Minerva Day

by Christie Keele

  While she dialed the phone for Social Services, it dawned on her that she had dreamed an old cult movie, with the kids' faces in place of the actors'. She chuckled, thinking how clever it was to dream a real movie and insert the faces of the people she knew.

  "Mr. Pennington, I'm Piper Johnson's mother, Minerva Day, and I got a note here to call you."

  She paused, listening to the man talk before interrupting him.

  "You didn't send a note? I'm so sorry, must have been a mistake. I thought you might want to talk with me about this foster kid that my daughter is trying to adopt."

  She held the phone away from her mouth and took a breath.

  "You see, this note says that I call you as a reference for my daughter adopting Fellow, her foster child...."

  "You don't need a reference?"

  She took another breath and let the man talk again for a minute, not really listening to him. She knew what she wanted to say—didn't really matter what he said. The conversation went on—mostly one-sided.

  "Oh. Well, I see. Mr. Pennington, let me say this, as a fifty-five year old parent with enough experience to know, I feel I need to tell you they aren't fit to be parents, especially my daughter. She has problems, been fighting them all her life...."

  "...She also lost a child here a while back. She shouldn't keep Fellow and she's given me so much trouble over it. She's too bull-headed..."

  "...Well no, not a real child, but — 'scuse me?"

  "...Yes, I understand, but something weird went on there. That little dog, poor thing, that little helpless Pea.. I got to get a Kleenex Mr. Pennington, please hang on."

  Minerva grunted while she counted to five and stretched her legs on the bed. She was getting nowhere. The Kleenex sat under the nightstand, untouched.

  "Okay, I'm all right now. Yes, I know they've had the boy for a while now with no problems...that you know of...."

  "What? They told you I would say this about them? She said we have a bad relationship...really? That's bullshit! I don't have problems, she does!"

  Minerva's brain rocketed, the cord twisted in her fingers, and one heel dug against the rumpled quilt. Piper had once again defended herself before Minerva could speak the truth.

  She slammed the receiver on the cradle. She hated not being taken seriously. How in the hell could she help Fellow if no one would listen to her?

  Minerva's intentions were good, but she admitted, sometimes she lacked a filter on her own behavior. Some said she was crazy. She heard as much. Some said women going through menopause would not do the things Minerva did. Minerva would never comment, except in her fifty-five years of living, she continued to do the right thing.

  Her intentions were good.

  She slipped into her fuzzy slippers and thudded down the hall. While she passed Lew, she bent and yanked the Chihuahua to her bosom. A hand like a brick stroked the top of the dog's head. She could never be cruel to an animal. She raised the dog eye level and looked into her eyes, swiped a finger across a crusty eye, then brought the sharp little nose to her lips and kissed it. Lew licked her chin and Minerva let her.

  "I loves you," she said. And she did. Lew was a gift from Henry after two of their weeny dogs had run off. Minerva had been devastated. Lying on the couch for two days, she rose from her funk when Henry showed up after work with the "baby," as Minerva called her right away, and since then, the dog had never left her side.

  Her mind spiraled into what she would do next. She must stop her daughter and George from keeping the kid. She planted her icy brown eyes again on the face of the dog, her mind reeling with ideas. The little thing turned its head and sneezed.

  The phone call to Pennington hadn't worked, so maybe talking directly to her daughter would help. It had been two years since Minerva stepped inside Piper's house and she said there was no reason to keep going back to the way Piper and George treated her. While her kids would say, behind Minerva's back, they kept returning to their mother because they thought she would change—and maybe, if they kept going back, Minerva would bestow on them the love she sometimes showed, however infrequent. But maybe the adoption was reason enough for Minerva to visit Piper's house. Minerva wrapped herself in Henry's old wool coat and drove the few miles to her daughter's house.

  Minerva's Chevy pickup idled in her daughter's driveway, hot air blasting through the vents. She turned the heater down a notch and yanked the collar on her coat. While she waited for Piper, she observed the surroundings. The two newly planted trees in the front yard stood erect but leafless, the sharp arms of each pointing upward in all directions, as if begging God to remove the deadening ice on their branches.

