Minerva Day

by Christie Keele

  Piper slept off and on, and ignored the ringing phone.

  ***

  George tried calling at four p.m., but didn't get an answer. He tried again ten minutes later. Receiving no response from Piper, he told his boss his needed to check on her, and that he'd be right back. He arrived home, and, finding his wife asleep on the couch, gave her a gentle shake. "Piper, wake up." She mumbled and he tried to open her swollen eyes. "Piper." He said again and lightly slapped her cheeks. This time there was no response. He jumped up and yanked a blanket off the chair. Wrapping it around her, he lifted her body and kicked open the screen door, where it banged shut behind him.

  "Need some help, George?" He heard Mr. White call from across the street. He turned when the man entered his yard.

  "Help me with the door." George gulped a deep breath and slowed his movements while he placed his wife in the back seat of his truck.

  "You sit with her, I'll drive," White said.

  George barely remembered Mr. White driving them to the hospital. His mind raced with thoughts of losing his wife. Not now, God, not now. I can't do this, not after Fellow. They arrived at the hospital and he carried his wife through the automatic doors, yelling down the hall for help. The nurses secured her in a room and a doctor raced in to pump her stomach. After the procedure, she was admitted to the intensive care unit for observation. George prayed at her bedside, head in hands, vowing to God he'd do anything if his wife could live.

  ***

  Minerva smoothed the sheet over her daughter and looked at the IV bag hanging above her head. "Be sure to watch that," she said, pointing to the bag. "This hospital isn't what it should be. I refused to have the twins here cause of the rotten service." She placed her palm on her daughter's forehead. "And don't worry, I'll be gone before she wakes. Don't want her getting upset cause I'm here."

  She watched George turn and check to see if Piper still slept. "She's in good hands, I think," he said.

  Minerva ignored George's statement and looked around for her purse. "I've overstayed my welcome. Let me know if anything changes. Can you grant me that?"

  "I called you Minerva, remember? Of course I'll let you know." She followed George out the door and she turned to look at her daughter again before closing the door. "Minerva...."

  Minerva turned to face her son-in-law and stopped. "Yes?" She strained her neck to look up at him. "This isn't about the other day when you came over, is it? No need to bring that up," she said.

  She allowed him to take her by the arm and pull her aside. She stared up at him. "It's not about the other day," he said. "I have a question." He glanced down one end of the hall before asking. "Do you remember the last thing Fellow said to you?"

  Minerva paused then her hand flew to her heart. "I don't—"

  She felt George pat her arm. "Please try to remember."

  "Why's that important? It was probably something regular he said, like he needed to use the potty or something." She almost smiled, but something on George's face stopped her. "Well, let's see," she said, her forehead wrinkling in thought. "I know he asked for popcorn. He didn't finish his lunch. Oh yes, he asked for cotton candy, too."

  "Did he get it?"

  Minerva stared at George's eyes, his lips, and frowned. "What's the difference if he got it or not? No, he didn't get it." She pulled at the sides of her shirt. "He already had a bag of candy."

  She stepped back when George moved closer to her. "Was he happy?"

  Minerva sniffed. "I think he was." A woman pushed a cart by and she grabbed a washcloth, smiling her thanks at the orderly. "Here," she said, handing it to George. "Come on," she said and pointed down the hall. "Let's sit down." Minerva led them around the corner to a small lobby.

  She faced George on the cushioned bench, turning her back to a child sitting on the opposite bench watching Bugs Bunny shoot an air gun on the overhead TV. She thought a minute. She didn't know how to comfort this grieving man, didn't know what to say. But she knew she wanted to say something. Minerva pressed her palms together, pursed her lips, and then sighed.

  "I know you're in pain, George, both you and my daughter, and I'm sorry."

  George's sharp intake of breath startled Minerva and her only response was to turn and focus on the child. The heaving shoulders touched a nerve and she found her own eyes welling. "I miss my boy," George said. "I never knew pain like this." She saw the child glance at them then go back to watching cartoons. "I just wanted to know his last moments, what he did, what he said."

