But instead, she strained to listen. "John?"
"Thank you, Momma, for calling me John," he said, before hanging up.
***
Piper tucked her shirt into her corduroy pants. "Do you think she gave us the gun to make it look like you did it?"
She heard him turn the shower off and ask for a towel. She stepped back into the bathroom. "Hand me that, please," he said. She handed him the towel and he dried himself off before stepping out.
"It's kind of weird her planting the gun like that, and that creepy note." Piper sat on the bed and pulled on a sock. "What would a gun have to do with a strangling?" She felt herself wince at the word but continued tying her shoe. It was the first time she'd said the word since finding out what happened to Fellow.
George entered the room and removed his towel. He sat close to her on the bed.
"You haven't heard a word I said." She stood up, but George pulled her in and she let him.
He kissed her on the nose. "I need you. It's been too long. I know it hasn't been long since Fellow...but this will be good for us." He kissed her again. She shivered when his lips moved to her neck, back up to her eyes, down to her cleavage.
"George, please," she said, squirming from his grasp. "We have stuff to do."
George didn't hear. He pulled her in again, his warm breath against her cheek. His hand kneaded a breast through her top and she tried pulling back. Taking her hand, he guided it down his stomach. She stroked once then dropped her hand to her side. He took it again and placed it on his erection.
"I don't feel like it." Piper turned to leave, but halted and faced him again. "Some other time."
"There may not be another time," he said. She sighed and watched him stoop to gather his boxers, her still face masking her emotions. There was no way she could be intimate with him now, and maybe not ever again.
She knew things had changed with her husband, and she knew she couldn't survive it. How could any couple survive this kind of tragedy? She looked around the bedroom and down at the bed sheets, the ones they had since they were first married. At one time they were special to her. Love sheets were what they called them. Now they were like anything else in the bedroom, cold and meaningless. She rubbed her hands over her face as if to block the hopelessness she now understood as a permanent part of her life.
Maybe she still loved George, deep inside. But not right now. She could only think of Fellow. And when the obsessive images appeared in her head, as they often did, she would cringe and they would sicken her. She would sit and stare, her body frozen, while the image of Fellow's strangled, purple neck attacked her brain, or when her mind would spiral downward and the image would shift to a shadowed figure tightening the cord around the soft neck of her son. She would focus hard, wide-eyed, at her son's mouth rounded in a silent scream, his eyes begging for mercy.
All she wanted now was Fellow back. And to be left alone.
***
Minerva's eyes lit up when she walked in the store. Wal-Mart was huge, the colors bright, and the different shapes called to her. The smell of popping corn caused her mouth to water. She would have to splurge today and get a new purse. Or maybe go to her favorite restaurant and treat herself to tamales and queso. She piled her purse in the cart and headed toward the snack bar. Today she would indulge in both.
Minerva plunged three fingers into the popcorn and lifted a buttery gob to her lips. She smacked in delight, lips shining, and stopped to look at peacock feathers on a display rack. Wiping her fingers on a tissue in her purse, she flipped through the feathers. She fingered the last one and took another bite of popcorn before moving on. Minerva never knew where to stop in a room of so many pretty things: hand carved table lamps, oriental rugs, candles with names like Cookies and Cream and Midnight Forest, sewing kits, and assorted knick knacks for walls or tables. Minerva smiled and looked around before she stopped to dig a kernel from between her teeth.
She never felt so free.
Minerva turned a globe right-side up and watched it snow. The tiny figures inside seemed to come alive, the mom and dad with arms around each other, the kids' arms extended, about to throw snowballs. She thought of Fellow and how he loved playing in the snow. Minerva shook it again and watched the flurries. She turned it upside-down and wound it, looking at the label to see the name of the song that played. It was "Fur Elise" - a song that filled her with love and sadness since Fellow wasn't here.
The tiny chimes pinged as she watched the snow falling on the family again and again. She thought of Walter. She ought to thank him, but damn it, he should not go around talking about her like that. For a moment the globe's spell was broken and she looked up and down the aisle. A woman passed her, smiled and nodded. Minerva smiled back too late for the woman to see. She brought her attention back to the globe. Now the snow had settled, the music ceased, and the family stood there looking stiff and expressionless. She placed it back on the shelf.
Walter. Memories of that night, the night she wore the chemise, swamped her brain. How he couldn't make love, or didn't want to. Everything would turn out all right, he had told her, in spite of all the grief she felt. She thought of them collapsing in laughter again, how it made her feel at ease. They were all survivors. She was a survivor. Minerva Day felt relieved, perhaps for the first time in a very, very long time. Perhaps she could even forgive Walter for talking about her to the sheriff.
But the feeling didn't last long. Minerva slumped in her seat in the parking lot, shopping bags near her, watching a mother with her small daughter emerge from an SUV. The mother, a Latino woman with a braided ponytail, lifted the girl, who also had a braided ponytail, out of her seat. The child giggled when her mother kissed the top of her head and swung her to the ground. The girl turned and wrapped her arms around her mother, her arms barely reaching around her thighs. Taking her hand, the woman looked both ways and stepped off, both of them smiling into the dim sun.
