Minerva Day

by Christie Keele

  Her son fidgeted in his seat, his eyes suddenly drooping at the corners. "I'm here to help you now in any way. You won't be alone through this."

  "I'm no murderer." Minerva's finger poked the couch and Lew scrambled to her lap.

  "The courts will be appointing you a lawyer, all fees paid by the state. Let him help you. Tell him the truth. Tell everything you know, okay?"

  Warmth rushed to her nose, and, for a second, she wondered why—of all places to feel anger—or humiliation—it happened in her nose. She almost wanted to laugh but she wanted more to make it clear to her son that he shouldn't be talking to her that way, like she was guilty. "Oh, I will," she said. "I'll tell him every damn thing."

  "And whatever you do, don't say anything that can be thrown back in your face. Do you understand that? Those lawyers will eat you alive."

  John popped his last cookie in his mouth and gulped water from a bottle he had brought with him. Lew reappeared from the bedroom and Minerva scooped the dog into her lap.

  "I get it." She twirled her finger around the dog's tail. "Thank you," she said, her features softening. "All this is ridiculous and difficult and shouldn't be happening to me. There's too much happening right now to be accusing little old me," she held her palm up and shook her head, "of something I obviously didn't do. I don't deserve all this."

  Minerva sat in silence for several moments, watching John. He looked as if there was something left to say, something he would like to include, but it didn't come. She read his expression, though, and his eyes conveyed everything he might have said. She knew her only son loved her and she loved him. Some things were better left unsaid, she reasoned. She remembered his name on the cookie and smiled.

  A knock on the door startled them both. Minerva sat up and Lew jumped from her lap. John sprang to his feet and opened the door. She stood up, moved past him, and saw Deputy Schmidt standing there, saying good evening, a stack of papers in his hands. She stole a glance back at her son, shouldered her way past him, grabbed the papers, and shut the door before Schmidt could say anything.

  A few minutes later, the bail papers lay balanced on Minerva's lap, her knees together to prevent them from falling. John held a pencil in one hand and a document in the other. She listened while he read its contents aloud and made several marks on it.

  "Okay, Mom, I've circled the things you can't forget to do. Keep it with you. The other papers need to be stored in your file box." She let him open the folder on her lap and place the paper on top. "Do not lose these."

  Minerva nodded and ran a hand over the folder. She could feel her legs trembling through it and remembered how they had shook when the guard had slammed the cell door behind her. She had never felt so helpless. A brief thought of Henry swamped her mind and she wished to God he was here with her. "I'm scared," she said to John.

  "I know, Momma."

  An unspoken understanding seemed to form between them, his sympathy easing her sense of vulnerability. She didn't think about this new feeling too long. She was afraid it would disappear from her grasp.

  "You'll get through this," he said, glancing at his watch. "I have to be back at Piper's to help George break down Fellow's bed. I'm not looking forward to it."

  Minerva's teeth grinded together and she looked to the floor. Of course, you always have to go. Always something more important you have to do.

  She looked up and her eyes widened when he patted his jacket pocket. "Oh, I almost forgot," he pulled out the small box. "This is for you." He handed it to her and she sat down in Henry's recliner.

  Minerva's eyes lit up. She loved gifts. They reminded her of Henry and their earliest days. For the first two weeks of their marriage, there had been a gift on her pillow every night at bedtime. She peeled back the silver wrapping. The box was so little she had to be careful. She turned the box this way and that, searching for any leftover paper. Finding none, she sat the box on her knee and lifted the top. Inside was another box, a velvet one. She liked the way it felt on her fingers, like a baby's cheek. She opened the lid.

  She gasped. "Oh my, what beautiful earrings!" She brought the box closer and studied them for a moment, then frowned. Hadn't she seen these before?

  "Those were given to you when me and Piper were born, remember?" John sat down beside her. "Look," he took the pair, "one has Audrey on it, and the other has John, see?"

