Fly Like a Bird

by Jana Zinser

  Ivy found her mother’s apartment. The number four hung upside down, holding on desperately to the door by a single, rusty nail. She hesitated. Her mother was hopefully behind the door and Ivy would finally meet her. A lifetime of dreaming of this moment was about to come true. She fingered her mother’s silver heart necklace around her neck, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

  Footsteps thudded inside the apartment. The door opened a crack, but was secured by a chain lock. A woman’s bloodshot eyes peered through the opening.

  “What’d you want?” she said as if Ivy had interrupted something important.

  “Are you Barbara Taylor?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  Ivy’s dry throat felt like it was being poked by a million tiny needles. She had waited twenty-six years for this moment. She swallowed hard. “I’m Ivy Taylor, your daughter. Can I come in?”

  “No need.” The suspicious eyes disappeared as the door slammed shut and the dead bolt clicked.

  Ivy stared uncertainly at the banged-up apartment door, but she couldn’t give up. She knocked again, a little louder. She waited in the empty hallway that reeked of urine and rotten apples. Ivy cleared her throat and spoke loudly through the closed door. “I’m not leaving. I’ve spent my whole life without you. I don’t blame you for leaving. Can you just talk to me for a minute?”

  There was silence. Then the chain rattled and the dead bolt unlocked. The door opened. Her mother stepped into the dingy light of the filthy hallway, pulling the door shut behind her. “All right. You got one minute.”

  Although she was only forty-seven years old, only a hint of Barbara Taylor’s famed beauty remained. A cigarette dangled from her chapped lips and dark shadows circled her bloodshot eyes. Leaving Coffey hadn’t protected her mother from the reality of a disappointing life.

  Barbara flicked her cigarette and the ashes floated down like gray snowflakes on Ivy’s shoes. The woman looked Ivy up and down, like someone examining damaged merchandise. Her chin jutted forward and she bit her lip. “I wondered when you’d show up.” She put her little finger in her ear and wiggled it. “You sure got my good looks.”

  Ivy smiled. “That’s what Grandma says. Can I come in? I won’t stay long. I’ve wanted a mother all my life, but I thought you died with my father in the car crash.”

  Her mother’s dirty robe fell off her shoulder, revealing a yellowed slip and needle marks on her arm. Barbara quickly wrapped the ratty robe around her. “You should keep on thinking that. I left a long time ago.”

  “Believe me, I understand why you left. I can’t wait to get out of there,” Ivy said as her heart pounded. “I’ve been wondering, do I have any brothers or sisters?”

  “Heavens no. You think I’d want to go through that hell again? I never wanted to be pregnant in the first place.”

  “Do I have grandparents?”

  She bent forward. “Don’t go near them. My father did things to me that no little girl should know about. He’s a monster. I left Stilton as soon as I could.” Barbara’s breath smelled like alcohol as she leaned in and spoke in a whisper. “Men are pigs. Use them before they use you.”

  Ivy shuddered and took a step back.

  Barbara’s face scrunched up like she had tasted something sour and flipped back her tangled hair. Her lips slid over her yellow teeth in a smile. “You should have seen me. I was a beauty in my day but I was wasting my time with Robert and the others. Now, Conrad Thrasher, we spoke the same language.” She ran her hands over her breasts and swaying hips.

  Ivy shuddered as chills rolled up and down her body. “You had an affair with Conrad Thrasher?”

  Barbara pulled her tangled hair back in a messy ponytail and let it drop. “Why not? Don’t act so surprised. Conrad was furious at me for leaving, but he knew Violet, the old witch, was forcing me to go.”

  Ivy felt a lump in her throat that left her gasping for air.

  “That was a long time ago. I never looked back. You shouldn’t either,” Barbara said. “There’s nothing there.”

  Ivy leaned against the wall. Time seemed to slow. Nothing existed outside the hallway. She tried to swallow but her mouth felt rusted.

  Barbara raised her eyebrows and scratched the back of her neck. “So, is that old woman dead yet?”

  Ivy shook her head.

  Barbara coughed and spat into a wadded-up tissue she pulled from the torn pocket of her robe. She sniffed. “That nasty old woman raise you?”

  Ivy nodded, unable to speak.

