Mother

by Patrick Logan

  For some strange reason, Arielle had spent what felt like hours talking to the woman, opening up about nearly everything. She’d told Mother, this stranger, about her desperate desire to bring a child in this world and her inability to do so. She went as far as to talk about what the events of earlier this afternoon, about how she had snapped at her friends and her husband. And the whole time, Mother just sat and listened. She didn’t crack jokes like Martin would have, or go glassy-eyed like Charlene Woodward was apt to do. Instead, the woman appeared to genuinely listen—she wasn’t just thinking about how to respond while Arielle spoke. She did what was so rare in a society obsessed with instant gratification and judged merit based on the number of upturned thumbs. No, the woman simply listened.

  When Arielle’s tale made it to seeing the numbers 1818 emblazoned on the mailbox and nearly driving away, she exhaled deeply.

  Mother took a drag from what must have been her tenth cigarette and smiled.

  “Come, let’s go inside. I have something that will calm you down. And then we can really chat.”

  The interior of the house was not much different from the outside: everything was a dreary gray, from the couch to the ornate bookshelf, and everything was seemingly covered with a thin layer of dust.

  Mother sat in a large wooden rocker by the bay window and instructed Arielle to take a seat on the couch. Arielle half expected a puff of dust when she sat, but the stale air in the house remained relatively clear as she sunk into the worn cushion.

  Mother snapped her fingers, and Arielle heard a stirring from somewhere behind her. Drawing her head from her hands, she swiveled and, like when the hulking Jessie had somehow sneaked up on her, Arielle was taken aback.

  Two young girls who couldn’t have been older than four or five bounded into the room from the doorway leading to what Arielle assumed was the kitchen. With identical blond pigtails and small, upturned noses, Arielle wouldn’t have questioned her if Mother had told her that they were twins. Still, the girl on the left was a little larger, and based on the way she stood a half a foot in front of what Arielle presumed was her sister, it was clear that she was the dominant one.

  “Girls,” Mother said with a wan smile, “would you be so kind to get our guest a nice, warm glass of milk?”

  The girl in front nodded.

  “Yes, Mother.”

  Together, the two girls receded back through the doorway.

  Mother? She couldn’t possibly be—

  “Now,” the woman with the blue eyeshadow and pale pink lipstick continued, “a pretty woman like you deserves a child.”

  Arielle felt herself nodding despite herself.

  “You are very beautiful. When I was younger, I—”

  Something in the woman’s face changed; a flicker, a shimmer, passed across her worn features. Then she laughed.

  “Oh, listen to me. I’m just being a silly old lady.” She laughed again. “Today is not about me, sweets, it’s about you.”

  Arielle cleared her throat.

  “That’s—”

  The woman’s eyes suddenly darted to above and behind Arielle and she let out a small burst of air, making the same whistle/hiss sound that had driven Jessie to action.

  Arielle whipped her head around, her brow furrowing. It wasn’t just the two girls returning to the room this time, but three.

  The blond head of a third girl peeked out from around the corner. She had a long braid and was wearing a t-shirt with the words ‘I luv Mom’ on it.

  It was the same girl from earlier in the day, the one with the orange Frisbee. Arielle was almost sure of it. But when she blinked, the girl was gone.

  How can it be?

  “Hey,” she said, turning back to Mother. “Is that the—?”

  Mother shook her head.

  “You should drink some of the warm milk. It’ll calm you down.”

  “But—”

  Mother shushed her.

  Arielle wasn’t sure that she needed calming down, but she was feeling parched. The last thing she drank was some sour wine at the park. So when the two girls suddenly appeared in front of her, the larger one, the one that Arielle was now convinced was at least a year older than the other, holding out the pint glass of milk, she took it.

  Arielle smiled at the girl, who had yet to say a word.

  “What’s your name, little one?” She turned to the other girl when the first offered no response. “Is this your sister? And the other girl? That your sister too?”

  Mother made that strange whistle/hiss sound again and the girl averted her eyes. A blink, and they were gone.

  Who are these girls, and how can the girl with the Frisbee possibly be here?

  Arielle brought the pint glass to her mouth and she took a sip. The warmth and sweetness of the liquid surprised her.

  “Don’t worry about the girls,” Mother said. “They just stop by every once in a while to help an old woman with some chores.”

  Arielle thought about what Mother had said about Jessie.

  ‘He just does the yardwork.’

  Well, if Mother is telling the truth, Jessie is just about the worst fucking gardener that ever lived.

  Her eyes scanned the dusty coffee table between them.

  And these girls are God awful at ‘chores’.

  Arielle took another sip of the warm milk with Mother watching on intently. She felt like a superhero and Mother was an evil villain who had poisoned her drink and was watching her to make sure she drank it all.

  “A life for a life,” Mother whispered, and Arielle’s eyes rocketed up.

  “What did you say?”

  Arielle had intended to snap at the woman, but the words came out slowly with a strange drawl.

  “Whaaaa d’ju saay?”

  Mother just smiled.

  Arielle licked some of the liquid from her upper lip and decided that she had had enough milk. Clearly, she was no superhero, but she wasn’t so sure that Mother wasn’t some sort of twisted villain.

