Minerva Day

by Christie Keele

  "I'm glad your mother and I ate dinner together. But something wasn't right after a while," Walter said.

  "What do you mean?" Piper felt her eyebrows rise and she remained poised for the answer. She told herself she wouldn't be surprised at what he said.

  "Just an impression I got," Walter said. Piper watched him scan the room. His once handsome face held a set of dentures that lit when he grinned. His accent was smooth and indefinable. "I don't know, hard to explain."

  At first, Piper didn't respond. "What did she say? Did she do something?"

  "No, didn't say or do anything wrong. We ate and started to talk about our spouses."

  "Oh, really." Piper's eyes widened. "And what did she say about Daddy?"

  "That's just it, Mrs. Johnson. She wouldn't say a word about him."

  Piper cupped her hands over her mouth, eyes cast to the table. "There was talk after his death," she said. The words slipped out before she could stop them, and she told herself that was all she would say, this being an inappropriate time to spill her guts on the subject. She hadn't spoken more than a few hellos to Walter over the course of a couple months.

  "Oh?"

  Piper hadn't talked about her father's death to anyone except George, who knew how she felt. John didn't know, not anymore. Piper saw the concerned look on Walter's face and decided to tell the details of his death. There was something else showing on his face—kindness maybe—that lowered Piper's reserve and she couldn't help responding to it.

  She told of how Henry got sick. How whatever he ate seemed to sicken him. She told him of how the whole family would eat the same thing for breakfast, for lunch, for dinner, for months, and how Henry alone would get sick. He would recover, always, until the last time, when the kids were grown and out of the house. She told him of how Minerva would not get sick. Piper talked of how the doctors said it was food poisoning, talked of cleaning cutting boards and counter tops with bleach. She talked of a day here, a couple days there, spent in the hospital, where he would recover, and how a few weeks later he'd be sick again. The doctors mentioned a gut infection, a bad immune system, stress. Piper told him how both Minerva and Henry would remain mute about it, to the point of hostility, when pushed for answers. She said we kids learned to live with a sick father for months, all the way until the last two weeks of his life, when the illness ate away at him until nothing was left.

  Piper stared at Walter's frozen face while she talked, the immensity of her words locking her eyes to his.

  "I don't want to scare you about Mother, and I'm not accusing her of anything." Piper lied on the last part. "No one suspected her."

  Walter's face relaxed. "Did you?"

  "Uh, no, not really."

  "Then why would you...?"

  "Speak of this? I will tell you, Mr. Athens." She rubbed her forehead then looked at Walter. "I don't know why I told you all this. You seem so very nice, I guess. I don't want any trouble. I guess—it's just that—if anyone can get to know her now, it could be you."

  Piper studied his face while he looked around. "What could I learn?" he asked, frowning. "I don't know your mother that well."

  "Oh, I'm not saying spy on her or anything like that." Piper shook her head and a long strand of hair fell over her shoulder. She tucked it behind her ear and finished the last sip of coffee. "No, of course not. I'm saying, maybe you can get to know her, and just be her friend."

  ***

  Minerva's Christmas list wrinkled in her hand. Not in the mood to shop, she lingered in the aisle looking at tools for George. His handyman work proved useful so she plucked a rubber- handled hammer from the shelf and placed it in the cart. She threw in a pack of small screwdrivers and moved on.

  A lingering headache made Minerva's eyes ache, and her lower back told her she'd be worse off before long. Wal-Mart's loud overhead speakers didn't help, either. She stuffed a trifle of hair under her head kerchief, wrapped her thick sweater closer to her, and pushed the rattling cart to the toy aisle. Looking for a toy for Fellow might ease her mood. A couple of weeks had passed since she put the Social Services papers aside. Fellow needed a proper welcome, now that the adoption had been finalized. She would find something special for him, maybe bake him a cake. Minerva thought he deserved two gifts, so she chose a Mr. Potato Head with extra parts and a little set of Golden Look-Look Books.

