by APRIL ASHEIM
"What’s Grandma doing?" asked one of ghost children.
The sirens were coming from the other direction, too, and Lanie left her watch at one window to check another. They were everywhere! "Don’t let them see you. Plead the Fifth. Confess nothing. It’s our constitutional right to stage a sit-in!"
The daughter walked over to her again. "Mama. Did you take anything? Did Bob give you something?"
"Take? Did I take anything? I’m not a thief. I don’t care what those pigs say." Lanie began shaking and swatting at the little crawly things that were converging on her body. They came out of nowhere, tens of thousands of little black balls with legs. "The bugs. They are all over me. Spray me down with Raid."
"Mom? Mom?" The daughter snapped her fingers. She ran down the hall and Lanie could hear her open a drawer or cabinet. She returned with an orange bottle without a cap. A pile of pills were in her hand.
"Mom, the pills in the cabinet. Did you take some?"
"Pills? That reminds me, I need to call Wayne Newton." Lanie looked around for the phone.
"Mom, did you take some of these pills?" The daughter’s droning voice seemed to be driving the bugs away. She had a talent after all, thank God.
"No." Lanie tried to remember. The bugs were receding as she gained a moment of clarity. "Yes. I took them to help me sleep. Only, they didn’t seem to work."
The daughter spun around, talking to the two little blurs that whizzed by, then spun back. "Mama. Come sit down with me, okay?"
Lanie was panting, burning up, hotter than the Sahara desert, but she took her hands and followed.
"Boys!" The daughter called and two children appeared. "Grandma took some of your special pills, so we have to keep an eye on her, okay? Those pills are only for you boys. They make everyone else sick."
"They make us sick too, mama," said one of the boys. "Daddy said so. He threw ours out."
The daughter slapped both hands to her cheeks. "Okay. Mommy needs to go next door and get Bob. You guys keep an eye on Grandma."
They nodded and the daughter ran out the back door.
"Mr. McClure. It’s Spring. Are you there?" Spring rapped on Bob’s door. She could see him through the window of his front room, but apparently he didn’t hear her. He was preoccupied with his broom and new pig. After a few more minutes of pounding, Bob came to the door. He was wearing a white, button-down shirt, a red bow tie, and a blue pair of jeans.
Spring wondered, not for the first time, what it was he did for a living.
"Sorry, Spring. Was doing some cleaning. Your mother was right about the pig. They aren’t filthy at all. As matter fact whenever I drop lunchmeat little Buttermilk here devours it right up. It’s cute, even if it is cannibalistic." Bob snorted and the pig snorted back.
Spring looked around. This was her first official visit to ‘Bob’s House.’
Everything was white. The floors, the walls, the furniture and the appliances. Not even a throw pillow for color. But against the alabaster backdrop were clocks. Hundreds and hundreds of clocks. Clocks of various shapes and sizes perched on shelves that ran the perimeter of the main room. They ticked and tocked and cuckooed in perfect unison, except for one that sat on the kitchen table, which missed a tick here and there as if suffering from a heart murmur. So Bob was a clock man. Spring half-expected to see an army of Elves huddled around a work bench creating master works of clock art.
"Mom’s not doing well. She got into the twin’s Ritadate and she’s acting kinda funny."
A large clock struck behind her and Spring jumped. Bob nodded and removed a leash from a hook on the wall and positioned it around Buttermilk’s neck. The pig oinked twice in protest, but followed Bob obediently.
"Oh dear," Bob said, wringing his hands as he followed in a half-trot through Spring’s backyard. "I’m so worried about her I could spit."
When they arrived, Bob dropped the leash and ran to Lanie who was lying on the couch with her hand over her forehead. The boys were attending to her, wiping her down with paper towels and Lysol. When they saw the pig they dropped their cloths and dashed after Buttermilk, sending him scurrying under the table.
"Are you okay, my love?" Bob settled himself on the couch, cradling Lanie’s head in his arms. He kissed her cheek and stroked her hair. "I don’t know what I will do if something happens to you. Please be okay. Buttermilk needs you."
