“I’m a lawyer.” Chris buffed his nails on his shirt. “We can afford it.”
“Mommy? How come butterflies are so much prettier than seagulls?” Denise asked, watching the birds fly overhead.
Chris interrupted from behind. “Because butterflies pollinate the pretty flowers and seagulls just eat fish…and…other stuff.” He said cautiously, sensing his wife’s glare.
Denise smiled at Chris. “Can I have a butterfly?”
“You mean…for a pet?” Chris asked. “We’ll see.” He closed one eye and put his index finger on his nose. “Maybe Daddy will get ya a special one that can live in yer bedroom.”
Denise beamed. “A purple one.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Sherry’s reverie was broken by a car honking behind her. She’d come to a full stop but didn’t signal, like she was indecisive about her next move. The frustrated driver rolled past and then she turned into the abandoned strip of road ahead.
The orange and black-checkered road closure sign was slightly bent and hanging off to the side from the bad storm the previous year. Sherry parked next to the sign and froze, recounting a conversation.
“In this small town, we’re worth more dead than alive, Sherry,” Chris mused.
“Don’t talk like that, honey. You made vows to me and I to you. We’re not allowed to leave each other.” Her finger was pointing at him the way her mother used to point at her when she’d misbehaved as a child.
“Seriously. Why do you have to have such a big insurance policy, anyway? Yer only twenty five.”
“I’m a lawyer, sweetie.” His tone changed. “I see people left with nothin’ every day. I won’t see my family suffer like that.”
“So why don’t we enjoy some of the money we have now? Why do we have to scrimp and save like this all the time? We have more money in our savings than my parents had their entire lives.”
“If we want a big family, we need to plan,” he said simply. “This house is small and we’ll be trippin’ over each other after two or three.” He cleared his throat. “The housin’ market here is slim and if we need a bigger house, it’s goin’ to cost us a lot. We need to save for it now.”
“Alright. But we’re redecoratin’ Denise’s room this week. You promised,” she warned.
“That’s right, Daddy, you promised,” Denise said, entering the room, carrying a stuffed purple butterfly.
Chris lifted her into his lap. “And let me guess how you’d like it decorated...” He looked down at her plush toy. “With butterflies?”
Denise’s face lit up. “Can I?”
“I don’t see why not.”
Sherry pulled up beside the ditch and cut the engine. She looked into the sky and was welcomed with twilight. The clouds were deep purple and the sun was trying to peek at her from behind the horizon, glaring into her deep blue eyes. Trees were waving slowly with the light spring breeze and she swore she heard a voice flowing by her ear, whispering to her.
Looking at the desolate area she got a chill down her spine. Every time she visited, it refreshed her memory of one of the most horrific moments in her life. Masochistically, she kept coming back.
“Take Denise and go get help,” Chris insisted. “I don’t want her to see me like this.”
“But I can’t leave you,” she sobbed. “You’re bleedin’.”
The gash above his left temple was slowly trickling blood down his face, leaving a line that looked like a valley on a road map.
“Sherry, we’re not far from the Baker’s farm. Go, take Denise and run for help. Ned and Kate will know what to do.”
Sherry looked back at her daughter, sobbing so hard she had hiccups. The driver’s side door frame was wedged up against Chris’s skull, preventing him from moving.
He winced. “I need you to go now, Sherry. I need help; I’m slippin’ away.”
Quickly, Sherry lifted herself up, cursing her husband for taking a detour. As she opened the door, it creaked. The tree that had fallen on the car still dangled from its roots. Sherry opened the passenger side door and scooped her shaken daughter from the vehicle.
“I love you. I’ll be right back,” she told Chris and began running, as fast as she could, towards Baker’s farm.
Looking up at the gravel path she could almost see her harried footprints from that day. Her feet barely touched the ground she ran so fast, holding Denise in her arms, scarcely aware of how heavy she was.
When they returned in Ned Baker’s pickup truck, Sherry instructed Denise to stay in the vehicle. Chris’s head lay on the side of the door, leaning lazily, as though he was rested at a stop light. Something was different; his eyes were open but unfocused. Sherry let out a loud shriek.