  “She drove me crazy. Telling me what to do. Always fussing over you. I didn’t want anything to do with the whole worthless lot of you, and I still don’t. I thought I made that clear when I left. That old bossy woman never could mind her own business.”

  Ivy clenched her sweaty, shaking hands and somehow found her voice. “You have no right to talk like that. Grandma was the best thing that ever happened to me. You’re the one who ran away.”

  Barbara wiped the corners of her mouth. “I didn’t run away. Violet forced me to leave. She threatened me, more like it and I was more than happy to oblige the old biddy. Is Tommy still married to that little troll?”

  “Hattie? Yeah.”

  “Shame.” Barbara scratched her hip, her robe riding up and down with each rub. “Couldn’t stand one more minute of that place. Thought it would be better than Stilton, but nothing good ever came out of that dirt-ball town.” She shivered, as if remembering a chilling nightmare.

  Ivy stared at Barbara. She hadn’t expected such raw hatred. She didn’t want to believe that such an angry, spiteful woman could be her mother. “What about me?”

  Barbara pulled something off the tip of her tongue with her fingers and spat on the dirty hall floor. “I don’t even know you.”

  Ivy’s anger burst to the surface. “Look at this place! Look at you.” Ivy shook off the ashes from her shoe, dropped there from Barbara’s cigarette. As the ashes disappeared, so did her little girl dreams of her mother, and she suddenly realized that she had not grown up motherless after all. Luther was right, sometimes things work out for the best.

  “We might look alike, but we have nothing in common. You’re not my mother. Grandma Violet is. Being a mother isn’t just giving birth. It’s giving a child a life.”

  Ivy ripped the heart necklace from around her neck and held it out to her mother. “I think this is yours. I don’t want it anymore.”

  Barbara cupped her tobacco-stained fingers and caught the necklace as Ivy let it go.

  “Where’d you get this?”

  Ivy’s chin quivered, but she held back her tears. “I found it in a small box of your stuff. It’s all I had left of you. I’ve worn it every day of my life.”

  Barbara dangled the old silver chain up in the air. Her husky laugh cackled in the empty hallway. “Conrad gave me this necklace.”

  An icy wave of betrayal traveled down Ivy’s body. She had to get out of there. “I’ve got to go home.” She turned and hurried down the stairs, feeling dazed. The stairs blurred in front of her as she gripped the wobbly handrail, feeling as if she were going to plunge headlong down the uneven stairs. Ivy looked back as Barbara threw the necklace down the stairwell at Ivy. “Tell your stinking family, thanks for nothing.”

  Ivy ran the rest of the way down the stairs, no longer afraid of falling. She hesitated when she reached the silver heart necklace lying on the landing and stared for a second at the once-cherished keepsake, laying on the floor, discarded and unwanted. Then she ran on. Opening the door, she felt the cold Iowa air blast across her face, blowing away all her unrealistic dreams. She finally felt free from the ghost of her mother.

  Ivy drove home down Interstate 35, her heart beating fast as if nearly missing a catastrophe. She realized a cold, unfeeling mother could have raised her instead of her strong and loving Grandma. She could have lived in a broken-down neighborhood in Des Moines instead of the comforting, close-knit community of Coffey.

  A light snow started
to fall, swirling around the headlights of the Monstrosity. The snow slowly painted the Iowa countryside white, covering the fields and the roofs of the barns and farmhouses as she passed.

  She played the confrontation with her mother over and over in her mind; going over each sentence, reliving each painful disclosure, hoping it would all make sense. Her mother had had an affair with Conrad Thrasher, the snake.

  A prickly fear rose on the back of her neck and spread down her body. The horror of it seeped into her reality. Could Conrad Thrasher be her father? Is that why he hated her so? Is that why he said she wasn’t who she thought she was? Ivy slammed the brakes and pulled over to the side of the road as the nausea hit. She opened her door and hunched over a nearby ditch, vomiting until there was nothing left inside her.

  That night, when Ivy pulled into the driveway at 4120, she saw Grandma staring out the upstairs window, waiting for her to return. She ran into the house.

  “Ivy?” Grandma called. “You’re home?”