She thought of Piper, the delicate, pink girl she had given birth to, and the difficult, stubborn woman she became. Minerva had fallen in love with her babies the minute they were born. Piper had pushed her way out first, her tiny fists clenched, battling the air in stilted movements. But John, two minutes younger, had slipped quietly from her, as if he already knew his place in the world.
Minerva didn't know what happened. Children change as they get older, she had told a neighbor in a rare visit, years ago when the kids were already teenagers. They turn crazy, their minds leave their bodies; they become heartless. The neighbor half nodded and yawned, looking down the street to see if her husband was coming home yet.
Minerva had blathered on. "Piper is so hateful, you know, she never speaks to me like I'm human. Is Susan that way? I tell you, things aren't so bad with Peter. You know how boys are easier to raise. But that Piper, if she could get a gun, I'd swear she would use it on me."
She saw the neighbor shoot a glance at her. "Guess I better check the eggs," she said to Minerva. "Jerry will be home soon and he'll want to eat." Minerva's voice had trailed off as she brought up the weather, but the neighbor had turned and walked away.
But Minerva did love her babies. She would dress Piper in shades of pink and John in blues, and prop them up like dolls for pictures and snap them, right before they cried, with the One Step camera Henry had bought. Or she would show up at school after a slight from a teacher or another student and prove in front of the whole class that she was a caring mother, as she'd say. She would barge in and give that teacher or student a real talking to. "Don't mess with my kids," she would tell the offender. One time after one of her visits, the cops were called and she was escorted out. In Minerva's mind, this was true love, telling Piper and John that she was the mother bear and they were her cubs. Never mind the downcast eyes and red cheeks of one of her twins, Minerva knew how to handle people who tried hurting them.
She just didn't understand how they didn't see it that way. Minerva wondered how her children, especially Piper, could be so unapp
reciative.
Chapter Sixteen
Piper had the day to herself. John would be back later this afternoon and George was at work until tonight, making up lost hours from the previous weeks. She brought out her pocket calendar and pencil, opened it, and crossed out today's date. January was almost halfway over, and there was still no word on Fellow's murderer. She closed the book and sat it on the counter beside her purse. She had read someplace that if killers weren't found within a certain time frame, more than likely they'd go free.
She opened the green binder she kept at the bottom of her dresser. It was something Piper wrote in during her first year with George. She wanted to chronicle every important waking moment with her new husband, and she did, writing down every outing, special moment, or major decision made in her marriage. This lasted until they began talking about adoption. Piper knew they would never conceive, but the pain of wanting a baby lingered, made her feel inadequate, even if the physical problem was George's. She had written less and less, finding less enjoyable things to write about.
Piper stared at the next blank page. She removed the pen from the side pocket, propped her elbows on the kitchen table, and, chewing on the end of the pen, sat still, absorbed in thought. After a while, she began writing.
.
Dear Mother,
I hope you are doing good in spite of all you've been through from me. Truth is, I'm scared. I'm scared of many things.
How have I been able to stir such hate in you for as far back as I can remember? What was it about me that caused you to give up on me? I'll never know. It's too late to be a good daughter to you, I guess.
You were a good mother, at times. But I was a lonely child. I tried pleasing you, and maybe at times I did. That kept me going, when you'd smile at me and tell me I did a good job.
What happened with Daddy? I'll never understand how I got to the point of blaming you for such a horrendous thing. But I can't help it. To see him in so much pain, watching him, how could you do nothing? I never saw you cry, not once!
I tried to put my suspicions away. It was too hard to admit to myself, much less talk about to anyone. But every time I looked at you, I was reminded. Maybe that's where I went wrong. Blaming you all these years when I had no proof. You know the truth, don't you? You know why Daddy was so unhappy with you. And you were so angry with him.
Since we've lost Fellow I've thought of all this again and again. I never thought I could love a child so much, and what wrenches my soul is wondering if you ever felt the same way about me, or John, or anyone for that matter. Fellow didn't have to be my own blood for me to love him, like you said. Seems blood doesn't matter much, anyway.
I know you have your problems. I know you've had pain ever since your childhood. I know you may not be to blame for all you've said or done. But Mother, you are guilty just the same! You are guilty of hiding your weakness, guilty of blaming others for your sad condition.
I hate you for that sometimes. You've robbed me of a relationship with you. Something I've wanted all my life.
But I love you, too. I love you because I've seen the good in you, the good you inspire in others when you want to.
I'm not judging you, Mother. I know this is what you would say. I have to get a hold on what's happened in our family. I need to know why we have turned against each other.
.
Piper dropped the pen. She reached for the dish towel on the table and buried her face in it. Her shoulders rose and sank with each breath, eyes squeezed tight.
***
Walter pulled the key from the lock and tried the door. It was nine p.m., an hour after closing. He stepped back to check the Sav-A-Lot sign, which was still on. He put the key in his pocket and walked to his car. Walter almost missed the small paper taped to his window. He opened the door and used the interior light to read. It's Minerva. You can come over if you want. He placed the note on the seat beside him, started the car, and thought about what he would do. Happy to hear from her, he didn't think anything about why he shouldn't see her. It felt good to have attention from a woman after all these years.