  Minerva patted the top of George's hand and the gesture broke him. She watched him close his eyes and hold the cloth to his mouth. She focused on the wall under the TV a short time. Her eyes then darted around the room and she placed one arm around George's shoulder. "Oh, I remember what he said now."

  Minerva caught his eye when he looked up, his long physique folded toward her. "You do?" She had never seen a grown man so distraught, except for Henry. Her late husband was the most sensitive soul she had ever met - too sensitive for his own good. But her mind didn't stay on this. It was only a fleeting image in her head—Henry's grief and the way he could express it.

  "Yep, it's clear to me now. We were there at the ticket line, waiting our turn," Minerva said. George untangled his arms and sat up. "Um, Fellow looked sad and I asked him what the matter was." She turned her head up, eyes squinting at the ceiling.

  "Why was he sad?" George asked.

  She glanced out the corner of her eye at George and saw his eyes fixed on her face. "Well, he wasn't sad all day, just at that moment, you see."

  "What did he say?"

  Minerva patted his calloused hand. "It was wonderful, George. You should have been there. It was the best thing I ever heard him say."

  Her voice was soft, almost child-like when she spoke. "Fellow told me he was sad 'cause he missed his Daddy."

  "He did?"

  "Yeah, he said...I love my Daddy." Minerva turned and looked at him. "I'm glad I could remember that for you."

  George covered his eyes with the cloth and Minerva felt him collapse beside her.

  Minerva coughed and tried looking George in the eye. "You okay?"

  Seconds passed before George answered. "I'm all right," he said.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Piper had been home for two days when she received a frantic call from her mother. Her face turned white. "I can't, Mother. Under the circumstances—"

  Piper stiffened when her husband grabbed the phone. "Minerva, Piper just got home, and she needs rest. She doesn't need...What? Oh, God." He pulled the phone from his ear. "Your mother's been arrested. She's at the county jail."

  "I know, George, we're not bailing her out. John's probably at home now. So have her call him." Piper pulled her robe around her and curled her legs on the couch.

  "What?" she heard George say into the phone. "Minerva, slow down, I can barely hear you. Now listen, we'll do what we can."

  "Hang up the god damn phone!" Piper yelled. A bloody, mangled image of Fellow's neck seized her brain and a violent force sprang from within. "Hang up the fuckin' phone!" She grabbed for the phone but George moved away. Her fists doubled and she pummeled her husband's back. He turned and pulled farther away. "Get John to help you, Momma," she said, screaming the words. "Get Dill or Walter or—"

  She blocked him, her arms and legs spread in a desperate lurch, when he stretched the phone cord and tried walking down the hall. "I don't know. Piper's not having any of it," he said above her screams. "Can you call John? Okay, okay," he said. "I'll see what I can do. Just calm yourself." He hung up the phone and turned to Piper. "What's wrong with you?"

  "We're not bailing her out, I don't care if she is my mother," Piper yelled. The gruesome image of Fellow had dissipated, but she remained frantic. She spun on her heels and started walking toward the kitchen. "And I don't give a damn whatever she may or may not have told Davis about that gun. She put it there for us to find that night, to scare us! Who would be crazy enough to do that?"
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  "That's how Minerva thinks, Piper, and planting that gun is probably why they arrested her. I'll find out." She felt him take her arm. "Sit back down, you don't need to be up." She ignored him and he followed her into the kitchen, his hand still on her arm. "Look," he said, steadying her, "you can barely walk."

  Piper filled a glass of water and took a sip. "We can't bail her out." She stood with her back to her husband.

  "Why can't we? We don't know if she's guilty, no matter what we've suspected. And Piper," he said, "what if she's innocent?"

  Piper turned around, the glass still in her hand, and shrugged, the exaggerated movement causing some water to spill. "So, what if she is?"

  She watched George step back and shake his head. "I don't believe you. You heard that woman, how distraught she was."

  "I thought you hated her, George. Why the sudden change of heart?" Piper stormed to the living room, the tie of her robe trailing the floor, her husband following behind. She plopped down on the couch and glared at him. "She's given me nothing but hell all my life, and now you're taking up for her."

