Mabel glanced over at her son-in-law. He looked thinner, more hollowed-out in the cheeks. He had been spending every free moment with Stephen, attempting to make up for the fact that Cathy was dead. She wondered if he blamed himself at all. Didn’t they all blame themselves? But the silly girl was always going in and out of her depressions. She had been the most sullen of Mabel’s five children.
“Would Rosemary be able to change her plans and come the following weekend?”
“You’re right, Jacob, she should have notified you sooner, but Rosemary can barely get away from her job these days. Next thing you know, they’ll have her washing the windows at that stinkin’ company.”
“Rosemary’s lucky if she remembers to wash out her underpants,” said Jacob.
“I resent that. Rosemary is quite clean. She just looks disheveled all the time. Besides, she’s not a clean fanatic the way Cathy …” Using the past tense when speaking of her daughter didn’t sit well with Mabel.
“Doc said she went fast,” Jacob said.
“All I know is she went too soon. What am I doing here, when my daughter’s ashes have been dumped into the ocean?”
“You’re going to work to teach a bunch of spoiled kids to read and write, just like you’ve done for years and will continue to do, although I hope it won’t be for much longer.” Jacob checked the rearview mirror and pulled into the fast lane.
Everyone assumed she would retire at fifty-five, but she hadn’t. Each year she kept saying one more year, then it’s off on a cruise. The last thing she needed now was a quiet cruise on the Pacific with time to think about Cathy as a little girl, as a pretty but awkward teen, as Jacob’s tomboy wife. Getting married in jeans and sweatshirts—what the hell were they thinking? The best was seeing Cathy lying next to her newborn son at the hospital.
“Already smiling, thinking about what you’ll do when you have the rest of your life off?”
Mabel shook her head and stared out the side passenger window.
“You having wild fantasies about me again?” Jacob asked.
Mabel swiped her hand against Jacob’s shoulder.
“Rosemary can stay with Stephen and me,” Jacob announced.
“You hate her guts!”
“She is Stephen’s aunt, and I can tolerate her for a weekend. I think.”
“She’s not going to be cooking and cleaning for you guys.”
“Would two guys like Stephen and myself try to take advantage of a guest in our house?”
“Yes, and I’m not permitting that to happen.”
“Wouldn’t she want to bond with Stephen over his jelly-stained T-shirts?”
“That’s something you have to get used to,” Mabel said.
“Either that or I’ll be sending Stephen over to your house with the laundry. Ah, don’t wince, Mabel, I’m joking. I’ve taken to buying him seven new T-shirts a week. If I’m lucky at least one is reusable.”
“Try not to raise Stephen as a slob, Jacob,” she said.
“So is Rosemary bringing Robin?”
“Not this time. She feels Stephen is going to need a lot of attention, and it would be hard to do that if she had Robin to take care of in the wheelchair.”
“Too bad. Stephen was asking about Robin the other night.”
“He was? What did he say?”
She heard Jacob chuckle.
“Okay, Jacob, what’s the joke?”
“Nothing. Stephen was asking about why Robin was in a wheelchair.”
“And what did you say?”
“I said she had nerve damage, that’s all.”
“No, you said more than that. I can tell by the way you can’t keep a straight face. It’s your job now to teach him to respect others, especially those disabled.”
“That’s always been my job, Mabel. Only now I have to do it alone.”
“I’m sorry, Jacob, I didn’t mean to make it sound like I didn’t think you were doing a good job before Cathy died. But sometimes you forget things.”
“Didn’t forget Rosemary is coming this weekend. Shall I pick her up at the airport?”
“She’d certainly appreciate that, and maybe you could pick me up first so I get to see her for a little while before she goes back to Austin.”
“You want to stay at the house too? We could have a pajama party. A night of ‘thirties and ‘forties horror flicks.”
“No, thank you. And doesn’t Stephen like some of the Disney movies?”
“Not as much as watching the Wolf Man. He may want to gather some techniques, since he’ll be trick or treating as a wolf.”
“They have some really cute costumes down at …”
“Mabel, the wolf wasn’t my idea. He and Molly thought it up on their own. He’s made his own mask, and Molly is making him a furry suit. He doesn’t want to be dressed as a Harry Potter character or a fireman. He’s an imaginative little boy and comes up with a lot of ideas on his own, which is what I prefer.”
Mabel sensed that Jacob looked over at her, but she kept her eyes on the road in front of them. Sometimes he did make sense, however much she hated to admit it to him. Her grandson was small for his age, but was definitely not shy. She visualized his sandy hair and the brown eyes, exactly the same as his mother’s. Cathy had taken the boy with her everywhere she went. He was her little shadow. He would sit attentively while she and Cathy held conversations over coffee. She swore that little boy could understand every word they said. He was attentive, especially to everything Cathy did and said.
“Okay, Mabel, I’m going to drop you off on the side of the road.”
Mabel focused on where they were while Jacob pulled up next to the school. She looked over at her son-in-law.
“Did you say prayers with Stephen last night?”
Jacob’s composed face stared back at her.
“I never wanted to be a nagging mother-in-law, and before Cathy died I would never have asked these questions of you. I guess because I knew Cathy would be taking care of all the little things.”