  Minerva remembered now. Yes, a gift from Henry at the hospital. She had been exhausted from labor. The earrings were silver strands with tiny diamonds, and on the back of each one, the names of her babies. Henry had smiled broadly while she tried them on, turning her head from side to side in the small mirror he held for her. It had been years since she had seen them.

  "How did you get these?"

  He put her arm around her and she leaned in.

  "You got mad at us one night and threw them out the back door. It took me and Piper hours to find them the next day." He laughed. "Our knees were green for days after that."

  Minerva laughed and wiped the corner of her eye at the same time. "I'm sorry. Sometimes we all overreact a little, I guess." She draped an arm across his back. "Don't forget your cookie, John, and don't eat it all at once." She winked both eyes at him.

  He stood, picking up the cookie. "I love you," he said, his eyes steady on hers. He reached for the door but stopped. "I have a question for you."

  He opened his mouth to speak but she interrupted. "You weren't adopted. That was awful of me to say." He nodded as if he knew the answer already. She added, "I love you, too," then shooed him off with a wave of her hand. "Now go have a good night."

  She watched her son carefully step down the icy steps and head toward the car. He turned and pretended to stumble over a small hole of mud in the driveway, his arms flailing. She chuckled and waved goodbye again.

  By the time she heard John close the car door, start the motor, and drive away, she was sitting in Henry's chair, Lew back in her lap. She oftentimes said things she didn't mean. But until she'd seen the question in his eyes, she had forgotten she had told him he was adopted.

  She stared at the earrings and remembered the day she had tossed them out the door. She couldn't think of what the kids did that made her so angry. But she was sure they deserved her wrath. She remembered all the times they had done her wrong. Yes, sometimes they did deserve being told they were adopted.

  Her fingers tightened around the earrings and her fingernails dug into her palm.

  ***

  "Good, maybe they'll nail her." Piper said, flipping a sheet out and folding it in one half, then another. She stood near the couch, a pile of sheets and towels covering it.

  "That's pretty cold, Piper." She looked and saw George peering at her over the local newspaper, The Indian River Sentinal. She pursed her lips and ignored what he said.

  She tossed another sheet on the pile and grabbed a towel, inhaling the fresh scent before folding it. "She deserves it after all she's put us through."

  "She's got her problems, and so do you." She heard him say. She spun around. His eyes were downcast and his tongue poked the inside of his cheek.

  Piper quit folding, the towel falling from her hands. She didn't bother to pick it up. "Wait a minute, what are you saying?" She felt her mouth twist and her eyes narrow. "Hell, I bet you think I'm a drug addict, don't you? Is that what you mean?"

  George crumpled the paper to his lap. She met his eyes when he looked up at her. "Are you? You seem to get pissed off a lot here lately. Oh, and what about our marriage?" She heard his voice crack and boom as if weeks of resentment had been stored in him. "You don't give a shit about it. I know you miss Fellow and I do, too. But I'm still here and need more from you than what I've been getting."

  "God damn, all you think about is sex! I just got out of the hospital, and now you're attacking me." She snatched the towel from the floor. "You've got some nerve. What about Fellow? All I ever see in my mind is images of—"

  Her husband exhaled and a low growl rumbled fro
m his throat. "Don't lecture me about Fellow! His being gone hurts me just as much as it does you, but we've got to keep going, Piper. This isn't about sex, either. I've supported you all the way, through losing Fellow, your pills, your mother—"

  Piper's hands clenched into fists and her nails poked into her palms. "You leave her out of this!" She screamed so loud she didn't hear the rapping on the door.

  She turned reflexively to a shadow cast from the open screen and saw the mailman had dropped the mail on the porch, peering in with a curious look on his face. She didn't move to get the mail when she saw him pick it up and put it in the mailbox on the door.

  "We need to lower our voices," George said. "We don't need the cops here." He inhaled again as if to calm himself. "Of course I want to be intimate. I want my wife back. I know we're grieving, but we still need each other."

  Piper sat on the couch and sighed. "We lost our son, George, things aren't the same."

  George bobbed his head, a faraway look in his eyes. Piper stared at him. It wasn't clear if he heard her. "This is eating us alive," he said.

