by Natasha Boyd
He whooped his high-pitched laugh. “Buckruhbittle be the Gullah word fer white man’s food. I jus’ be messin’ witch ya. But she be makin’ cakes. Mazin’ cakes. Our customers be missin’ her cakes.”
“And you, Big Jake,” came Marjoe’s sandpaper voice from behind me as she bustled into the kitchen. “You gone lost forty pounds since Mrs. Williams passed.”
Jake let out another laugh and nodded his agreement then started humming as he went about his work.
I shook my head, a bemused smile on my face. This lot was an odd crew. I actually had found my grandmother’s hand-written recipe book but hadn’t even opened it. I’d never actually baked a thing in my life.
“Oh, Thomas is out there asking for you,” said Marjoe nodding to the door.
My stomach dipped.
Nodding, I spun on my heel and headed out of the fluorescent light of the kitchen and into the dim restaurant area. Tom was sitting by himself near the platform apparently used as a stage when they had live music during the busier months. Seeing him made my pulse skitter with nerves.
He was already looking at me as if he’d been waiting for me to come through the door, his leg bouncing rapidly. Wearing his worn jeans and a soft faded flannel shirt that molded to his muscled frame, he sat up when he saw me and gave a small smile. I think. His hair was wildly mussed, I assumed from the wind outside.
I immediately smiled back at him without thinking, and then felt self-conscious about it, although I didn’t know why, and dropped it. Tucking my hair behind my ear, I stopped in front of him. “Hi.”
“How’s it going?” His voice pitched low. “Marge working you to the bone?”
“Hardly,” I murmured, casting my eyes around the mostly empty interior. “You checking to make sure I’m not hanging with Tyler?” The second the words left my mouth I regretted them. Tom’s eyes shifted, and I realized how warm they’d been before.
Something uncomfortable squeezed inside me, and I folded my arms. When he didn’t say anything, simply watched me with those leonine eyes of his, I asked, “Can I get you anything?”
He shook his head slowly. “I just came to ask you the same thing, actually. I’m heading over to Savannah; I’ll be gone overnight. Will you be all right?”
He’d never asked me before, having disappeared without a word several times since my arrival. But over the last few days, small gestures—making me something to eat before I even knew I was hungry, pouring my coffee as soon as I entered the kitchen—all added up to someone who was taking care of me.
I hated the dread that immediately formed, knowing he wouldn’t be in the house when I got home. “There are some things I need. Maybe I can go with you next time?” I was due for my period in the next few days, and while I’d brought tampons with me, I needed to stock up. The general store only had pads, and I hated pads.
“You can tell me, I’ll get whatever it is.”
My cheeks heated, and if I could have seen his face properly, I’d bet I’d have seen him blushing too as he realized I probably needed personal items. Instead, I saw his throat bob, his leg continuing that endless fast-paced rhythm. Well, if he wanted to be all parenty with me, this is what he’d get, right? “Bring me the receipt so I can pay you back,” I started. “A box of tampons for medium flow, a box for heavy flow, and,” I have no idea why I did it, but somehow I wanted to rattle him further, “and a box of condoms in case I do decide to ‘date’ Tyler.”
His eyes betrayed nothing but his leg went still. Then he got up abruptly, chair scraping on the concrete in a sharp whine.
“Better safe than sorry,” I added as he towered over me. What was wrong with me?
His nostrils flared, his eyes were flinty as he leaned down to my ear. “I’ll be sure to find extra-small ones then, so they don’t fall off him. That would be embarrassingly awkward,” he growled.
My skin broke out in goose bumps, my hairs standing on end.
He turned and strode out, briefly blinding me with a slice of sunlight, and then leaving me in chilled darkness.
I stood a few moments with a heaviness in my chest, then headed back to the kitchen and finished out my shift.
When I stepped outside Mama’s later, I had to take a deep fortifying breath before beginning the journey back on foot through the heavily wooded interior of the island. The sky was clear blue above me, but it was winter in the shade and dark amongst the trees.
