The Thirteen

by Susie Moloney

  “Bingo,” she whispered. It was thin enough to slip through the small hole at the top of her crucifix. Now she could wear it like a necklace.

  She started to paw through the mess to see if there was anything really interesting. A small envelope was jammed against the side of the drawer. She grabbed it and opened it up. There were photos. She flipped through them. Her grandma with the ever-weird Mrs. Riley, her grandma with the creepy nurse from the hospital, except that she wasn’t a nurse in the photos, just a chubby old lady with a death grip on her grandma’s waist. They were smiling. In the pile of photos she found one with Joanna Shaw and Marla. Why would her grandma be friends with a woman her daughter’s age? But it looked like she was.

  She rubbed her hand over her lower belly and made a face. It was still achy, though it felt more like a bathroom thing today than it had before. It felt … full.

  At the bottom of the pile of photos was a really old one. The three women in it were young. She recognized her grandmother and Mrs. Riley, but not the other one. They were holding up drinks as if they were toasting. There were other people in the background not looking at the camera. A full house. A party. Two girls, younger than Ro, were playing with Barbie dolls. The one looking up at the camera was surely her mom.

  They all looked so happy. That was how her mom had grown up, she guessed, with a crowd of laughing people and a bunch of food on the table. One of those Barbie dolls was a special edition, the kind they make once a year. Barbie as a fairy princess.

  The table was the one in the room behind her, so the photo had been taken here, at her grandmother’s house. She turned around and looked. She could not imagine happy, laughing faces in this room, not now.

  A younger Rowan had sometimes wanted a Barbie just like that, or something else special. The answer was always the same: they couldn’t afford it.

  (maybe sometimes she wanted a smiling, laughing life with lots of people around too)

  Everything was always too expensive. Or where would we put it? Like the time Rowan wanted a trampoline, a bike. Envy screeched inside her head. No fair! No fair!

  (her mom was a loser stripper who worked in a bar)

  As soon as the ugly thought materialized, Rowan felt instantly bad. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. Her mom could say the same thing

  (no fair no fair)

  because her friends here had husbands and dogs and cats and family, and they didn’t. Her mom had spent her time taking care of Rowan instead of getting those other things.

  Sometimes a girl in the higher grades at Rowan’s school got pregnant, and it was always a big fat deal. Everyone talked trash about her for awhile and then no one thought about her at all, except a little slut talk came up. Remember that girl? OMG.

  Her mom had gone to the same school, which was why Rowan was there at all. Her grandmother must have thought it was a pretty good school, because she’d paid for both of them to go there. Or maybe she just wanted them both to stay far away. Maybe now her grandmother wanted them back.

  Rowan suddenly felt like crying. She tossed the pictures into the drawer without putting them back in the envelope and shut the drawer with her foot. She sat down on the floor with a thump. Old Tex, lounging by the TV, put his head up when he heard her hit the deck and shambled to his feet and came over. He stuck his nose under her hand. ’S okay.

  She slipped the string through the crucifix loop and tied the ends together. Then she put it in her pocket, feeling a little guilty that she’d snooped, feeling as if the string would give her away.

  Her mom probably really missed those parties and friends. She buried her face in the dog’s neck fur. And her dog. Now there was Mr. Keyes. Everything her mom probably wanted was right here. The house was a nice house, she had to admit that. It was big and there was a yard. You could walk to the park without passing hoodlums and garbage. Everything looked nice.

  In Creepyville. Obviously it was only Rowan who saw it that way.

  Paula had dumped a basket of laundry on the bed and was folding. She was thinking about the unsatisfying conversation with her mother’s doctor. She’d done her bit and not visited, but now she thought she should go in. The tests would be done and maybe her mother would be feeling better. Maybe she would be ready to come back to the house; maybe she would want Paula and Rowan to stay awhile and help out. Maybe she would say, Oh, Paula, I’ve been so confused. I’m so glad you’re here. Please stay.

  Maybe pigs would fly.