  She watched Piper come out of the house, her boots crunching on the ice. After they married, George had surprised Piper with a down payment on it. Minerva complained they couldn't afford it on a construction worker's budget, but George proved her wrong. They had moved in and set about turning the modest, two-bedroom house into a home. Piper stood shivering by the driver's side of the pickup. In haste she had forgotten to pull on a jacket and when she spoke, a haze of breath circled from her lips. "Momma, you aren't going to stop us from adopting Fellow. We'll be signing the papers in early December and it will all be legal." Piper's voice rose. "Please listen to me. We are good people. We've had Fellow for a couple years now. He loves us and we love him. This whole adoption has been such a long process for us." Piper held out her palm, the light pellets of snow had turned to rain. "It's raining, at least let's go inside."

  "No, I'm not going in," Minerva said. "I got a call today from Mr. Pennington. You need to know what he said." Her hands strangled the wheel as she spoke, eyes on the drenched hair and face of her daughter. When Piper's nervous eyes met hers, Minerva popped her head straight ahead, observing the contours of the small gray-brick house, the painted black shutters setting it off. George had preened the rose beds across the front, but now only twigs remained until spring.

  Piper rubbed her thin arms, her pale skin reddening with the cold. "I've got to go in, I'm freezing." Shoulders slumped, she turned away. Minerva watched Piper scamper to the house and trip on one of the bricks leading up to the front door. Minerva, enraged at the rebuff, clucked to herself and honked the horn a few times. Backing out of the driveway, she passed George coming in. She dipped her head and cast her eyes up to be able to see into his truck. She used to encourage Piper to make him get something smaller to drive than the gas guzzler he chose, but long since gave up the argument. George was proud of his monster truck, as Minerva called it. He smiled and gave a hesitant wave. She stepped on the pedal, and looking back, shot him the middle finger.

  ***

  Pulling back in her own driveway, Minerva's eyebrows raised when she spotted a policeman on the front porch. It wasn't often cops were in the neighborhood. Well, except for that one time, and that certainly wasn't her fault.

  Minerva lived on the rowdier side of Pinewood, but the trailer park very seldom had trouble. The trailer, a sixty-foot "hunk of tin," as Minerva referred to it, was the last one in the back lot. On one end of the trailer, directly across the street, stood a row of houses. Unlike the newer homes lining the block, with pristine lawns, multicolored flowers, and little fences, Henry had worked hard to keep the place up over the years, since mobile homes deteriorated quicker than regular houses. Every year he would add a fresh coat of beige paint to the aluminum. While Henry never got around to adding a nice fence, he kept the storage shed out back in shape, since some neighbors would complain when the wood got too shabby, and he'd paint it the same egg color as the trailer.

  But now, since it was fall, the neighborhood seemed pale and asleep, the flowers no longer singing, the lawns like balding straw fields. People stayed inside for warmth and the small town was quiet and ghost-like.

  Minerva's own yard was righteously so. After Henry died, the three circling patches of flowering plants surrounding the front yard—varying types of flowers from petunias to marigolds to chrysanthemums—had become sa
d and old, ceasing to bloom gloriously, producing brownish-tinged petals with some branches remaining bare. They shrunk into themselves after Henry died. It'd been four years and Minerva wasn't one to keep them cultivated. She preferred potted plants on the porch, the hearty ones, so she wouldn't have to walk far to care for them and they wouldn't die as easily.

  "Howdy, ma'am," the officer said. The wooden planks creaked with each step. He tipped his hat toward her. "Officer Williams here."

  The upturned nose reminded Minerva of her uncle and she found him adorable. "Come on in." She climbed the steps like a prima donna, careful not to let the cool breeze ruffle her housedress enough to flash her girdle. She squinted back to see if he looked, her chestnut eyes managing a sparkle in the drizzling rain.

  "That's okay, ma'am. Got a call from..." He glanced at a notepad, "... George Johnson. He's your son-in-law?"

  She stopped short of opening the door then turned and looked coy. "George? What does he want?"