  “Yes.” Ivy ran up the stairs and burst into the bedroom. She hugged Grandma tightly. “I love you, Grandma. You know that, right?”

  “Of course, my child.”

  “I went to see my mother, Grandma. You were right. She was not what I expected and she’s everything you feared. Thank you for taking care of me. I wouldn’t have made it without you.”

  Grandma smiled. “I did my best and God did the rest.”

  Ivy kissed the woman who had manipulated the truth and saved her life. Then she turned out the light and went to check on Carly. Uncle Walter had picked her up from Patty’s.

  Carly was looking at an illustrated book of “Hansel and Gretel” with a flashlight. When she saw Ivy at her door, she quickly turned off the light and pretended to be asleep. Ivy smiled and sat down on the bed beside the fake-sleeping child. Carly fluttered her eyes, pretending to wake up. Ivy smiled and hugged her.

  “Hey, Carly. How was your day?”

  “Good.”

  “I missed you. What did you do at Patty’s?”

  “Went to the dump with Reuben and Uncle Tommy.”

  “Ah. That’s always fun.”

  “There’s a lake where a lady died.”

  “Uncle Tommy told you that?”

  “Yeah. Why was the lady dead under the dock?”

  “I don’t know, but there’s nothing to be afraid of. I was there once, under the dock. There’s room under it to breathe.” Ivy cleared her throat. “The lake is calm now. So, no more talking about dead ladies in lakes, and no more looking at witch stories with a flashlight.”

  Carly’s eyes got big, realizing she had been caught. She nodded. “The witch takes the kids.”

  “It’s only a pretend story. I would fight the witch and come save you.” Carly laughed as Ivy hugged her. “I love you, Carly. You know that, right?”

  “Of course. You’re my mom.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  Chapter 33

  A CHILD IS WORTH SOME TROUBLE

  Spring arrived wet and windy, and the flowers and trees eagerly drank up the moisture and were enticed above ground by the warm sun. Life returned to the Iowa prairie. Like the rebirth of spring, Ivy, now twenty-seven, found a way to embrace life. But the hole left by her mother’s rejection filled up with other worries and fears.

  Ivy was concerned about Otis, who never recovered from the deaths of his wife and daughter. He withdrew into himself and sank into listless despair; even his friends on Mulberry Street could not bring him out of his depression. Only Carly, his granddaughter, kept him from giving in completely to his deep hopelessness.

  Carly was also the reason that Patty emerged from her years of household exile. Every day Patty got dressed in the regular street clothes Ivy bought her and was often seen outside playing with Carly. There had even been a few Patty-sightings in town.

  Early one May morning, Ivy dropped Carly off at Patty’s house on her way to work at Warner College. The rain poured and the sun crept behind the storm clouds as if afraid to show its bright face. The horror that unfolded next was relayed to Ivy later that day by Patty.

  Patty had long since said goodbye to Reuben as he left to meet Uncle Tommy at the Coffey Shop when she looked out the window and saw two cars slowing on the gravel road a short way from her farmhouse. A light-colored car stopped down the road while the other pulled up outside Patty’s house. A man wearing sunglasses, a gray sweatshirt and a hat tilted low over his face got out. Patty told Ivy she thought it was probably a mushroom hunter who had lost his way. The other car continued along the gravel road.

  Carly was playing in the living room and Patty was in the kitchen when she heard footsteps and the unlocked door opened. When Carly screamed, Patty came pounding out. The man with the hat shielding his face, stood in the middle of her living room. None of Reuben’s ghosts from the world beyond would ever be as scary as what haunted Patty’s living room that morning. It was Miles, Maggie’s murderer. He held his daughter against his chest as Carly screamed and kicked, trying to get free. Patty froze in horror at the unexpected disaster that stood before her.

  He pressed a gun in Carly’s curly hair and laughed at Patty. “Not so fast on your feet this time huh, you raggedy-butt cow.”

  “Don’t hurt her. Please. She’s a good little girl.”

  Miles gripped five-year-old Carly’s arm so tightly his fingers made dents in her skin. “Just taking back what’s mine.” A drop of rainwater rolled off his hat and trickled down his face like an artificial tear. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, still holding the gun.

  Patty edged toward Miles as if propelled by some force that allowed her to move despite her paralyzing fear. “Don’t hurt her. Please.”