After walking forlornly home to the empty cottage, I ate a bag of carrots and a piece of chocolate and read the book of fairy tales, ending with The Little Mermaid.
That night when I awoke screaming it was because Abby was sitting on my chest pressing down with all her might.
IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE to fall back asleep after waking up because your dead sister was trying to suffocate you.
And then, of course, my thoughts immediately went to the way I’d acted toward Tom, trying to goad him. Trying to piss him off. The memory caused a heavy brick to form in my gut. I thought back to his topaz eyes frosting over and the pulse ticking with tension in his temple. I’d been prodding at a sleeping lion. I was lucky he’d only growled.
By the time I peeled myself out of bed the next morning, I felt wretched, tired and annoyed at myself. With no job to go to that morning and every single inch of the cottage having been inspected for hidden secrets and memories, I decided to wrap up warm and go find the stray cat I’d seen outside Mama’s when I was leaving. She was heavily pregnant, and I didn’t know where she’d find somewhere warm to give birth. She had to be ready to have kittens within days, if not sooner. I couldn’t imagine Marjoe being okay with letting her settle down in her storage room. It had to be violating all kinds of health codes. But I’d seen Big Jake leaving out a small bowl of water and some leftover shrimp, and I knew I’d have a sympathetic ear if I needed one.
It was windy again. I couldn’t wait for some warmer weather, although, if memory served, I’d be dripping with sweat and desperate for winter in just a few months. The air conditioning at the cottage consisted of a living room fan, and a window unit in each bedroom. Goodness knows if they were still operational.
At least the morning sun was trying to stream through the trees and foliage. That gave me hope spring was around the corner. When I stepped out of the trees to the waterside vista ahead of me, I had to pause and appreciate the view.
Far in the distance, over the marshes and open water, I could see the smokestack of a Savannah factory along what were probably the banks of the Savannah River. The Intracoastal Waterway was still grey and churning, the marsh grasses brown and ready for new spring growth. I wondered if the tides would wash away all the old stuff when it was time, and where it would end up.
Only Big Jake was there when I arrived at Mama’s. Marjoe had told me she was headed over to the beer distributor in Beaufort this morning. Jake was carrying three large red plastic stackable glass racks.
“Mornin’, Miz Baines.”
“Hey, Big Jake. Please, call me Liv.”
He nodded, once. “You be workins today, Miz Liv?”
I trotted forward to hold the back door to the kitchen open, and then wedged the cement block that was there for the purpose.
“Nah.” I looked around. “You seen that cat?”
“She done ready to have her babes.” He dropped his load on a stainless steel trolley cart and headed back toward me.
“I know. I was worried she didn’t have a spot, you know? And it’s been cold.”
Big Jake stepped out. “You don’ mind me sayin’, but yous look like you been up makin’ fine with the devil hisself.”
Well, I knew I looked tired, but didn’t realize it was that obvious to someone I barely knew. I thought of my sleepless night, and the fact Abby was basically haunting me. “Not the devil, but my sister,” I said truthfully, expecting Jake to pass it off that I’d been up partying.
He paused halfway toward the storage shed for his next trip and turned. “Yo’ dead sista?”
Shocked that he knew, I nodded.
“You done got you a boo hag?” he asked incredulously, shaking his head. His dark brown eyes were large; creases from years of laughter were now smoothed out and serious.
“A… what?” I asked with half a laugh.
He touched two fingers to his lips, then his chest and aimed his face to the sky through the canopy of live oaks and pines, his long lashes resting on his cheeks as he closed his eyes.
“Big Jake?”
“A boo hag,” he whispered, and then glanced around into the trees. Almost as if he was scared of uttering the word.
A chill went down my spine.
“A boo hag,” I repeated, just to make sure I got it right. “As in boo, I scared you, and hag—an ugly old witch?”
He nodded, gravely. “Yes’m. A boo hag be a spirit who don’ want ta go. They be tricky, makin’ all kinds o’ fuss.”
I smiled. “Big Jake, my sister was anything but a hag, I promise. Anyway, I know it’s all in my head. I’ve had trouble sleeping for years. This is nothing new.”