Lanie smiled in response. "My sweet little man." She managed a stroke over his face.
"Mama," Spring said, fishing around her purse for her cell phone. "It’s gonna be okay. I’m going to call 911."
"No! No hospitals. I hate hospitals. It’s full of nothing but germs and dead people. I lived through the 60’s, I can live through anything." Lanie turned her head back to Bob and smiled adoringly up at her boyfriend. "Don’t let that crazy book-licker come near me."
"Bootlegger? Who's bootlegging, mama?"
"Book-Licker. The little bald man that masturbates to Dante. Can’t he get a Playboy like everyone else?"
Spring shook her head. Her mother was really going crazy. "I’m going to call the Poison Control Center," she said. "Mama’s worse than I thought."
Bob looked at Spring sympathetically. "She’s right. I saw him caressing a copy of War and Peace when I was checking to see if my cat was here. I was so disturbed I almost didn’t come back."
Spring scrunched her face together and let it go for now. Buttermilk oinked hysterically in the background.
"Why don’t you take the boys for a while?" Bob suggested. "This is probably a traumatic thing for them to witness. I can take care of Lanie and will call you if anything happens. But I think the worst of it is over." He blotted Lanie’s face with his shirt cuff and she smiled adoringly at him.
"Are you sure?" Spring looked from Lanie to her boys. Blaine was tugging on Buttermilk’s tail while Shane was trying to ride him.
"Quite sure," Bob said and Spring ushered the boys out the door.
"My cell number is on the fridge, and so is her doctor if she gets worse," Spring hollered as she left and Bob nodded absently.
Spring wasn’t sure where she should go. The park? Chloe’s? The mall?
"We want McDonald's!" the twins chanted, bouncing up and down in the back seat. Spring glowered at them in the rearview mirror.
"I already told you that your McDonald’s days are over."
She fiddled with the radio, settling on a classical music station to calm her nerves.
"Where are you taking us, Mommy?” Shane leaned forward as far as his seat belt would allow him. "Are you selling us on the black market? Daddy says you can sell white kids for a lot of money in Mexico."
Spring shook her head. "No, I’m not selling you on the black market. I can’t believe your daddy told you that. What else does he tell you?"
"If you can’t sack it, go home and whack it."
Spring almost hit the car in front of her. "Okay. That’s enough." The boys giggled in the back seat and she could see Blaine sign something to Shane who nodded.
It wasn’t until that moment that Spring knew exactly where she was going. Her car drove on its own accord and Spring surrendered to it. A few minutes later she pulled into the parking lot of John Smith’s building.
Spring didn’t need to knock on the door; the boys did it for her, their small fists pounding away like tiny hammers on a drum. When John answered, Spring smiled and hugged him so tightly she worried she was hurting him. John’s arms hung limp at his side a moment and then he hugged her back, patting her and kissing the side of her cheek.
"These must be your boys," he said, as the two pushed past him and into his living room scouring his apartment like pirates on a quest for hidden treasure.
"I’m sorry. I was sent away for a while. Long story." Spring plopped into his recliner, noticing for the first time that John’s usual blue jeans were replaced by Khaki pants that looked new.
"Not a problem," he said, looking up at a clock on the wall. "They got names?"
&
nbsp; The boys gathered at his kitchen table, which was canopied with paints and chess pieces.
"No, boys, no," Spring called out to them, but John was one step ahead of her, scooping up the pieces before they could pop them in their pockets. "The one in the red is Blaine, and the one in the Party Like Its 1999 shirt is Shane. Or, as Sam likes to call them, Thing One and Thing Two."
Once again, John glanced at the clock and Spring realized he must be late for something.
"Oh, God. I’m sorry. You have someplace to go." Spring felt her face redden with embarrassment. What right did she have to assume that John would be here waiting for her whenever she needed him?
John looked at her and she felt a thud in her heart that was so loud she was sure he had heard it too.
"I’m going to make a quick call and then I’m all yours. There is nowhere else in this entire world right I need to be right now."