To her horror, Denise walked over to the side of the car and climbed under the tree trunk. She stood, staring at her father’s lifeless body, seemingly unaware that he was dead. The young woman watched her daughter hold out her hand while a purple butterfly landed on her finger, perching with its wings intermittently swaying in and out. She called out to Denise but the child was silent…she had remained silent ever since.
Sherry ran her hand along the sign and glanced over at the sawed-off tree trunk, the only thing that changed since the accident. The town decided to close that road indefinitely, it had always been a dangerous detour that Ned and Kate tried to get closed for years, knowing some day it would be the cause of someone’s demise.
Chris was buried in the town cemetery, but she could never bring herself to visit. Her mother-in-law turned it into some floufy-coufy miniature garden, where she always had a candle lit and a picture of him as a boy enshrined in the background. It gave her the creeps. This little sanctuary was hers. She didn’t change it except for the wreath she placed at the face of the tree trunk.
Her wedding band, still hugging her finger after all, was a constant reminder. It made her feel married; she liked that. Their wedding picture never left her purse since his death nearly two years ago.
Tires were crackling down the gravel road as Sherry lifted her head, drying her tears. Ned Baker smiled apologetically as he approached. He spoke gently.
“Sorry love, Sarah’s been worried about ya. Personally, I think she’s just hungry and I know you ain’t got the best food supply over there.” He watched Sherry smile thinly and added “Come on, hop in. I’ll get your car home to ya later, love.”
Chapter 4
Lina Groves walked into Peach Tree Clothing. Her fingers were painted cherry red and her dress was at least one size too small, hugging her chubby frame. The beehive hairdo atop her head was bleached platinum, creating too much contrast to her crimson lips.
Strutting by Sherry, Lina gave her an evaluating once-over, enough to make an ugly person’s skin crawl. “Greg been by here today?”
“Not that I’ve seen.”
Greg, Lina’s husband, had a crush on Sherry since before Lina came into the picture. It seemed men who Lina favored over the years were also into Sherry, something Lina had never been able to deal with despite Sherry’s nonchalance.
“He said he’d stop by and pick up this dress I like.”
Sherry continued pricing summer dresses, her sticker machine clicking as she spoke. “Did ya put it on hold?”
“No need,” Lina waved casually. “He knows my size.”
“Did ya wanna pick it out yerself?”
Lina rolled her eyes, clucking her tongue like a chicken. “Now, if I went around buyin’ everythin’ I wanted to all the time, just how would my husband buy me anything?”
“It was just a thought, save him a trip.”
“Huh! Like you don’t want to see him,” she muttered, perusing the pajama rack, pushing garments around viciously on the metal bar.
“What’s that, hon?” Leon, Sherry’s co-worker, appeared from the back room. “Who don’t you wanna see?”
Lina eyed a flannel nightie, ignoring Leon’s question. “Do you have this in a…err…nine?”
Studyin
g the nightie, Leon raised a speculative brow at Lina. “I’m sure we do.” He gestured her over to the fitting rooms, mouthing to Sherry behind his hand. “Grab me a ten and a twelve.”
Leon was in his thirties and better dressed than anyone Sherry had ever known, male or female. His light blond hair was always slicked back tightly in a short bob that ended at the nape of his neck. One piece from his cowlick always found its way out by day’s end, and by then he would twirl it around his index finger while conversing.
“God, we need a Jenny Craig in this plaza,” Leon huffed, selecting a different pair of pajamas for Lina.
Sherry pursed her lips, trying not to burst out laughing when Lina emerged from the change room. She looked displeased.
“Damn Barbie doll sizes! My boobs don’t fit in the cups! Oh, just forget about the damn things!” She stormed out of Peach Tree Clothing.
Leon watched her stomp down the plaza walkway from the front door. “Well if your boobs didn’t fall down to your ass, we wouldn’t have a problem, now would we?” He watched her plod into the pizza place on the corner. “Yeah, like that’s what you need right now.”