“And my contribution would be minimal?” Jacob asked.
“No, you’ve always been a conscientious father.” Mabel stopped and thought for a few seconds. “We got along better when Cathy was around. She kept me in my place.”
“More than that. I can remember her actually throwing you out of the house,” he said. “Not that I approved.”
“You did by not contradicting her and driving me home.”
“Trying to keep the peace.”
“Did she really … Not hate, but …”
“Cathy and I were going to raise our son, and now I will.”
Mabel nodded and stepped out of the car. Her legs felt shaky, and her hands trembled when she reached to close the car door.
Chapter
7
Every day Molly picked Stephen up from school. She played a game of “mommy.” Stephen was her little boy and Jacob was her husband. She and Stephen didn’t look alike, but that was because he had the recessive genes. Molly and her husband Jacob both had blond hair, blue eyes, and long bones. At times she imagined carrying Stephen’s little brother in her uterus and would pat her tummy as if quieting an active fetus. The babe would kick at the most awkward moments, and she had to be extra careful when she lifted Stephen in and out of the car. She never had given up on playing house.
“See what I made for Mommy?” yelled Stephen, running down the steps of his kindergarten.
Or did he say, “See what I made for you, Mommy?” The sounds blended into one as the boy approached, his outstretched hand holding a brightly-colored piece of construction paper. Her own hand proudly took the gift from Stephen. Daisies, roses, and tulips bordered the length and width of the page. A big candle-lit birthday cake had been placed at the center of the page and written across the front of the cake were the words “Happy Birthday.” “Mom” was barely readable, the letters were so scrunched together.
“Thank you, Stephen,” she said.
“Don’t be s
illy, Molly. It’s not your birthday today,” he said.
“Then it must be your mother’s.” Her right hand skimmed over the wax crayon marks.
“Not exactly.”
She looked down at “her little boy” for clarification.
“It’s this Saturday. Dad promised he’d go to the shore to visit Mommy, and he said I could bring a special gift for her.” Stephen’s eyes shined. His small hand reached to take back the drawing. “Do you think Mommy misses us as much as we miss her?”
“Definitely.”
“I’m going to bless it tonight,” he said, waving the construction paper in the air.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m going to offer it up to the fat lady and ask her to bless it.” Stephen pulled off his backpack and unzipped it. He carefully slid the construction paper inside.
“It’ll get crushed in there, Stephen. Why don’t you lay it on the back seat of the car until we get home?”
Stephen nodded and slipped the paper back out. He threw the backpack over his right shoulder, and several slender books fell out of the pack.
“I’ll get it, honey. By the way, who is this fat woman you’re talking about?”
“You don’t know her.”
“Does she visit your house often?”
“She lives there.”
“That’s silly. There is no lady living at the house.”
“Yes, she does.”
“What does she look like?” Molly lifted the books off the ground and guided the boy toward her beat-up car.
“She has a big tummy and keeps her arms up over her head.”
“Why would she keep her arms over her head?”
“To show off her tummy, I guess.” Stephen climbed into the passenger seat of the car.
Molly threw the backpack and books onto the back seat.
“Here, give me the drawing, and I’ll put it in the back.”
“No, I’ll carry it.”
“All the way home?”
He nodded while she adjusted his safety belt.
While slipping into the driver’s seat, she asked Stephen whether he would introduce her to the lady. He became quiet. She insisted she’d like to meet the lady and discuss fashions with her.
“She’s always naked,” he answered.
Molly pulled out of the school parking lot and into traffic.
“Does your father like the lady?”
“No. I have her hidden away.” Stephen paused. “You’re not going to tell Daddy, are you?”
“Not if I get an official introduction.”
Back home, Stephen ran upstairs to his room and came back down within a minute. He wore a silk chord around his neck and clasped his hands over whatever dangled from the bottom of it.
“This is the fat lady,” he said, unclasping his hands.
“This is a goddess, Stephen, a fertility goddess.”
“A what kind of goddess?” he asked.
Molly could tell he was rolling the letters over in his mind.
“A fertility goddess. She brings babies into the world.”
“Like the stork and the cabbage patch?”
“Oh, she delivers far more babies than the stork or the cabbage patch could ever do. Where did you find her?” Molly asked, fingering the wooden sculpture.
“Mommy kept her down in the basement inside a wood box that’s kinda decorated with all sorts of beasts.”
“Do you have the box?”
“No, the box gives me the willies. Some of the beasts are so ugly.”
“I’d like to see the box, Stephen. Will you take me down to the basement?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because that was Mommy’s private place.”
“You and your Daddy also go down there.”
“Daddy never does. I’m going to put the fat lady back where she belongs.” Stephen turned toward the stairs. “You finish my wolf costume yet?”
Molly thought about asking for an even trade: his wolf suit for a visit to the basement, but felt like a bitch for even considering the idea.
“It’ll be ready by Halloween, don’t worry.”
“Good, because I already told Mommy all about it.”