  "I don't hate her, just don't like her sometimes. But this doesn't make her a murderer and you know it." She strained to hear when he lowered his voice. "Be reasonable, Piper. We may think she's guilty, and she's guilty of enough things, but we have to look at this realistically."

  "What about Daddy?" Piper grabbed the tie from the floor and bundled it in a knot on her lap.

  "Piper, you can't accuse her of murder because of what happened with your father. That's ridiculous." She watched him standing over her, moving his hands for emphasis. "How can you relate the two?"

  "How can you not? She's crazy, can't you see? She's been that way all her life." Piper's mouth drooped, her voice gravely. "She hurt Daddy and now she's hurt Fellow."

  George sat beside her and tried forcing her hands in his. She finally gave in and let him take them. "Piper, look at me." She didn't move. "Look at me." She looked sideways at him. "Minerva's hurt you." He moved his head to her line of vision and she couldn't help but look him in the eye. "She's hurt you. And you've been suffering over it this whole time."

  Piper sighed and closed her eyes. "I don't know what the truth is anymore." She looked at George and felt older than her thirty-six years. "I can't bail her out."

  She relaxed when George cupped a hand around the back of her head. "Okay. We'll see what happens. I'll give John a call."

  ***

  Minerva had never been inside a jail cell. She sat on the bench and looked at the gray walls. Just like on TV, except for the curtain hiding the toilet. Hands clasped between her knees, she rocked steadily until her lower back ached, then rose to her feet. She parted the curtain, pushed the handle, and watched the water sink down the drain. Her hands moved to her arms. It was a bit chilly and she remembered her coat still hanging on the nail at home. She gazed through the bars down the clear hall. The only sound was dripping water coming from a faucet somewhere. She strained to see a clock hanging on the wall, but the angle was off.

  She positioned herself on the cot and raised the folded jumpsuit. She was told to put this on if she was still there in twenty-for hours. "Damned ugly," she said, examining the drab color. Orange dulled her skin tone. Minerva held up her hands and examined her fingers. Somewhere in the scuffle with the sheriff she broke a nail and all that was left was the bloody edge. "Does anyone have a band aid around here?" she said to no one in particular. She didn't expect to be heard so she turned her attention to a magazine sitting on the bunk. "Deciphering the Lord's Prayer," the headline read. She flipped through the pages, stopping at a depiction of Jesus carrying the cross on his back, only it wasn't Jesus. She looked closer. The cross was a guitar carried across the stage by a long-haired hippie. "Rock Action for Jesus," the sub-title read. "Come and Be Revived." She poked at the half naked man. Jesus. She tossed the magazine aside and checked the hall again, her nose just past one of the bars. "Anybody there?" she asked.

  Once again Minerva sat and rocked. The waistband of her jeans cut into her side and she turned sideways to relieve the pain. She stuck two fingers under the band and rubbed the dent in her skin. She scanned the walls for a mirror but found none.

  The bastards had manhandled her before she got in the deputies' car, she thought, and she didn't like it. They escorted her from her home, instructing her to lock the car and trailer doors before they left. "What about my dog? She can't stay alone," Minerva had said.

  She saw the two deputies look at her as if she was insane. "Bring her," one said. "We'll hold her at the station until someone can pick her up for you."

  "Can I keep her with me?" Minerva asked.

  "Oh, no," the other said. "Jail's no place for a dog."

  "What about my purse?"

  A deputy had said she could bring it, but it would be tagged and put in a locker. She grabbed it and slung it over her shoulder. Minerva's eyes welled during the struggle to the car.

  "Calm down, lady," she heard one of them say. "Or we'll handcuff you."

  "Don't you dare," Minerva said, grimacing. "It will hurt my dog to see you do that."

  The two deputies glanced at each other and one shrugged. This didn't go unnoticed by Minerva and she cursed under her breath. "Damn cops," she said.

  Minerva now lay on her side in the jail cell and dozed. "Mrs. Day," she heard someone say, "wake up." Minerva stirred and opened her eyes. At first she forgot where she was until the voice said, "Mrs. Day, I need you to sign this paper, please." A guard unlocked the door and stepped in, handing her a clipboard and a pen.