“Cut it out,” Sherry rebuked. “Her husband likes her fat.”
“Honey, I don’t understand straight people,” he said matter-of-factly, with his hands firmly on his hips. “I like my men lean and firm.”
His consternation was cut short by the sound of sirens. Sherry dropped her pricing machine and joined Leon at the door. “How many is it?”
“I don’t know. It sounds like at least one, anyway.”
“Where’s it headed?”
They stood silent, gauging where the fire was. “I see the lights just over there,” Leon pointed.
Sherry surveyed the mall, traffic seemed at a stand still. People normally milling around had stopped to listen. Wade Thomas, the barber next door, appeared.
“I heard there’s a fire over by the school.”
Sherry’s heart thumped in her chest. “Which school?”
“I believe the one that little Denise goes to if I’m not mistaken,” Wade said, his Southern drawl keeping his tone calm.
“Go,” Leon ordered to Sherry. “I’ll watch the store.”
“Thanks.” Sherry grabbed her purse and keys from behind the counter, racing to her car parked out front.
Her heart pounded harder as the engine roared. She missed a light and impatiently waited for it to turn green before speeding straight down the street where her daughter’s school was. A fluffy grey cloud of billowing smoke led the way to the parking lot of the school.
There was a consistent din of chatter when Sherry arrived. Martha, Luke’s mom, made eye contact and walked toward Sherry in the busy parking lot.
“It’s just a fire in the garbage container.” She pointed at the large steel bin encompassing the last quarter of the playground.
The bin was aflame, the blaze so strong it almost reached the side of the building ten feet behind. Two fire trucks encircled the area, one dousing the fire, the other on standby. The truck putting out the fire had a fireman hoisted up the ladder, aiming cold water into the metal receptacle.
“Alan thinks it was set off with an accelerant,” Martha explained with obvious concern. “It caught too fast for it to be from a cigarette butt or the like.”
Alan, the Fire Marshall, was a well known and respected man in town. He and his wife supported every charity and fundraiser coordinated by Reverend Telly, the church’s pastor.
“Jesus,” Sherry exhaled, running her fingers through her hair. “Are they gonna evacuate?”
“Not as far as I know. The kids are safer inside now that they’ve got it under control. Alan says to stick around though, just in case.”
Once the fire was out, the second fire truck pulled away with half the firemen, while the other men cleaned up the area. Alan stopped midway to the pumper to discuss something with his men, before coming over to talk to Martha and Sherry.
“I think we’ve got it out. Should be fine now.”
“Did anyone see who set it off?” Martha asked.
“Naw. Some kids skippin’ class is my guess,” Alan surmised. “We’ll have a talk over at the high school and see if there’s anyone might’ve been missin’ from period five history or somethin’.”
Alan tipped his head gallantly before leaving. Martha returned to her car, as Sherry stood by her Eldorado, watching the firemen clean up. A plume of smoke still billowed from the trash can, leaving a revolting stench in the surrounding air. It took all her courage not to march into the school and bring her daughter home.
The whole scene reminded Sherry of something. She tried not to think about it but the young widow was cursed with a powerful memory. When it came to her she had a shiver up her spine and quickly slid into her car, as though avoiding a chill. Despite the summer heat, Sherry was compelled to close the windows as she drove back to Peach Tree Clothing.
…
Sherry sat on the porch with Denise, icing cupcakes for the church bake sale as Ned Baker walked by. He leaned his elbow on the wooden banister at the bottom step.
“I hear you’re fixin’ to make some sweets for me, hmm?” he addressed Denise. The kindergartner held one of her cupcakes up high, its pink icing readying to dribble down the side. “Ah, did you need someone to sample one for ya? ‘Cause ya know, I’d be willin’ to make the sacrifice.” His left hand was over his heart.
She handed him the cake and he squished it in his mouth, giving her a thumbs up, chewing with exaggerated intensity while Denise giggled.