  She saved Piper for last. Minerva tapped her foot. What to get someone who doesn't appreciate the gifts her mother buys for her. She imagined Piper opening them with her nose in the air. She would think about what she'd get Piper at a later time.

  Minerva pretended Henry was still alive and wondered what she'd get him. She flipped through a music rack and read the back cover of a Loretta Lynn CD. He had thought Loretta Lynn was so pretty. He said her eyes crinkled when she smiled, just like Piper's. Minerva told him to be realistic. Loretta wouldn't like him, not until he made more money. Henry would laugh and say yes, she would, since he was way better looking than Doolittle. Minerva would laugh back and say, of course, but both of you do little. Henry would roll his eyes and laugh along. Minerva smiled and put the CD back in its place. She thought it rare—the times they had laughed together—and the thought left a heavy feeling in her stomach.

  If only things hadn't turned so bad.

  Minerva lugged a turkey out of the cart and it thudded heavy on the counter. It had been a week since she switched to Food Barn, and she hadn't heard from Walter. She liked Walter and had enjoyed talking with someone, but she noticed things about him while they ate, the feminine way he held his fork, and those two little burps between bites. But she did need to go to Sav-A-Lot after all, since her favorite brand of cheese wasn't at Food Barn.

  She spotted Walter at the counter. Busy waiting on customers, he didn't see her. Women stood in line batting their eyes at him, wishing he'd give them a sign. How utterly ridiculous, she thought. She circled two aisles before she found herself in the same line, the bag of cheese tight in her hand.

  "Hello there, how are you doing?" Walter asked. Minerva watched his face while he bagged the cheese. He wasn't frowning, but he wasn't smiling, either. She could tell he hated her now.

  "I'm doing all right," she said. "And you?" He talked to her like all the other customers. Except for that last one—the redhead that wore those short skirts. Minerva grabbed the bag a little too hard when he handed it to her. "Thank you," she said, and was careful not to stumble through the door. She scurried too fast into the parking lot and someone's horn blared at her. Minerva jumped and continued on.

  Minerva slammed the pickup door and flipped the air conditioner on. While the thermometer outside the store read forty-three degrees, she was too warm. She wiped the perspiration from her upper lip. Minerva hated the side effects of being off her pills as much as she hated the effects of being on them. The doctor said she should always stay on them to help stabilize her moods. Minerva thought back to Henry's death. The doctor had insisted she stay on them then. But the stress of caring for Henry and the side effects of the pills had overwhelmed her so she had thrown them out. Minerva shivered now. She flipped off the air conditioning and wrapped the sweater tighter around her. She'd feel better with a cup of hot cocoa when she got home.

  Chapter Five

  On Sunday Fellow came home after staying two days with Minerva. She had agreed to keep him while Piper and George went to visit friends in Albuquerque. Piper stood at the door of his room, watching George help him unpack his Batman overnight bag. "Underwear goes there," he told Fellow. "Socks go here."

  Fellow sniffed a sock the way his father did, giggling. "No, wait," Fellow said, wrinkling his nose. "This goes in the dirty clothes."

  "Make a free throw!" His father said, over-handing a sock where it landed in the hamper. Fellow followed suit and clapped his hands when he made the shot. "Let's take a bath, buddy, then we got some corn dogs to munch on. How's that?"

  "Yay!"

  "You go on in the bathroom and I'll grab a towel. We'll get
you all cleaned up and smelling good for Momma."

  Fellow's happiness and George's loving voice made Piper smile. She went to the kitchen and brought an ice cream cake for George from the freezer and placed it on the table. She told George the corn dogs were bought especially for Fellow and tonight he'd be allowed dessert. She uncovered the corn dog dish and placed it near the cake. Piper was proud that George gave up his usual steak-on-a-budget night for corn dogs. George had said he was happy to because he loved the boy, and he got a cake out of the deal.

  Piper smiled when her husband entered the room and pulled her close. He kissed the top of her breasts where a button had come undone and then buttoned it for her. "I had so much fun with you over the last two days. I wouldn't know what to do without you."