  Part of her was ready to get out of the place on Saturday, as she’d said, but if she was honest, her heart ached at the thought not just of leaving Haven Woods but of returning to what, exactly? Another crappy job, another crummy apartment, probably a new school for Rowan to adapt to—

  And then Rowan walked in.

  “Mom?” She had her blazer on.

  Paula frowned. “Honey, do you really have to wear that jacket?”

  The girl obstinately put her hands in the pockets. Paula shrugged.

  Their bags were side by side on the floor. Rowan sat on the bed next to the piles of folded towels and sheets, then pointed to the bags. “Are we going home?”

  “I guess we are,” Paula said.

  “To where?”

  “Why don’t you let me worry about that, Ro.”

  “Does Grandma hate you because you had me?”

  Paula grabbed her by the shoulders so she could look right into her daughter’s eyes. “Don’t ever say such a thing. Grandma loves you. I love you.” She pulled her into her belly and held her fiercely close.

  “Would it have been better if you’d never had me?”

  “Oh, Rowan! Of course not! You’re my daughter, and my life would be awful without you. Why would you say such a thing?” Paula squeezed her as if she could transfer her feelings to her daughter.

  “If you want to live here, I will,” Rowan said, and the sincerity nearly broke Paula’s heart. She let her go and the two of them sat down on the bed.

  “I don’t think we could afford to live here unless we stayed with Grandma. And I don’t know if that’s really what she wants. She’s lived alone a long time, you know. It would be hard to have two new people in your house.”

  “But do you wish you lived here?”

  Paula laughed. “I wish I could give you a neighbourhood to live in just like this one. I wish I could give you the kind of childhood I had. We were always safe and warm and loved—” She put her hand on Rowan’s head. “You’re loved, Rowan. Very much.”

  Rowan looked away from her mother. For a minute she debated inside her head whether she should tell her what she really thought and risk hurting her feelings. She couldn’t imagine that Haven Woods had ever been a good place. Ever since Old Tex had nearly drowned them both at the river, Rowan had noticed that even the air here had a strange feel to it. Or smell. Like when Darcy Peak peed on the floor at school—Darcy had taken the short bus, the kids would say—and the janitor cleaned it up with bleach. You could still smell pee under the bleach. It was like that.

  There were too many cats and hardly any dogs. That wasn’t normal. And the hospital was empty. Even if everyone here was really healthy, where were the old people? People who had to get tests? Broken arms, sprained ankles, heart attacks?

  But she couldn’t say these things to her mother, couldn’t even put them into words that wouldn’t sound like she was complaining. She couldn’t say, this place is weird, Mom. WTF? And mostly she couldn’t hurt her mother’s feelings. Paula wanted Rowan to like Haven Woods, although it went deeper than that, she knew. And it was more confused, as if she wanted Rowan to want to like Haven Woods. It was all making her brain freeze.

  Very thoughtfully she said, “I guess this place is different now from when you were a kid.” It seemed the perfect compromise, and Rowan, had she felt better, would have felt proud of the remark.

  “What do you mean?” Paula said, ruining it.

  A wave of cramping hit Rowan and she groaned a little. She lay back on the bed
and clutched her stomach. “I don’t know.”

  “Your stomach still sore?

  She nodded.

  “I think there’s been too much change for you. I think it’s stress.” She got up just as the phone started to ring. “I’ll grab you a Tums, honey. You chew them, okay?”

  Rowan nodded and Paula went to answer the phone.

  It was Sanderson. Paula carried the phone back into the bedroom with her, grinning. She said to Rowan, “What do you want on your pizza?”

  The girl gamely got up from the bed and yelled, “Pepperoni!”

  Paula relayed this, minus the volume, and hung up. “He’s taking Gusto out for a walk and then he’s going to come and get us.”

  Mother and daughter were both happy in their own ways.

  “Been a while since we’ve had pizza, huh?”

  “I like his house,” Rowan said simply.

  When they got there, Sanderson hung Gusto’s leash on a hook by the door and kicked his sandals off. The dogs ran to the water dish and began lapping. Rowan rushed into the living room and threw herself on the sofa, calling out that she was going to watch real TV for a change. Paula and Sanderson had to laugh as they headed for the kitchen.