Half an hour later, he knocked on her door.
"Come in," her voice called from inside.
He opened the screen door, then turned the knob on the entry door. She was sitting in the recliner, Lew on her lap.
"Thank you for the note." She was wearing a white pair of capri pants and a flowery peasant top, maybe something new, he thought. Her hair was teased up top, her lips a shiny plum color.
"You look nice. I like your hair. And I'm glad I heard from you. Didn't know if I'd ever see you again." Walter took a step closer to her, but hesitated. He didn't want to move too close, too soon. It would hurt him to be rejected again. He turned and sat on the couch.
"February is coming up and Valentine's Day is almost here," Minerva said.
She lifted something from beside the chair. "I made you an apron." It was red with purple knitted birds all over it. Boy, she's a whiz at giving gifts. "I sewed black strings on it, so you'd still feel manly wearing it," she said, laughing.
The statement made him self-conscious and he felt his cheeks warm.
He laughed with her, delighted to see her smiling again, and took the gift. "But Valentine's Day is still a few weeks out. I don't have anything for you."
"Oh, I don't care. It's your favorite color, too." She winked at him but he thought it looked like she was trying to bat something out of her eye instead. "Who woulda thought you'd like purple." A girlish giggle escaped her and her dark eyes twinkled, which caused him to smile.
Walter stood and bent to his knees in front of the chair. "Thank you for this lovely gift. I'll treasure it forever." He hung the tied ends around his neck. "How do I look?"
"About as good as can be expected," she said while she mussed his hair.
Walter knew he had never been good at asking anything of women. He preferred, without actually being conscious of it, to accept women the way they were. Perhaps that's why he didn't think to question her behavior, or to ask her why she kicked him out the other day, just like that. He was certain he was moving slow enough with her to be able to think about what he was doing before getting into any kind of relationship that he would regret, and he wouldn't let her kicking him out become a red flag. Maybe she needed time to herself, and he wanted to provide that for her if she needed it. This feeling overrode anything else he could have thought about the situation.
"I need your help," she said.
"Okay."
"But I need to thank you first. My own family wouldn't get me out of jail."
He studied her face while she looked down at their hands then peered up at him. He wasn't sure why he thought she was beautiful. "I'll do anything to help."
"You're the only one who cares. Well, besides Gloria."
Walter raised her hand to his lips. "I don't believe that's true. Your family does care about you." He kissed her hand again and rubbed the back of her hand across his cheek. "You're so welcome. I had no other choice but to help you."
"Walter, I need a favor from you, if you can."
He watched Lew bound across the kitchen floor, her little nails clicking in rhythm. He turned back to Minerva. "Sure. What can I do?"
"I need you to watch Lew for me, in case I'm arrested again." She said this without looking at him, her face grim. "If anything happened to her...well, I'd appreciate it."
"Oh, honey, that's not going to happen again. Let's plan for the best." He placed a large hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "But, of course, I'd watch Lew for you, anytime you need me to."
***
Minerva watched out the open door for John. Since he had called from Piper's house saying he would like to see her, she stood at the door, waiting for him. She waved when he drove up. She wanted this day to go well.
"I made this for you—and it's sugar free," she said, handing him a huge cookie heart. The green frosting oozed down the sides and tiny chocolate chips poked through its surface.
She heard her son smack his lips in an exaggerated attempt to please her. She clapped once and pointed to the center of it. "Look, read what it says." She then busied herself with the cellophane on a pack of cookies.
I LUV YOU PETER was written in loopy, icing letters, but PETER had been crossed out by a thick string of icing and replaced by JOHN underneath it. She glanced over her shoulder and saw him looking back at her, watching her arrange butter cookies on a tray. She quickly looked back at what he was doing. She noticed he wasn't saying anything.
She wore her blue housedress, with orange butterflies on it, all zigzagging happily in odd directions. She thought he had seen her wear this one before, perhaps even gotten it for her as a gift years ago. Today she wore leather sandals that crossed at the toe, her favorite pair. She smoothed her hair while she counted the cookies, her lips moving in silence. She could feel his eyes resting on the tortoise shell clip she had pinned to her hair. She peeked over her shoulder again.
"We'll have these butter cookies so you won't have to chop up your special one. There's very little sugar in them. I made them, too." She turned around, winked at him, and raised the tray. "Never mind the package they came in." She selected two plump cookies, placed them on a napkin, and lifted the tray with her other hand. "There's milk in the fridge if you'd like some." Her shoes made squishing sounds while she walked to the living room.
Minerva sat the tray on the coffee table and backed into a seat on the couch. "You've got to try these, they're delish."
John chose one and she watched him chew, a slow smile forming on his lips while he ate. "These are really good," he said. Finishing two cookies before he spoke again, he swallowed and cleared his throat. "I know you're in some trouble, Mother, and I want to help."
Minerva poised a cookie mid-air then lowered her hand to her lap. The words came stiff from her mouth. "You coulda bailed me out." She batted her eyes and looked around for Lew. "That would have been a big help. Everyone is against me, John. You all made it clear."
Minerva Day Page 18