  ‘Villain.’ What a strange word.

  She rolled her tongue.

  Villlll-aiinnnn.

  When she went to put the glass on the table, her hand seemed to move in slow motion, as if migrating through a thick ether.

  “You deserve a child,” Mother assured her as she leaned back in her chair and began rocking slowly back and forth. This action, like her voice, seemed to soothe Arielle. “And I can guarantee that you will have one of your own.”

  The woman smiled again, and Arielle found herself smiling along with her.

  “But there is one condition. One promise that you must make.”

  Arielle’s head began to swim, and she blinked hard, trying to clear both her blurred vision and her foggy brain.

  It seemed to work, as the next time when Mother spoke, she leaned in close and listened carefully to her instructions, making sure to pick up on every detail, every nuance in the strange woman’s velvety-smooth voice.

  Chapter 16

  The car ride home was admittedly murky for Arielle. Any clarity that had struck her in the old woman’s gray house had quickly dissolved after taking the first sip of that curious milk.

  But the woman’s words, those were still clear. It was just the minor details, like who had been in the house with them—there had been others there, hadn’t there been?—that had fled her.

  Mother’s instructions were as clear as the to-do list that she typed on her cell phone every Sunday night.

  Cell phone… where is my cell phone?

  The door was open when she finally made it home, and the lights were still on.

  She found Martin in the kitchen wearing only an undershirt and jeans, a glass of scotch clutched firmly in one hand. He didn’t immediately notice her when she walked in, so she took a quiet moment to observe him.

  His hair, usually perfectly flopped to one side, was a damp mess atop his head. He looked softer than usual; his muscular physique seemed somehow flaccid, an odd sallowness that extended t
o his cheeks. It wasn’t just tonight that had taken its toll on Martin, she knew, but it was the culmination of the past seven years. Despite his continued assertion that she was more than enough woman for him, Arielle knew that he too wanted children. Why else would he volunteer to coach the Real Estate Brokers’ children’s little league team without a child of his own? Why else would—

  Martin suddenly sighed and his head slumped, his eyes closing slowly. Feeling now that her observation was beginning to border on voyeurism, Arielle cleared her throat to announce her presence.

  When he turned to her, it was patently obvious that he had been crying, what with his red eyes and the wet track marks on his cheeks. Arielle wasn’t sure what reaction to expect out of her husband, so she just stood there, her muddy feet rooted on the hardwood, her hands hanging at her sides.

  In the end, his reaction was better than she could have ever hoped. Martin rushed to her, scooping her up in his arms. Arielle was so taken aback by this that she didn’t raise her own arms in time and they were pinned to her sides. He buried his head in her neck.

  “You’re back,” he whispered. The smell of scotch on his breath mingled with the sweat from his pores. It wasn’t the most flattering combination, but she was so oversaturated with foul smells that she barely noticed. “Thank God you’re back. Where the hell did you go?”

  Despite asking the question, he didn’t wait for her to answer. Instead, he pulled his head away and shouted over his shoulder.

  “Woods! Woods! Arielle’s back!”

  Arielle immediately regained control of her body and she gently pushed her husband away.

  “Woodward is here?” Her eyes went wide. “Tony’s here?”

  Martin didn’t need to answer. Instead, Arielle heard someone enter the room, sucking out the oxygen, and even without turning she knew that it was Tony Woodward.

  Facing Martin after what she had said and done was one thing, but facing Woodward was something that she didn’t think she could handle right now. Instead of turning, she grabbed for her husband, and this time it was she who hugged him. As she did, she leaned up and whispered in his ear.

  “Please make him go. I need to talk to you.”

  Martin pulled back to look at her more clearly. Seeing the seriousness in her expression, he nodded subtly.

  Old; he looks so old. Old and tired.

  Keeping his eyes trained on Arielle, he spoke.

  “Woods, Arielle’s fine… we, uh, we need some time alone.”

  Martin’s eyes darted upward, and there was a silent exchange between the two men that Arielle didn’t catch. A moment later, the oxygen returned to the room as Woodward vacated it. A few seconds after that, she heard the sound of his car start through the door that she had forgotten to close, and then it faded into the night.

  Arielle was surprised that she hadn’t noticed his cruiser parked out front when she had pulled up, but she shook this away too. She hadn’t been thinking clearly.

  But now she was.

  Now everything was clear again.

  ‘You deserve a child, sweets.’

  When Martin turned back to her, Arielle leaned in and kissed him full on the lips.

  He pulled back.

  “Air? What the—?”

  Arielle leaned in again and kissed him. She felt him try to push her away again, but she pulled him in tighter with her arms, and then her tongue.

  Mother’s leathery face and pale pink lips flashed in her mind, her soothing voice uttering her instructions.

  ‘Go home tonight, sweets. Leave this place and drive your beautiful body back to your beautiful house. And then make love to your beautiful husband.’

  When her tongue darted into Martin’s mouth, teasing, inviting, the man couldn’t resist, and despite the horrible things she had said and done, he began to kiss her back.

  She pulled him tighter, and felt the front of his jeans begin to stiffen.