  She ruffled his hair. "You couldn't do anything without me. Now go finish bathing our son before he makes a river of the bathroom. We'll eat when you guys are finished." She kissed his cheek before he stood and patted him on the rear while he walked away.

  She busied herself with the utensils, rising to her toes to reach the box and the paper plates on an upper shelf. Piper was glad no dishes would need washing tonight. George was bathing Fellow and Piper heard them laughing.

  "God damn it!" George said so loud Piper dropped the plates. It wasn't like George to cuss in front of Fellow. She ran to the bathroom and saw Fellow's raised arm in George's hand. "God damn her."

  "George, please...what is it?" She stepped around George. Fellow sat quiet in the warm water, eyes fast on his father. George raised the little arm higher and pointed at the soft part underneath. He stroked two fingers across a deep bruise. Fellow winced and pulled back.

  Piper's hand clamped to her mouth. "Oh, my God."

  "Sorry, baby," George said, and rubbed Fellow's shoulder.

  She dropped to her knees. "Fellow—"

  "I'm going over there then I'm going to the police station."

  Piper lifted Fellow from the tub and quickly pulled the drain plug. "Here," she said, draping an oversized towel around him. "Keep this around you. I'll be right back."

  Piper ran and caught her husband's arm. "You're going to the police station? Wait, George...wait...let's talk to Fellow. Let's ask him what happened."

  George yanked his arm from her. "We don't have to ask, Piper, we know."

  "No George, we don't." She grabbed for his arm again, but he was too quick.

  George's jaw muscle flexed then slackened. "There's nothing else that could have made a bruise that big in that spot. She pinched or squeezed him. I'm going to get her to tell me what happened."

  "Don't go, George, come back here," Piper said. He kept walking. "You're too mad to go over there."

  Piper flinched when he slammed the truck door. "Don't do anything stupid." Piper glanced to see if anyone in the neighborhood heard. She returned to Fellow, towel draping from his hands, wiping his stomach. "Come here," she said. "Let's get your jammies on then we'll get you a corn dog."

  Fellow raised his arm. "I'm bruised."

  "I know, baby. Does it hurt?"

  Fellow shook his head. "Nope." He grabbed his favorite book, Hop on Pop, from the sink and tucked it under his arm, the worn cover folding more under the pressure.

  "Brave boy, my Fellow," she said, taking care to pull the blue pajama top over his head. They sat side by side on his bed. Piper hesitated then held a warm palm on the bruise. "What happened here?" She moved her hand and examined it closer. "Did you hurt yourself?"

  Fellow responded to the warm tone and his bottom lip stuck out. "Owey, it hurt me."

  "What happened?" She observed the bruise was a few inches long, one inch wide. She placed her hand over it again, thinking George would be at her mother's soon, worried about what he might say. And what her mother might do.

  Fellow fiddled with the book in his lap, opening and closing the front cover.

  Piper took the book and placed it beside him. "Fellow, tell me what happened."

  He turned his face to the book and pretended to look at the cover. One hand had curled around the edge of a Buzz Lightyear blanket stretched across his bed. "Grandma pinched me."

  She tried not to react but stared at the book with him.

  "I'm cold," Fellow said. "I wanna lay down."

  "Do you want to eat?" Piper asked. "You need to eat something."

  Fellow shook his head. "I'm not hungry. I just want to be warm."

  "Here," she said. She reached for the blanket while he stretched out on the bed. Piper pulled the last corner from under the oak headboard and wrapped it around him. She was careful not to make Fellow wince. He helped her tuck himself in then leaned against her.

  Piper placed her hand on top of the silky curls and rested her cheek against his. He tugged a hand from inside the blanket and found hers. She squeezed it and drew him closer.

  Piper kissed Fellow's forehead. "If you get hungry in a minute, come tell me, okay?" She tucked the covers around him. "Good night." A ragged black bear, one eye missing, snuggled with him.