  Minerva thought she knew why he was there, but when the officer explained someone had keyed Piper's vehicle, her shy countenance disappeared. Her mind buzzed when she remembered flipping George the middle finger. That wasn't the reason the cop was here. She denied scratching the door. She wouldn't scratch anyone's car with a key. Williams looked skeptically at her, as if she kept some evil secret. But he was wrong. She was thinking he was less handsome now than before.

  "Okay, I'm no fool, Officer. I went over there to warn them about an adoption agency wanting to take their child. I was only protecting them from trouble, is all. They are really good parents and I don't want anyone harassing them. You can understand if you have kids at home yourself, I'm sure. Not wanting something bad to happen to them." Minerva's only defense was to lie, since explaining her own intentions would have required opening up, and she didn't want to open up.

  "Yes, ma'am, I can understand that, have a newborn at home." Williams scratched his cheek. "So you went there to talk about an adoption, it all got out of hand, and you gestured at Mr. Johnson, is this correct?"

  Minerva nodded. "And they said I keyed their car?"

  "No, George discovered the damage after you left and wanted us to talk with you about it. Mrs. Johnson said she didn't know who keyed the car. She didn't see anything. This is just a precautionary measure, since we have no evidence. But, I do suggest you watch your temper a little more next time you visit them."

  She descended the steps, careful not to slip on a patch of ice, and sidled closer to the man, relieved he didn't cite her for giving George the finger. "Let's forget this whole deal. I won't be going back to their house." She patted the graying top of her hair and swept her other hand over the billowing housedress. Her white legs showed a blue vein or two, which she tried covering by crossing one leg over the other.

  "Okay, I understand." He smiled and closed the notepad. "Have a great evening, Mrs. Day."

  "You too, honey. Come back sometime, and give my regards to the department." Minerva closed the screen door behind her, flipped the latch, closed the main door, locked it up top and near the bottom, and rushed to the couch. "I've never felt so accused in my life," she said aloud while smoothing the hem of her garment. She sat in the silence for several moments, hands clasped and her knuckles white, her eyes narrow slits.

  ***

  A week later, Minerva stood rocking on her heels on the wooden porch, face relaxed, while the frosty breeze ruffled her hair. Breathing in the wet smell of the ground mixed with rain uplifted her and she hugged herself. She moved to the far side of the porch, side-stepping a rotten spot in the wood, and noticed the planks had gotten mushier since rainy weather had arrived. She would have to get that fixed before someone slipped through and broke a leg. The weather could be fierce in this place.

  She liked autumn before hard weather moved in and turned the world black. Minerva much preferred the golden, crisp leaves of fall, and the cooler breezes that scattered them from the trees. She felt chilled and warmed at the same time, which in turn brought the Halloween spirit. It was mid-October and she bounced out to the shed to retrieve the spooky decorations. She pulled box after box, smiling at the contents of each: a life-size skeleton, a few stringy haired witches, a big fuzzy bat, stitched blood dripping down its chin, a pumpkin that lit up, and an old can of silly string that every year served as spider webs in the living room corner, if she could keep them in shape without them falling. If the webs did fall, she'd leave them on the floor until after Halloween.

  Minerva kept an almost immaculate trailer, even now, in the later years, when the place began deteriorating. The falling spider webs were the exception. She would scrub the dark wood- paneled walls once a month and every other day vacuum the dead green carpet.

  She nailed the black-clad witch directly over the front door. She wanted Fellow to see it when they arrived, since he didn't get to see it last year, and he was too young to appreciate it the year before. She unraveled the spiky dress and fluffed its hair as if it was a real person, thinking of Fellow while she worked. She arranged cookies for everyone around the table. George would like them. She decided to forgive him for calling the cops, since she did give him the finger after all.

  Minerva had asked Piper to stay away until after dark to get the full effect of the decorations. She imagined Fellow's eyes lighting up when she plugged in the orange jack o' lantern and snickered while she double-checked the batteries. She loved the witch and its cackling scream, its red eyes glowing crimson, triggered by the opened door. She thought of John and Piper when they were Fellow's age and how they hated that witch. Once Henry tried tossing it in the garbage, but Minerva intercepted and Henry paid dearly for that one.