"I’m not ready to go yet," Spring said, watching Blaine and Shane wriggling under a blanket on the floor. They looked so sweet as they slept that Spring felt a wave of maternal love wash over her.
"Don’t," John said. He was sitting on the floor watching TV, a large bowl of popcorn in his lap. "Stay here forever, if you like."
Spring laughed. "If only things were that easy." She caught him looking at her and she shifted away. Something about his stare made her uneasy.
"What is there to go home to?"
"Well, there’s Sam. And Mom."
"They are both grownups." John scooted forward, leaving the popcorn bowl behind him. One of the twins rolled over, but did not wake up.
"But I’m getting married, John."
"Is that what you want? Do you really want to marry this man?"
"Everyone wants to be married. It‘s the American dream." Spring pulled her knees up into her chest and thought about the question. "He loves me," she said after a long pause.
Too long. John reached over and brushed away the strand of hair that had fallen in her face. She missed that strand of hair. It was the only thing that stood between her and John. Her and utter vulnerability.
"Does he?"
"In his way, I think he does." She sat with the thought, letting it roll around in her head like dice in a Yahtzee Cup, until it meant nothing at all.
"Come outside with me,” John said, pulling her up by the hand. He led her to his back patio through a set of clear glass doors.
He had a nice setup on his patio. Two plastic chairs and a small round table. A half-read fantasy book perched lazily atop the table. But it was the view that struck her. From his third-story apartment building he could see the world––or at least got a very good glimpse of it. Blocks and blocks of city. The mountains against the horizon. Paradise Pub.
"This is nice," she said, meaning it.
He could be alone here. A luxury Spring never had anymore.
"I miss home," he said, looking up at the sky. The moon was full and bright, playing court to the few stars that had decided to make an appearance that night. "In Indiana you can see so many stars they all kinda blur together. In the city, with all the light and pollution, there are only a few visible ones. Makes me kinda sad."
Spring squeezed his hand and followed his gaze. "It's amazing isn’t it?" she asked. "The Universe is so large, so vast, so...unquantifiable, and here I am, a tiny speck of nothing, consumed in my own worries. It's almost pitiful."
"You," said John, turning to look at her again. "Are anything but pitiful. You are a child of the Universe, not a speck." He lifted her chin and their eyes met. His blue eyes became almost as dark as the night behind him.
"I want to be happy, John. Why is it so hard?"
John‘s fingers traced her face, from her cheekbone to her chin. It sent shivers down her back. "We all want to be happy, Spring, but very few of us ever achieve it. I wonder why we bother at all."
"Don't be cynical, John. Lots of people are happy."
John lowered his head and kissed her. It lasted only a moment. Their lips hardly met, barely parting at all as they came together.
"John, stop," she said, her voice no louder than a whisper.
But he wasn’t going to let her go. He took her head and pulled her to him, kissing her deeply.
"Are you happy now, Spring?" he asked, his tongue rolling around hers, searching for more of her. She could feel the longing inside him. His need.
"Yes," she breathed between kisses.
"I love you, Spring. I love you so goddamned much..." He pushed his lips onto hers. His fingers dug into her shoulders. "Tell me you love me, too."
"I...I..."
John released her mouth, and lifted her chin. He looked into her eyes. "Tell me, Spring."
"I’m so confused. There’s Trevor. And Sam. God, what about Sam?" She started to panic. Sam was probably worried sick about her at this very moment. She had left her cellphone in the living room. He could be calling her right now.
"He doesn’t love you, Spring. Not the way you deserve to be loved. I could see that after spending a single hour with him. How can you be so blind?" John shook her, ever so slightly, before letting his arms drop.
Spring shook her head. "Let’s pretend for one little moment that I did have feelings for you. Then what? Are you prepared for what that means? That means taking me on, and my boys, and my mother. Are you prepared for all of that at your age? You don’t even have a job, John."
"I just want a night with you for now. One step at a time. That, I’m prepared for."
Spring felt her jaw tighten. Of course he wanted a night. That’s all any man wanted.