“Reverend Telly’ll sure love these!” he said when his mouth was empty. Denise took a napkin from the pile beside her as he bent down so she could wipe the side of his mouth, where his long grey beard caught a few morsels. “Thanks, love. Can I trouble ya for a glass of water?”
Sherry gave her a little pat on the behind as she scurried into the house.
Ned rested a boot on the bottom step. “They’re holdin’ the town meetin’ on Thursday. Ya think you can make it? They’ll be discussin’ Golt’s Road and the new hospital among other things.”
“Sure. I can get Sarah to sit with Denise for me. She hates going to those things anyhow.”
“You can bring the little dumplin’ too, dear. She’s no mind,” he said as Denise appeared with a tall glass of water and ice. “Thanks, doll,” he winked. Denise walked down the stairs, heading for the backyard, to play on her swings. Ned lowered his voice, slipping his head around to make sure Denise was out of earshot. “She’s okay? From the fire at the school I mean?”
“Oh yeah, I don’t think they saw anything. Her class was in the library on the other side at the time.”
“Oh good, good.”
Sherry continued icing the cupcakes as Ned waved to a few people walking by.
“She talkin’ much at all yet?”
“No. Just the same.”
“She’s not had any more of them bad spells, has she?”
“No, she’s due soon, though,” Sherry warned. “Dr. Malcolm teaches her relaxation techniques and aversion therapy. But nothin’ is guaranteed.”
Ned shook his head, his face was pained. “She sure likes ‘em butterflies, I tell ya.” Ned grabbed a blade of grass from the uneven patch of lawn at his feet, placing it between his teeth. “Little darlin’ had a whole conversation with ‘em last time I heard her,” he spoke dreamily, while looking up at the sky. “She talks like an angel, you know.”
Sherry hesitated. “I know. Before Chris died, she talked up a storm. She had a little...peanut voice.”
“I only wish you’d a heard her.” Ned’s words were apologetic. “Maybe if you got her a stuffed one, ya know? Ya think she’d talk to one?”
Sherry tried to hide her disappointment. “No, we tried that, remember? It only works with real ones. The therapist seems to think she’s sufferin’ from post-traumatic stress disorder.”
Ned stood up straight, discarding the blade of grass. “Ya don’t say.”
Sherry set the last cupcake down and sat up taller. “It’s called transference. She believes Chris and butterflies are connected. She’ll only feel safe talking to them until she sees that there’s no real relationship between the dead and an insect. It’s a coping mechanism.”
“One hell of a therapist you’ve got her, I’d say.” Ned cocked his head to the side, impressed. “But does he ever say how long it’ll be until she can talk again? Has she lost the skill for it by now?”
“No. Children learn almost their entire vocabulary by age five, and as you’ve heard yourself, she can speak well. It’s the fear to.”
“Will she be able to read and write?”
“She can write just fine and readin’, well, she understands the words and the story in a book, she just doesn’t verbalize anything.”
“And how do you know all that? Don’t ya ever wonder?” Ned’s face was scrunched with concern.
“Her instructors are trained to teach special needs kids way worse than Denise.”
“Well thank the good Lord for that.” Ned drew in a deep breath, “I best be going. I promised Kate I’d clean the pig pen before supper.” He poked his head in the yard to wave goodbye to Denise. Sherry watched the old farmer’s face fall when he tried to tell her he’d see her later but she didn’t respond. Part of her heart crumbled every time that happened.
Chapter 5
Sherry was packing up the last of Denise’s lunch when she heard a knock at the front door. “It’s open!”
“You been bakin’?” Sarah’s nose was high in the air as she snaked her head inside the door.
“Last night.” Sherry chuckled. “Cupcakes for the bake sale. You goin’?”
“Do cows go moo?” Sarah joked, opening the refrigerator. “Got any milk? I’m out.”
“Carton. In the back.” Sarah poured a cup of milk, standing by the door.
“I’m not keepin’ ya am I?”
Sherry glanced at her watch. “I’ve got a half hour.”
She Only Speaks to Butterflies Page 2