  Minerva swung her feet to the floor. A tuft of hair was plastered at the back of her head where she had laid on it. "What's this?"

  "Your walking papers, if you'll pardon the cliché." He pointed with the pen to a line. Please sign here."

  Minerva re-checked the spelling and handed him the pen. "Who put up the money?"

  "Couldn't tell you; I don't know." He smiled at her and took the clipboard. She smiled back and fluffed the back of her hair. "Stay here a minute and I'll get your belongings." He flipped a page. "Says here you have a purse? And since it's been less than twenty-four hours, your dog should be here."

  Minerva's earrings jangled when she nodded and her hands clasped at her heart. The guard stepped out and once again she sat on the bench. It felt different knowing she didn't have to stay here. She ran a finger over the jumpsuit again. It wasn't so ugly, after all, she thought. Sometimes she did sparkle in orange. She thought of asking permission to take the garment, but decided not to. Some poor soul would get use out of it soon enough, but it wouldn't be her. She smiled and pushed the garment aside with her forefinger, rumpling the pages of the Jesus magazine.

  She met Sheriff Davis after she rounded the corner in the hall. She stopped and clutched her purse. "Get away from me. I'm free now."

  "You're not free yet, Minerva," he said in passing, tipping his hat. "Good day."

  Minerva arrived home, Lew in arms. She had promised the young receptionist a special batch of fudge for the ride. "Oh, that's okay, Mrs. Day," the girl had said. Minerva wondered how a secretary at the Sheriff's office could know her name. After all, she didn't get out much.

  Minerva put Lew down and went to the phone to call John. She wanted to thank him for bailing her out.

  "The answering machine shows two people called. I thought it might have been you." Minerva twirled the telephone cord around her finger, patting Lew with the same hand. "Thing is, nobody actually left a message."

  "I didn't call," John said. "But how are you? I've heard the news."

  Minerva squeezed the cord and one bare foot tapped the floor. "So you didn't bail me out?"

  "No, I didn't, but you're in trouble. You need to find a lawyer."

  Minerva grew quiet. Only her breathing could be heard. "Why didn't you get me out of there, Peter? I could have died in there."

  "Oh, please. You were only there a few hours. Have you thanked Walter for posting your bai
l?"

  "He didn't post my bail." Minerva's head bowed to her chest. "I don't know who did."

  John's soft laugh filled her ear. "Yes, he did. George has kept me up on everything that's going on. Even though you're not talking to him, Walter's still your friend."

  But are you still my son? Do you still love me? Minerva imagined her son on the other end, anxious to get off the phone. Her mind swept to her twin son as a baby, the little hands clutching her shirt while she carried him. He would always give her a kiss when she asked for one, the wet lips sticking briefly to her cheek. Do you love me?

  Minerva's deep sigh woke Lew and the dog rubbed her nose on a paw. "I don't know...he thinks I killed Fellow."

  "Did he say that?" John asked.

  "Do you think I killed Fellow, Peter?"

  "I think this family has lots of problems. That's what I think."

  "Please give me an answer."

  "You've done some weird things in your time. I—"

  Minerva slammed down the phone. She stood a minute, her fist shaking, until she calmed herself. She picked up the phone and redialed the number. She spoke before he could say hello. "I'm sorry." Minerva's voice shook. "I don't like my kids thinking I'm a murderer. John?" The name rang odd in her ears. She hadn't called him John in over twenty years. Not since that time he ran away from home at fifteen, only to return three days later, hungry and tired. She had told him John was dead to her and that she'd call him Peter from there on.

  The silence was palpable but she could hear him breathing on the other end. "John?"

  "Yeah?" His voice was soft and barely audible.

  Minerva sweetened her tone and tilted her head. "Do you believe I killed Fellow?"

  "No."

  Minerva exhaled and a pitiful smile formed her lips. "Good. Now let me get off here so I can call the only one who helped me."

  "Wait, Mom—?"

  Minerva tugged the receiver back to her ear. "Yes?"

  There was a brief pause and time slowed for Minerva. What would she have to say to defend herself this time? It was true...Walter was the only one who had helped her.