  "I don't know if I'll ever feel the same. It's just not the same without him," Piper said.

  She shivered when she felt the room grow quiet and colder, and she imagined the last remnants of the sun disappearing behind dark clouds. Her husband didn't speak for several minutes, until she saw him reach to flip on a lamp.

  "Do you care about fixing our marriage?" he asked.

  "I don't know anymore." George looked stunned. "I don't know what I'm going to do."

  "Well, I do," he said, springing to his feet. She watched the chair flop and spin and come to rest facing the opposite direction. "I'll leave you alone until you can figure it all out. How's that?" Before exiting, he turned and added, "I swear you're more like your mother every day."

  ***

  Minerva tore the ticket stub in half and placed one half of it in her coat pocket and the other half through the slit in the ticket box. Usually the skinny high school boy took tickets but today he wasn't there. She got in line behind two other people and read, once again, the menu overhead. The cost of popcorn and a Coke compared to a single ticket annoyed her, but it was worth it.

  She took one cautious step at a time through the darkened theater. She crawled along, hoping not to trip and almost fall again like she did that one time several months ago.

  Minerva had to go to the movies, the only place she could really get her mind off things. She plunged into a seat in the front row so people with big hats or big heads sitting in front of her wouldn't disturb her. She loved the feeling of being alone. Sitting up front gave her an advantage, like looking up the nostrils of all the pretty actors, watching their giant lips talk and kiss and die. Today she would watch Brad Pitt play an old man turning back into a baby, or something like that. She saw the previews once, but didn't get what the movie was about.

  Minerva stuck her Coke in the big hole on the armchair, took off her gray sweater and laid it across her knees, which usually froze during the movie, and unfolded a napkin on her lap. She sat the popcorn on the napkin, tasted one kernel while settling her bottom, patted her hair, and looked around. People sat a couple of rows behind her, which usually bothered her. But for some reason, their presence comforted her. She hoped they wouldn't laugh too loudly or crunch their popcorn too much. There was nothing like the annoying sound of munching popcorn during a quiet scene.

  Minerva's mind wondered. By the time the previews had quit flashing on the screen, she found it impossible to focus. The movie started. Brad Pitt was born a little old man, but her mind played images over the screen...images that caused her to stare, unblinking, trying to figure out their purpose. The shapes didn't make sense. They appeared like spots on the wall after staring at a bright light. She squeezed her eyes shut and a pretty blond woman's face appeared then disappeared, folding into itself, replaced by shifting colors...violet, yellow, black....

  The movie's dialogue was interspersed with words Minerva had once said, or wished she'd said, to this loved one, or that loved one. The words melted together. She couldn't distinguish one scene from another and didn't know how long she'd been sitting there.

  She coughed, lifting the napkin from her lap to quiet her outburst. She checked to see how much popcorn she had left. The bag was empty. She lifted the Coke cup, but only crushed ice remained. She shook the cup and it slushed around inside. She tried to focus on the movie. Brad Pitt now looked like a baby. It confused her. She knew she'd have to think about it when the movie was over, to see if she could make sense of it. At the same time, she saw another grown baby in her mind. Not sure who yet, she waited for the image to appear again, right in the middle of a love scene between Brad and Charlize—she tried conjuring the last name—Charlize somebody. She had missed the actress' name during the opening credits.

  The baby was Henry, or was it Piper, or both? Sometimes Brad's blond locks morphed into Piper's and vice versa. All she knew was that it was strange, yes, weird, seeing family member's faces on the movie screen.

  Minerva felt she had lost hold of her link to reality. She lost complete track of the movie, overcome by a hell mode. Why weren't the pills working?

  Another movie played in her mind. Even the music changed. Strange notes drummed in her ears. Brad's face morphed into Piper's, Henry's, John's, then back to Piper's. The faces merged, then separated. John's smile turned into Piper's frown, and Henry...what was Henry doing? Minerva strained her eyes. What was Henry doing? She glanced around, making sure she wasn't alone, trying from some distant place to center herself in the movie theater, among the crowd. She heard the audience laugh but didn't know why. She still saw Henry's face, pale and wrinkled. He was holding something, but before she could see what it was, the screen blurred.