“You …” Molly watched Stephen run up the flight of stairs. When she heard his door slam shut, she went to the basement door underneath the staircase. The door was closed. She turned the knob, and the door easily opened, swinging way back on its hinges. Suddenly the front door opened, and she heard Jacob yelling out his son’s name. Quickly she closed the basement door.
“You’re home early,” she said.
“Yeah. Got company coming this weekend, and I thought I’d better start cleaning up.” Jacob dropped his briefcase on the hall table and called out to his son.
“Daddy!”
Jacob lifted Stephen when the child flew into his arms.
“So, what surprises have you and Molly cooked up for me today? “
“Nothing. You’re home too early.”
“Ah, didn’t have a chance to plot behind my back.”
“We never do, Jacob. If you mean the mask …”
“Shouldn’t you be calling me Mr. Zaira?” Jacob interrupted.
“Sorry.”
“Why can’t she call you by your first name, Dad? Everybody else does.”
“Because children should respect their elders, Stephen, and she should be a good role model for you.” He looked at Stephen and then swiftly turned to face Molly. “I’ll pay you the full amount of money, but you can leave a few hours early today.”
“I’d like to talk to you, Mr. Zaira,” Molly said.
“About?”
“Stephen, why don’t you run upstairs and get the drawing you did today? I’m sure your father would love to see it.”
Jacob put down his squirming son, and Stephen bounded off for his bedroom.
“I suppose we have to have this talk before you completely understand the consequences of our actions. Only I’d rather do it when Stephen wasn’t around.”
“This is about Stephen, Mr. Zaira. Not about us.”
“Sure it’s not just an excuse?” Jacob gave her a wry smile.
“Stephen is talking about naked ladies living here and—.”
“Whoa, no naked ladies staying here, and even if there were, it wouldn’t be any of your business.”
“It’s for Mommy’s birthday. See?” screamed Stephen, racing down the stairs.
Jacob barely looked at the drawing.
“Wonderful. Tell you what, if you run upstairs and wash up, I’ll take you out to eat.”
“Chili! The really hot kind that makes the tears come.”
“Your choice,” Jacob said, and Stephen returned to his bedroom upstairs.
“I’m never sleeping with you again, Molly. Is that blunt enough? Our relationship caused Cathy to take her life.”
“I don’t believe that. Besides, Stephen has this fertility goddess he’s been hiding from you. And he seems to think he’s able to talk to his mother.”
“Stephen is five years old. Of course he talks to his mother. People do that, Molly, when they lose someone close to them.”
“Do you still talk to Cathy?”
“We didn’t talk much when she was alive. Why would I spend my time trying to communicate with her when she’s dead?”
“Stephen does.”
“Stephen loved his mother.”
“Did you love his mother?”
“Enough not to leave her for you.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t be babysitting for Stephen anymore.”
“It’s up to you. All I request is a few days’ notice so I can find myself a new babysitter.”
Molly wanted to resign, but didn’t want to give up the opportunities to be around Jacob. He was almost sneering at her, his eyes cold, a slight rise in his top lip, and a calmness that frightened her.
“Is Molly coming with us?” asked Stephen.
“No, s
he can’t come. She was just saying how she’s been assigned a ton of homework for tonight.”
“Come to dinner, Molly. I can help you with your homework.”
Molly smiled at Stephen and thanked him for his offer, but said she didn’t want to waste his night with her homework.
“So, have I been given notice, or what?”
“I’ll pick up Stephen tomorrow.”
“And the next day?”
“I’ll continue babysitting, Mr. Zaira.” She brushed a few strands of hair off the boy’s forehead before heading to the front door.
“Hey, Molly, I’ll be raising your salary, since you’ve lost one of the benefits of the job.” Jacob laughed.
Chapter
8
The basement was full of whispers. Full of condemnations. Voices audible only in the darkness. Voices with soft, melodic tones. Voices icy and determined. Voices grating and willful. Voices of spirits gathered to mourn. Gathered to complain. Peevish voices wanting revenge. And they all seemed to be centered around a long wooden table. A table with wax thick on the grain, wax in colors representing every emotion, every day that Cathy celebrated her rite.
A wooden box basked in the glow of the moon as the others in the house slept. The carved beasts quivered in the shine of the moon, in the magic of the moon. Writhing, almost escaping the confinement of the box, the beasts roared their frustration in silence. Their mouths open wide, their eyes bulging, their nasal cavities flaring, and the chords in their necks taut, they attempted to become flesh. To become something that could touch the angry world around them. To avenge the mistress existing now only in spirit. She hovered near but could not manipulate, could not sing her song of death for the world to hear.
The whispers spoke of her, spoke of her release. Still not satisfied, she longed for more than freedom. The hot voices worried the old wax, melting it into puddles of rainbows. Colors meshing together, forming new waves of color to harden on the table, and all the while the beasts remained trapped.
A slow, monotonous drip from a water pipe gave melody to the voices. Set the beat. Brought dampness to the basement. Paint swelled and flaked, leaving barren spots on the walls. Vermin climbed the walls seeking prey, seeking a mate, seeking a place to grow old and die, crawling unevenly over paint stains, ruptures in the wall, skeletons of families left to rot.
The Witch Page 3