  Miles waved the gun in the air. “Don’t be stepping up on me.”

  Patty kept moving toward him with a glazed look in her eyes.

  Miles placed the gun barrel back against the little girl’s head. “Slow your roll. I mean it. Watch this.” He grinned and pulled the trigger. The hollow click of an empty chamber echoed in the silence. Miles laughed. “That was just a warning. Next one’s loaded or maybe not. You want to take the chance?”

  Patty stood rooted to her living room floor as if her feet were stuck in concrete. Miles backed out the door, taking Carly with him.

  “Patty! Patty! Help me! Don’t let him take me.” Carly’s little hands reached out for Patty. “I want to stay with you. I don’t want to go.”

  Miles pinned her arms down. “Shut up. I’m your father. Those people ain’t nothing to you.”

  Patty closed her eyes and covered her ears, unable to bear the cries of the child she loved, the little girl who had brought her back to life. “I’m sorry, Carly. I’m so sorry.” Patty’s legs buckled, and she fell against the screen door, which broke from its rusty hinges. She landed on the floor with a resounding thud, but she reached out her arms. “I love you, Carly.”

  “Patty!” Carly cried and kicked as Miles stuffed the little girl into his trunk. “I’m scared!”

  “Carly. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I wasn’t meant to have children.”

  Then Patty told Ivy of the horror that came next. As she lay sobbing on the floor, Buckshot came running from the barn, growling and charging at Miles. The man kicked Buckshot. “Where’s your Frisbee now, mutt?”

  The dog clenched his teeth around Miles’s leg and Miles yelled in pain. Then he lowered his gun and shot Buckshot right in the head. The dog’s blood splattered on Miles’s gray sweatshirt, turning it into a bright mosaic of terror.

  “Tell Ivy to meet me at the cemetery tonight at midnight,” Miles said menacingly. “Leave the law out of it and tell her to come alone if she wants the kid to live.”

  Carly’s muffled screams from inside the car trunk sounded like a tormented ghost of an unsettled passing. Patty passed out on top of the broken door in the old farmhouse, with Buckshot lying dead a few feet away and Carly ripped from her life.

  It was still raining when Ivy burst i
nto Grandma’s house. Grandma and Uncle Walter were sitting on the couch.

  “Carly’s gone. Miles took her.”

  “Oh, dear God, no.” Grandma buried her face in her hands. “Why didn’t I know?”

  Uncle Walter rose from the couch, supporting his knee with his hand. “What? What happened?”

  Ivy took a deep breath. “Miles broke into Patty’s house this afternoon and put a gun to Carly’s head. Said he’d kill her. There was nothing Patty could do.”

  “What’s Charlie going to do?” said Uncle Walter.

  “I didn’t tell him. Miles said to come alone to the cemetery at midnight if we want to see Carly alive. If we bring Charlie, I’m afraid of what Miles will do. He has nothing to lose.”

  Ivy’s stomach twisted into a knot. Grandma’s thin face lost all its color.

  Uncle Walter’s hands shook as he hugged Ivy. “What are you going to do?”

  “Whatever I have to.”

  Grandma wiped her teary eyes with the handkerchief she always kept tucked in her stuffed bra along with all the other odd assortments of filing.

  Ivy gazed out the windows overlooking the backyard. Then she paced the big house, counting each lonely, tormented minute without Carly, mourning the unbearable emptiness, and thinking about a way to get her back before midnight came. She needed to call Otis. He had the right to know.

  The hours stretched into early evening. Tormented by her dark nightmare, Ivy startled when the phone rang. It was Luther, his voice low, almost whispering.

  “Carly’s over at the Thrasher place. Ellen told me she saw her when she was on her walkabout. What’s going on?”

  “Miles kidnapped her from Patty’s. I’ll meet you at your house.”

  “Okay.”

  “Luther, did Ellen actually talk to you?”

  “She didn’t stop walking, but she pointed to Conrad’s house and she said, ‘Tell Ivy the snake has her girl.’”

  “I love that woman.”

  The moon fought its way through the clouds again and so did Ivy. The rain stopped. Ivy hung up the phone and walked over to Grandma, who was lying on the couch.