  “Now that you’ve had a few weeks back in Haven Woods, how do you think you’re settling in?”

  “Getting there,” he said, “and I love the house itself. Though something weird happened the other night. It sounds stupid—”

  “Then I can’t wait to hear.”

  He held up a finger. “Let me get supper started first.” He went to the stove and turned the oven dial. A huge bread maker sat on the opposite counter. He peered in.

  “Forty-five minutes to pizza dough—gotta love home cooking.”

  Paula laughed. “So what happened?”

  “I think I had peeping Tom.” He laughed. “Or a peeping tomcat, anyway. Actually, I think it was a female.”

  Paula looked at him, a question in her eyes, as he pulled a beer out of the fridge and offered it to her. She took it, he grabbed one for himself and the two of them went into the backyard. Though the chairs from the other night were still on the lawn, they stood and looked out over the fence at the roofs of the other houses.

  “A peeping cat? Really?”

  “Yeah. Last night, actually. I was already asleep when I heard Gusto going nuts at the front door. Barking as if Manson—or Chapman, if you prefer a local reference—was coming up the walk with a hatchet.”

  As if he knew he was being talked about, Gusto appeared at the kitchen door with Old Tex behind him, both dogs panting happily, water dripping from their snouts. Paula let them out.

  “So what was he barking at?”

  “I’m getting to that. First I yell at Gusto to shut up, shut up—it was 3 a.m., and I didn’t want to make enemies of my new neighbours—but he doesn’t stop, and that’s not like him. By the time I get to the door, he’s bouncing around like he wants out, like he’s got the trots or something. I look out the window and there’s a cat out there, sitting midway up the walk, flicking its tail—”

  Paula’s mind skittered to the cat she’d caught on the deck after she’d been to Sanderson’s the first time. The blood. Horrible. She shivered.

  “What did you do?”

  “I laughed. ‘Settle down, dog,’ you know. Like this is the first cat he’s seen? Still, there really are a lot of cats in this ’hood.”

  Paula nodded.

  “So I’m trying to calm Gusto down. I give him a rub, and when I look out again, there are three cats sitting there. So I open the front door and scan the yard, and that’s when I see a fourth cat, in the shadow under the tree. And they’re just staring at me. All I’ve got on is my underwear. Remember how hot it was last night?”

  “Must have been quite a pair of underwear,” she said. “What did you do?”

  He sipped his beer. “I said, ‘Shoo!’ ”

  “Did they?”

  “Not at first,” he said. His smile disappeared. “They just kept staring at me. Then the one under the tree turned and walked out of the yard. When she got to the sidewalk, the others turned to follow. I’ve never known cats to group together like that. Have you?”

  “Never. Hey, how do you know they were females?”

  He shrugged. “They sure were checking me out in my underwear.”

  Paula laughed hard enough to get beer up her nose. It hurt, which seemed somehow funnier. Sanderson laughed too.

  Rowan was lying on the sofa in Mr. Keyes’s living room, absorbed in a rerun of Friends. She was happy. Her mom came in and sat on the couch.

  “Hey, Ro, you okay in here on your own?”

  Rowan sat up. “What are you guys doing outside?”

  Paula put her hand on her daughter’s forehead. It was not warm. “Just gabbing. Do you want to come out too?”

  Rowan shook her head and gestured at the TV. “It’s the one with the monkey.”

  Paula laughed. Everything sounded funny to her right now.

  “I don’t want to go to Marla’s with you.” Rowan said.

  Behind them in the kitchen there was a brief clanging, and then the oven door opened and closed.

  “Rowan, she’s expecting us both.”

  “But I don’t feel good,” Rowan protested, not sounding sick in any way. Paula gave her a look. “I really don’t. Maybe I have to go to the bathroom.”

  Paula felt gently under her daughter’s jaw for lumps. Then she felt her forehead again.

  “Feel it with your lips,” Rowan said.

  Smiling, Paula leaned over her daughter and pressed her lips against her forehead. “Hmmm,” she said. “Do you have a headache? Should I take you back to Grandma’s?”