  "Good night, Momma. I love you." He rolled to his side and pulled the bear closer.

  "I love you, too, honey." She turned off the switch and left the bedroom door open a few inches. The light filtering from the living room helped Fellow sleep. Piper fought the urge to call her mother.

  ***

  When George returned that night he took a seat beside Piper on the leather sectional. The huge couch was a splurge gift from George for her thirty-fifth birthday and they had both laughed when they saw how it dwarfed the living room. He squinted at the late-night edition of the news.

  "Lew didn't bite Fellow," Piper said. "I can't believe she blamed that little dog. Did she show no care at all for Fellow being hurt? What all did she say?"

  "Not much, she just repeated she didn't do anything," George said, lowering the volume on the TV. "She just stared at me in that way of hers, like she could shoot me for asking or something. But better yet, I can't believe what the goddamn cop said at the police station. Why should we stand a chance of losing Fellow just because we turned Minerva in? I can't believe the system says if we turn these things in to the cops, they may take the boy from the parents, too."

  Piper shifted in her seat and stretched her leg in front of her. "It's just procedure; we would get him back if they took him. It would only be for the investigation."

  George grunted. "That's bullshit, even so. The kid needs to be with the parents while they're investigating. What did Fellow say happened?"

  She twirled a finger around a fringe on a pillow then hugged it to her chest. "I couldn't get him to tell me." Piper saw the incredulous look on her husband's face. "Not really, anyway."

  George looped an arm around his wife. "He told you something, I know he did. What did he say, Piper?"

  She took a deep breath and exhaled, lips pursed tight. No matter what Piper had said about her mother it was hard talking like this. "He said Mother pinched him."

  ***

  Minerva stewed. She didn't appreciate George coming over tonight and starting something. She wouldn't stand for his accusing her of hurting Fellow. He might not have outright accused her, but it sure seemed like he did. She dialed the police department but after two rings hung up. George better be glad he left when he did or she really would have told the police.

  She calmed her nerves by leashing Lew and walking her, although it wasn't something she did this time of night. She clomped down the street, sometimes walking faster than Lew's little legs could go, straining the dog's neck and making her yelp. Lew's paws made a little splashing noise when Minerva pulled her through a wet puddle. Minerva darted a hello to a neighbor smoking on his porch and just barely caught the curious glance while she passed by. Gloria Smith, the neighbor across the street, asked how was she doing after she climbed from her car and headed inside. Minerva walked six blocks before returning home. Only when she stepped inside and saw her coat on the table did she realize she was freezing and how she still wore a housedress
in the forty degree weather. She lifted Lew and inspected the shivering dog's paws, then went for a dish towel to dry them.

  ***

  The morning after George's visit, Minerva gathered her hair into a pig tail, changed into red sweat pants and a hooded sweatshirt, and grabbed her keys. She pulled out of the driveway, frost on the back windshield obscuring her view, and narrowly missed an oncoming bicycle.

  "Hey, watch it, old lady!" Minerva jumped and looked around. A young boy swerved off the sidewalk and the tires thunked to the street and slid after it landed. The boy stuck his foot out to catch his fall.

  Minerva's head popped out the window. Her mouth opened to tell him off, but seeing the startled look on his face, said, "Sorry. I—didn't mean to." Sometimes when she chose, she could exercise control.

  A short time later, she pulled into the Johnson's driveway. Minerva stomped across the frosted sidewalk, oblivious to any ice on it. She turned and noticed the same knotted, ice crusted branches on a few small trees in their front yard, only these didn't seem to be begging for relief like the ones in her yard. In this yard, the winter freeze hadn't dimmed their beauty. She plodded up the steps with her eyes on the door and gave a heavy knock as soon as she reached it.

  "I have to tell you the truth, George." Minerva peered through a slit in the door and rapped her knuckles on it again. "I have the right." Gone was the conviction she would never set foot in their house again with George there. Minerva wanted in.

  "You have no right, Minerva, so just go home," George said on the other side. "We don't have anything to say to you."