bells ring. One last chance to draw a breath of crisp, fresh air instead of this stale, putrid stench of decay that I’m filling the house with.
Mildred lifted herself up slightly, perked up by the noise in the hallway. She could still hear after all. Of course, you fool. That damn thing is whirring away, spewing out moisture into the air.
Her son returned, ignoring her, his ears encased by headphones.
***
Scott could see her from the corner of his eye but he didn’t look at her. He turned the volume, the soothing rhythms of The Blue Nile filter into his system through his ears. He guessed the effect wasn’t unlike drugs soothing a junkie as they trickled into the bloodstream. “One day you’ll feel the way I feel. Soon you will go…”
When he finished he went into the master suite and started to fill the bathtub.
***
He groaned as he threw the covers back from the bed again. Scott finished his business, he hoped, and flushed, reaching for some Pepto. Please, God, let it help.
Sleep continued to elude him so he tried to pad down the hall softly to go downstairs to watch The Twilight Zone, or whatever it was the broadcasters transmitted at 3 am.
As he approached his mother’s bedroom, he could hear the high-pitched whine of the empty humidifier. He pushed the door open.
The full moon was filtering through the dusty window and into the room with more light than the day had provided, giving him a glimpse of her dark eyes watching him. “I’m just going to fill up the humidi…” He stopped. Her face was frozen, staring blankly at the doorway despite the fact that he’d moved into the room.
Scott reached out with his hand, though he didn’t really need to. She was gone.
He went to the closet to get the mop.
***
The biting wind clawed at his face as he walked from the church.
“Scott Earle?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation as he turned around to see a police ID being flashed in front of his face. He felt his forehead pinch.
“We need to talk to you about the death of Mildred Earle.”
That was as far as the detective got before the commotion behind him drew his gaze. Lindsay and David, both being led from the church by police officers.
Scott felt the corners of his mouth sag. He suddenly realised there was rainwater running down the collar of his jacket and down his back and he shivered. “What’s going on?”
“Not here. We’ll all catch pneumonia. Let’s go back to the station.”
***
“There must be some mistake.”
The detective shook his head
. “I’m afraid we’re absolutely certain.”
“But…but…how could this have happened? I was the one who was preparing Mother’s food. I don’t understand how she could have been poisoned.”
***
“Your wife says it was your idea to paint the room.”
The skin between his eyes puckered. “I wanted to brighten it up for her, make Mother comfortable instead of leaving her to rot in that drab space.”
“Right. So you expect me to believe that the only thought you had about doing something nice for your mother-in-law involved decorating. Not putting her in a nursing home or getting her a professional caregiver or even buying her flowers. But painting a room.”
“That’s what I do. I buy old houses. Bring out the original qualities and features of a home and restore its value in the process.”
“And just how much value were you hoping to restore in your mother-in-law’s house? You painting bedrooms, adding in a master bathroom, your brother-in-law shampooing carpets for you. We saw the list.”
David’s jaw dropped as he stared across the table.
***
“Why didn’t you cut him out of the will?”
Lindsay smoothed her skirt as she crossed her legs. “Why would I? Mother was too far gone to even know what she’s saying half the time.”
“What if this was the other half of the time, when she was being perfectly lucid?”
She rolled her eyes. “The doctor was there. Ask him yourself.”
“Oh, we did.”
Lindsay blinked. What the hell is going on?
TO DIE FOR Page 3