  Rowan shook her head. “No, but I better not go to Marla’s. They might catch something. Can’t I stay here with Mr. Keyes?”

  “You like him?”

  “Uh-huh. Don’t you?”

  Paula gave her a hug. “Okay, you can stay—he already offered.”

  Rowan threw her arms up over her head and fell back against the sofa. “Yay.” She yawned. “I think I’m really tired,” she mumbled.

  Friends went to commercial. The spot was for Joanna Shaw’s new program. Paula watched for a minute, and as she did, Rowan’s eyes closed, her face quickly slackening. Paula waited a bit, but Rowan had really fallen asleep. Just like that. Paula got up carefully and left on tiptoe.

  –

  Sanderson had tried not to eavesdrop but he had heard enough. He’s heard that Rowan liked him, and it sounded as if her mother did too. As he cut up pieces of pepperoni for the pizza, he couldn’t keep the grin off his face.

  He rolled out the dough. Pepperoni and sausage, with some veggies thrown on to make Mom happy. Just in case Paula left Rowan with him, there was a horror movie he’d picked up that morning at the grocery store. And he always had Gusto and Old Tex as backup. They loved him. He was a dog person.

  By the time Paula came into the kitchen, the pizza was rolled out, sauced up and covered with fixings. Sanderson slid it into the oven and set the timer.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah. She fell asleep.” Paula shook her head in amazement. “That never happens. I’ve worked a lot of weird hours, and she’d always wait up or wake up when I got home. I hope she’s not coming down with something.”

  “Nights and evenings, huh? Hard.”

  She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m in demand.”

  “Now that doesn’t surprise me.”

  She looked at the floor and laughed softly, a lovely sound. Sanderson had the strongest impulse to reach out and palm the top of her head, to bury his fingers in her hair and pull her to him. She looked up and saw his expression. Her cheeks went red, her mouth opened a little in surprise.

  The house was silent, the air suddenly too warm. From the oven.

  “How long for the pizza?” she said. Once the words were out of her mouth, she couldn’t remember what she’d asked. Is it raining? Have you e
ver been to Greece?

  “Long time,” he said, in the same tone. “Twenty minutes, give or take. I’m not exactly Chef Boyardee.”

  “Ha. I think he makes pasta.”

  “See?”

  “Rowan’s excited about having pizza. The food’s been pretty basic the past few days,” Paula said.

  “She’s a great kid. You did a good job, Paula. It couldn’t have been easy.”

  She shrugged modestly. “She is a great kid. A good sport too. But … she really doesn’t want to come with me tonight. I guess an evening with a bunch a women talking doesn’t appeal to her the way television does.”

  “I meant it when I said she can stay here with me and the dogs. If you’re okay with that.”

  “I wasn’t fishing.”

  “I know. But this would give us a chance to hang out. Would she be comfortable with that?”

  “Well, she likes your house. She said so.”

  “She’s welcome to stay. Just leave me Marla’s number in case she starts breaking stuff or stealing my beer.”

  Paula suddenly became aware of her hands and arms; they seemed to be dangling, impossibly weak, from her shoulders. And she couldn’t find a safe place for her eyes, so she stared at the stove.

  Then there he was, his hands on her arms, his face close to hers. As his lips touched hers, her spine became butter. She felt it melt until she was pressed against him, her breasts wanting to defect from her body, become part of his. This struck her as funny, and she smiled under his kiss.

  He pulled back and looked at her. “Is this okay?” he asked.

  She nodded, put her arms around his neck and pressed into him for a heartbeat or three. Then she let go and stepped back.

  He reached out to take her hand. “Lemme give you the rest of the ten-cent tour.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’ve seen the kitchen,” he said, and led her up the stairs.

  He pointed out the mouldings around the ceilings, the old-style pedestal sink in the bathroom, the impossibly deep-set windows at the end of the hall and in the spare bedrooms. One of those bedrooms would be his home office, he explained; inside she saw a desk and chair, the desk covered in papers and files.