  All this scrambled through her brain while Piper's car made it up the driveway to the trailer. Her haunted eyes searched Piper's face through the living room window, leery of any kind of perceived confrontation. She wouldn't have her daughter causing any trouble. "Come on in," she said loud enough for them to hear, then stepped back to get the full effect of the opened door.

  Fellow and the witch screamed at the same time and he jumped into Piper's arms. George rolled his eyes and dipped past them to the small table holding the goodies. He eyed the cookies and grabbed a white frosted ghost and popped the whole thing in his mouth. Meanwhile, Piper comforted the boy. "Oh Mom, you still have that old thing—thought you threw that out last year." She, too, headed for the table. Fellow surveyed the room. Spotting the bloody bat, he rushed to his father and clamped his arms around his leg. "See look," Piper said, grabbing the bat, "this scares him." Minerva watched to see if Piper looked at her, but she didn't. She knew her daughter was very aware of her presence. Piper bent and raised the boy eye level, his dark blue eyes still brimming. Several black curls sprouted from his thick hair and rested on his forehead.

  "These things aren't real, honey, it's Halloween," Piper continued. "See, this bat is hanging from a string." She gave it a tug and it jumped to the ceiling where it bounced and swung in front of the boy. Fellow gazed wide-eyed at his mother and managed a small grin.

  "Can I play with it?" he asked.

  "Ask Granny," George said, stuffing another ghost in his mouth. He looked around the kitchen for something else to eat. "When's it eating time?" He lifted the lid off a tall pot on the stove and breathed in deep. "Minerva, are you making your famous chili again? I can smell those hot peppers." George replaced the lid. "Damn, they're making my eyes burn!" He winked at Piper and bent to kiss her cheek. Minerva watched George flirt with her daughter and her eyes settled on him. She thought he was good looking, with his long legs and striking hazel eyes, and, at almost forty, a nice head of almond-color hair.

  "Oh George, you know it's not eating time until Mom brings out the stuff," Piper said.

  Minerva was perched on the worn sofa, at the end by the plug-in, a cord in hand. She motioned the boy over with the end of it and patted the space beside her. "You'll like this, Fellow. Come, come; sit." Fellow hopped on the couch and held onto
the arm of it so as not to topple over into her. Her face, powdered and rouged, hair teased and combed, she smiled a pink smile and said, "Ready? George, get the lights, will ya?"

  The pumpkin lit up the room and its funny face loomed huge over Fellow. Fellow whimpered, but hearing the bright cackle of his grandma and studying her face, joined her in laughter. At the same time he let go and toppled into Minerva. "Get the lights, get the lights," she said, clapping. George flipped the switch and the room brightened. She rose and said, "Let's eat."

  After eating the chili and homemade, buttery cornbread, they sat out back and talked. The only things that truly made it a back-yard was the shed, which set to the right of the trailer, near the street, and a faded plastic pool that Minerva liked keeping filled with water for neighborhood stray dogs. An unused clothesline with two tired poles rested on the other side, along with a butane tank at the left end of the trailer.

  George spoke of work and getting his truck fixed, Piper spoke of Fellow's kindergarten class, Fellow played with a yellow truck near the dirty-watered plastic pool, and Lew yapped at the boy's heels. "Come here, you idiot," Minerva said. Piper's head jerked and her shoulders clenched. Minerva snorted a laugh and said, "I'm talking to the dog, silly." Piper settled back and George rolled his eyes again.

  "Can I get you a beer, Mom?" George asked, stepping inside the back door.

  "You know Momma doesn't drink, honey," Piper said.

  "No, but I'll have some tea, if you don't mind." Minerva liked that George would be inside, alone. The papers sat right where she put them, in plain sight, by the blue cooler of beer on the counter. She braced herself for what was to come by propping her feet, crossed at the ankles, on a big concrete block in front of her. If only she smoked again, she'd light one up right now. All she wanted was a better relationship with her daughter...and she wanted to help her.