"Mommy, my tummy hurts." One of the boys called to her beneath the blanket.
"I think it’s time I go home."
John turned from her. She could see his reflection in the glass door, his mouth was drawn down and his eyes were hollow. "Yes. Sam will be waiting."
John was making breakfast. He hadn’t gone to sleep yet, and he had no intention of going. Sleep would bring dreams, and dreams would bring images of Spring. Spring with Sam.
As he fried his eggs he felt a pang of guilt for not meeting Amy the previous evening. He should have called her. He prayed that someday she would forgive him. He hoped she hadn’t sat out in the parking lot too long, waiting for him. But there was no chance he was going to miss being with Spring, even if it meant an eternity in hell for all the sins he’d commit in the process. He hadn’t showered, either. He wanted her scent on him as long as possible and when he breathed in deeply he could still catch glimpses of her in his mind. She was so beautiful it almost killed him.
He knew he should have talked her into staying, but after he mentioned having her for a night, her mood seemed to have changed. Of course he wanted her for a night. But there was more. He wanted her for a day, and a night, and the next day, and to see where the road led them after that. She was the mother of two kids, and that carried a heavy weight. He didn’t want to fail her. She deserved more than that.
He flipped the eggs and broke the yoke in the pan. That was good. He wasn’t in the mood for runny eggs, anyway. He needed something solid, something he could hold onto. Even if it was a breakfast food. He served himself a plate. The eggs were overdone and the bacon had been burned during his daydreaming, but he couldn’t taste it. All of his senses were still focused on the memory of the night before. He had thought before that he had loved her, but after holding her last night, he knew for certain. And he knew, in the deepest part of his heart and soul, that he wanted her to be happy. Even if it meant letting her go back to Sam.
After breakfast he opened up a recently-purchased book on mountain trails of the Southwest. Arizona was renowned for beautiful hiking trails and scenic peaks, and he had not explored a single one of them. As a matter of fact, in his month in the city he had not done a single thing worth writing home about...except falling in love with an engaged woman, but that was a letter Mom wouldn’t want to get.
"Some adventurer I am," he sighed.
The mountains of hi
s childhood seemed a million miles away. You can leave, you know? This wasn’t the first time he had this thought. Pack it up and go home, back to cornfields and Pete and the VFW and his family. A place where he wouldn’t be alone.
Yes, you will.
Yes, you will.
Twenty-Four
Sam skipped his prayers, knowing with utmost certainty that Allah would understand. Instead he spent the morning tidying his den, making room for all of the new books that he would soon inherit.
As soon as he married Spring.
He tightened his grip around the dust rag as he thought about the situation. He just had to keep his head. They would be married. And soon.
Why did Grandma Rosary have to be such a religious freak, anyway? To her, The Ten Commandments were not just suggestions, they were laws to be followed, and heaven help the soul who didn’t believe as she did. It was a wonder he had come out normal at all. He still hadn’t told her he was no longer practicing Catholicism. That would have to wait until after the wedding...or maybe never tell her. Let the old woman be happy in her final days, he thought, as he dusted and arranged his books. He was jostled out of his thoughts by the snorts and whimpers of a pig and a steady, annoying, rap at the back door. He could pretend not to notice, but that would only call Lanie out of the woodwork.
His first order of business, after the matrimonies, was in getting rid of the terrible trio.
"Well, hello, Bob!" said Sam, a smile pulling itself tautly across his face. It hurt to stretch his lips that far, but he held it, fighting back the curl of his upper lip.
"Good to see you, neighbor," said Bob, bringing Buttermilk inside. "I do hope Lanie is feeling better. We worried about her all night, didn’t we, sweetie?" Bob bent down and gave the pig a peck on the cheek.
Sam felt goose bumps rise up all over his body. He wasn’t sure what he hated worse, watching Bob kiss the pig or watching Bob kiss Lanie. Both were equally unnerving.
"I’ll check in on her," Sam said, glad for the reprieve. He knocked quietly on Lanie’s door, and hearing no answer, opened it enough to peek inside. "Lanie?"