  And after you make love, come back here. Come back here with the child brewing inside of you, and stay here until he or she is born.

  Arielle slipped one of her hands from the small of his back and reached down to the front of his jeans, squeezing his manhood gently.

  Martin’s breath against her lips hastened, and Arielle couldn’t suppress a small smile.

  * * *

  Martin had been so exhausted that he hadn’t asked Arielle too many questions, for which she was grateful. He hadn’t made any jokes, either, which concerned her a little.

  After making love—in the kitchen, no less, without even bothering to close the front door—they had made their way up to the bedroom, where Martin had promptly passed out. He hadn’t even finished his scotch.

  Arielle, on the other hand, had lain beside him with her eyes wide for several hours, the afternoon’s events cutting through her mind like a riptide.

  ‘Go home tonight, sweetie. Leave this place, and drive your beautiful body back to your beautiful house. And then make love to your beautiful husband. And after you make love, come back here. Come back here with a child brewing inside of you, and stay here until the child is born.’

  It was ludicrous, of course, but what wasn’t? Was it less or more ludicrous than holding her knees to her chest, trying to will Martin’s sperm to collide with her egg? Was having sex based on a lunar cycle as crazy?

  She swallowed hard.

  Who knows—how can one measure degrees of desperation? Is there a scale?

  What she did know, however, was that if there was a scale, she was at the high end of crazy.

  This was her last chance.

  A life for a life.

  Arielle gently lifted Martin’s arm from her stomach and laid it across his chest. Then she slid out of bed.

  Ludicrous, surely, but that wasn’t the most disturbing thing that Mother had said.

  The most disturbing thing was the old woman’s ‘one condition.’

  Arielle pulled her jeans on without waking her husband.

  ‘There is one condition, sweets,’ Mother’s words echoed in her head. ‘One very important condition that you must consider before agreeing to this deal.’

  She pulled her sweatshirt over her head, keeping her eyes trained on Martin as long as possible, prepared to freeze if he stirred even a little.

  But Mother’s words didn’t matter—her “condition” meant little to her now, and would mean less when she was pregnant. And it would mean nothing at all when her child was eventually born. She would humor the woman for now—would go through her charade, stay in her gray house—but on the off chance that she did bear a child, she was out of there, never to return again. She would leave Mother’s leathery face and the swamp stench in her Audi’s rear-fucking-view.

  She was about to turn and leave, but hesitated for a moment.

  Blue moonlight spilled through the slats of the blinds, illuminating Martin in what looked like wisps of blue smoke.

  He’ll forgive me. He knows how much this means to me. He has to forgive me.

  Martin’s face was flaccid, his lower lip quivering with every breath. His right arm lay across his chest, his hand resting over his heart.

  Arielle quietly made her way to the bed and hovered over her husband. Then she leaned down and kissed him gently on the cheek. When she pulled back, she was surprised by the tears that had formed in her eyes.

  “I love you, Martin,” she whispered.

  And when this baby that you put into me tonight is born, we will be a family again.

  I promise.

  Arielle backed out of the room, Mother’s pale pink lips moving in her mind.

  ‘There is one condition, sweetie. One critical condition that you must consider before agreeing to this deal.’

  For once, Mother had waited for an actual response out of her. So she had done what anyone in her position would have done to keep the conversation moving: she had nodded.

  ‘You can have a child, sweets, but when this child turns four, you must bring her back to me.’


  Arielle opened the front door and stepped into the night.

  Bring her back?

  She made a face and resisted turning back and offering the same parting salute that she had offered the guests at the Woodwards’ party.

  Bring her back? Like hell I will.

  Part II – Nurture the Seed

  Chapter 17

  “Look, I just want to know if you’ve seen her.” Martin turned his palms upward to indicate that he didn’t want any trouble. “That’s it.”

  The shirtless man leaned out from behind the heavy bag and turned to the twenty-something woman in the pink sports bra and matching shorts who was hopping on the spot.

  “Take a break, Janelle. Grab a drink and meet me back here in ten.”

  “Sure,” the woman replied. She stopped jumping, brushed a piece of sweaty blond hair from her face, and began to walk away.

  They waited for the woman to recede out of earshot. When she had made her way to the front of the gym to grab her water bottle from a bag whose color—surprise!—matched her sports bra, the smile on Kevin’s face faded.

  Martin cleared his throat and stared at the much younger man. Even though he himself was a bit of a lunch-hour gym rat, he looked like a couch potato compared to Kevin. Shit, the man’s muscles had muscles. Even beyond his physique, however, the man was intimidating. It wasn’t just his reputation, his history as a boxer, the scars that were nearly completely buried in his eyebrows, or the cuts on his lips that the man’s beard only did a half-decent job of covering up; it was all of these things, all of them together.

  But Martin wasn’t here to fight.

  “I just want to know if you’ve seen her, is all.”

  Kevin fully stepped out from behind the heavy bag, and for the first time Martin noticed that the man’s hands were knotted into fists. Big fists.

  Martin responded by raising his palms higher.

  “Look, I don’t care about anything but finding her. That’s it, I promise.”

  Kevin’s eyebrows lowered on his shiny forehead.