Well, I corrected in my head, seeing her was definitely new. But it was all still in my head, not that it was more comforting.
“I know. I done met yo’ sista.” He stepped up close, eyes wide. “But lemme ax ya, she be stealin’ yo’ breath?”
Surprise lodged in my throat.
Even as I was attempting to form an answer, Big Jake nodded, his forehead creased. “Yep,” he murmured more to himself than me.
“What on earth are you talking about?” I folded my arms, finally finding my voice.
He shrugged and went back toward the shed, his hand flicking out in a casual gesture. “Always happen in these parts. Too many spirits roun’ here, don’t none get no peace.”
“Well, thanks a lot,” I huffed, staring at his broad back as he disappeared inside the shed. Now I had real live ghosts to get creeped out about. As if panic attacks and my over-active imagination weren’t enough.
“But, what do you mean? How did you kn… I mean, what makes you ask about me losing my breath?”
“’Cuz that’s what they do.” His voice emanated out the shaded interior as he hefted boxes around. “They done sit on ya, ride, do whatever they hafta. Legen’ says the bad ones will even steal yo’ skin.”
“What? Steal my…” I shook my head. “Whatever, Big Jake, now you’re bullshitting me.”
“Whoo!” Big Jake’s voice went up to his falsetto as he laughed. “Come, look see here.” His request was followed by a string of unintelligible cooing and clucking.
I spurred forward. It had to be the cat. Entering the shaded interior of the shed, my eyes took a moment to adjust.
Big Jake was crouched over a spot in the corner where the cat lay on a pink towel, tiny bundles of fur all blindly wobbling and falling over each other.
“Did you put the towel out for her?” I asked quietly.
He shook his head. “JJ done it. He be helpin’ out Miz Laura, what have the cat land down near Haig Point.”
“Cat land?”
“She be rescuin’ cats all over. But JJ, he want one o’ these here kitties so he din’ bring her Miz Geechee. I ’spect he’ll do it in a few weeks. After they been weaned.”
Miss Geechee was clearly the momma cat’s name.
“Do you think he’d mind if I had one too?” I hadn’t given a thought to taking on one of the kittens, but somehow it felt right.
Big Jake gave a nod. “Course.” And we turned back to watching Miz Geechee.
The cat blinked sleepily, then stretched her calico neck forward to lick one of her babies, a small white and brown kitten that had been left out of the liberal doses of black splotches the other ones had. Except… I peered closer and saw a small heart-shaped black smudge above its wet pink nose.
“So, if I get a choice, will you tell JJ I want that one?”
“Sure ’nuf,” Big Jake said and shifted back. “I best git her some water.”
I followed him out into the bright sun that finally topped the leafy trees and hit the clearing. It was odd that there were so many leaves in winter. I guess they didn’t really get fall in this part of the country. “So, Jake? I’m not sure I believe the boo hag thing. But if one was to have a… boo hag problem…” I cringed internally. “If there was one. What does one do, exactly? I mean, can you make them go away?” Not that I wanted Abby to go away. If she was even around. God. I was sounding nuttier by the minute.
“Well now, you could keep the broom by yo’ bed, or—”
“What on earth can a broom do?” I laughed lightly.
“Well, she gon’ be distracted, see?”
I shook my head slowly. I really didn’t see.
“The straws. She get busy countin’ the straws and leave you to yo’ sleepin’.”
Okay, Big Jake was certifiably nuts, and I couldn’t believe I had even indulged in the conversation.
“Or put burned matches in yo’ hair. They done hate the smell.”
“Okay, Jake. Thanks for the advice.”
“Or salt ’em,” he added.
“Salt them? Oh, never mind. Hey, I gotta go. Don’t forget to tell JJ about the kitten.” I smiled and waved, walking backward.
“Will do.”
I told myself it was all silly Gullah superstition, but the walk back through the trees with all the rustling of unseen creatures through the underbrush was creepy as hell. Even in the middle of the day.