  Fellow's face took Henry's place on the screen. Minerva froze and her fingers clutched the popcorn box. Her eyes stared wide and she realized the hurt look on his face, the corner of his rosy lips turned downward. Minerva blinked and looked again. Her mind's eye panned from Fellow's face to see all of him. Then she understood. He was sitting on Henry's lap. Henry had been holding Fellow on his lap before the screen blurred. His arms were wrapped around the boy, comforting him.

  Comforting him? Why? Henry's dead! She looked up again and strained to see. Her eyes roamed the image on the screen and settled on Fellow's arms. He was clutching Henry while staring back at her. He tried not to look at her at all. He would look at her, then back at Henry, his face buried in Henry's neck and his arms clenching him tighter and tighter. His legs moved like he was running, like he was trying to disappear into Henry. He is terrified.

  Her eyes darted to Henry's face. He, too, clutched the arms of the boy on his lap, holding on as if...he was trying to shield him, to protect him. From what? Henry was staring down at her, mouth opened in a large circle, his lips trembled. Was he was trying to say something? His eyes bulged from his head, looking as if they would pop from their sockets.

  Minerva stifled a scream. This particular image bothered her the most. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the image to disappear. Her heart thundered in her ears. What did all this mean? Minerva took a deep breath to calm herself. She refused to look back at the screen until her brain cleared. As she stared at the back of the empty seat in front of her, her fingers pinched the corners of the popcorn box on her lap and there was a fine line of sweat on her upper lip. She wiped it off with her sleeve.

  It can't be. It didn't happen. I won't believe it! She looked down to her lap at her long fingernails. A portion of the popcorn box was torn in her hands. Could I have done it? Could I have...? She seemed to fold down into her seat, as if not wanting to be seen. She focused on the back of the seat again. Did I lose my mind and...hurt my husband...and my grandson?

  Minerva breathed deep and wiped her forehead with her napkin. Sitting up in her seat, she smoothed her bangs on her forehead, and, lifting her chin, let the cool air circulating through the theater dry her face.


  Minerva sat the empty box beside the seat. She brushed crumbs off her lap and slurped the melted ice in her cup. This steadied her somewhat, until she looked back at the screen. Piper was looking down at her now. Minerva's lips parted and she nervously glanced around again. Her eyes returned to her daughter. She must have been about six years old. Her mouth opened wide, laughing at her, two front teeth missing, causing her gums to look rubbery and huge. Minerva stared into her mouth as if were a cave, the peals of laughter growing in intensity. She blinked hard and opened her eyes, Piper was still laughing at her.

  Something was wrong. Maybe this was more than just a hell mode. Maybe she had done something to Henry and Fellow. After all, there were times she couldn't remember her actions. She blinked hard again and again, until her eyes ached. She jiggled her finger in her ear, trying to erase the sound of the laughter. But each time she opened her eyes, there was Piper, staring down at her.

  She gathered her purse from the seat beside her, snatched up the empty popcorn box and Coke cup, yanked the sweater around her shoulders, and used the light cast by the flashing images on the screen to help her find her way out.

  Minerva squinted from the sun peeking through the clouds after she walked out the door. On her way to the car she noticed the skinny boy who usually took her tickets staring at her. "Hi," he said. She ignored him. Stay calm, the car is right there. Fumbling the key in the lock, she tried twice and the door opened. Get in and sit. She shut the door and pulled her sunglasses from the visor. She hoped that since she wore them, no one would see her.

  Gripping the steering wheel, Minerva stared over the top of it, breathing steady. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi, she counted, just as the doctor told her. The images disappeared. She wiped her face on her arm and sat back, glancing in the rearview mirror. Sweat drenched her forehead and ran down her face. She wiped again. Someone walked by the front of the car and peered in. Minerva waved them away. They continued on, glancing back.