A boo hag. Seriously? Then again this part of the world was known for its spirits and legends. There were slave burial grounds all over the place, especially near the water so their souls could swim back to Africa.
After a short walk on the beach to kill more time, I headed back to the cottage.
The swing that hung from the branch of the live oak by the cottage called my name as I approached. The branch, twenty feet or more above the ground, was sturdy. The ropes were tied about two feet apart, half a foot wider than the mossy, aged wooden plank they held.
I paused a moment, hand on the old coarse rope, and tried in vain to remember the last time I’d swung. All I could think of was the picture inside of Abby and me on the swing, without any recollection of actually being in the moment the camera captured.
I wasn’t ready to sit on it yet, so I headed inside.
There was no sign of Tom, but sitting on the kitchen table were two boxes of tampons and a box of condoms. Heart thudding, I picked up the tampons and then, after a pause, the box of condoms, turning them over in my hand. A twelve-pack of lubricated condoms for maximum pleasure. Hearing a sound behind me, I dropped them like a hot coal and realized my heart had pumped all my blood to my cheeks.
I swung around to confirm that Tom was indeed standing behind me, hands shoved halfway into the front pockets of his jeans, hard shoulders hunched and tensed under the heather grey of his thin T-shirt. His chin length hair swung forward on one side. His beard was shorter, clipped closer, so I had a better impression of his face. His lips. Eyes that dropped to the remaining box in my hands.
“Thank you,” I croaked and cleared my throat before hurrying past him. My arm accidentally brushed the bare skin of his, causing him to flinch away as I angled for the hall.
When I left my room later, after hearing the front door slam and the cart start up, the box of condoms was still there.
They sat there all afternoon and into the evening. I wasn’t going to touch them.
A simple black and purple box that held the potential for choices, pleasure, decisions, messy feelings, and regrets. I didn’t want that box. It seemed Tom didn’t either. And so no one touched it.
Our conversation over the next few days consisted of “Good morning,” “Good night,” “I’m making spaghetti, would you like some?” “Can I turn the coffee off?” And those were the highlights.
And every day the damn box grew bigger until it seemed the only thing I saw. Why the hell didn’t he take them away? Clearly, at this point he must have realized
I didn’t want them and had simply been trying to irritate him by asking.
He would disappear some evenings but come back late after I was already in bed. I started to stay up by the fire reading, seeing if I could outlast him. Unfortunately, I usually fell asleep on the couch when I did that.
One night, I woke up from a particularly odd dream and was tiredly heading to my room just as he came home. He stopped when he saw me, then immediately his eyes darted to the right in the direction of the table and the box that still sat there. As if he couldn’t help it. Just like I couldn’t.
It irritated me beyond comprehension.
Then he frowned and stalked past me down the hall to the bathroom, where he flicked on the light and shut the door.
“Well hello to you too,” I muttered. The displaced air from his abrupt move wafted the scent of him over me, bringing with it the faint hint of liquor and a woman’s perfume. Something light and floral that made me faintly nauseous.
Jeez, how all over someone did you have to be to be wearing her scent so strongly that you polluted the air wherever you went?
I walked up to the bathroom door and pounded on it. “You seem like you could use them more than me, take that damn box away. I’m tired of looking at it.”
The door flung open and Tom stood there shirtless, jeans slung low, toothbrush in hand. Dammit. The man should be gracing magazines and Tumblr accounts.
I held my breath without meaning to.
His eyes narrowed. They were glassy, and I wondered just how buzzed he was. I fought to keep looking at them and not stray down his naked torso.
“Th-the condoms,” I managed.
“What about them?”
“You should have them. I don’t want them.”
His eyes dropped to my mouth and lingered. “Okay.”
I swallowed, taking a step back. “Okay.”
Bolting back into my room, I slammed back against the door, belly swirling.
My gaze landed on the broom nearby that I’d taken to keeping in my room. Shaking my head, I picked it up and laid it at the foot of the bed before crawling between the sheets. I fell asleep listening to him shower and then later the sound of him typing. My last thought was I couldn’t wait for his next trip away so I could sneak into his room and see what he was writing.