But no. She was making an effort. It wasn’t her fault they made it so damn hard. She straightened her blouse and sat next to Maggie at the breakfast bar.
“What’s the plan for today?” she asked.
Derrick busied himself at the oven. Pulled the tray of bacon out, poured off the grease, clattered the tray back inside.
“It’s supposed to be warmer today, so we thought we’d go fishing,” Derrick said with a tight smile.
He knew she didn’t care for fishing. “Oh?” she said. “Can I go?”
Derrick’s smile faltered. His eyes darted to Maggie then back to Teresa.
“Uh, sure.” He cleared his throat. “But we only have two poles.”
Maggie was in their bed when he came home, wasn’t she? Didn’t that tell him anything about the effort she was making? Didn’t that tell Maggie she could view Teresa as her mother? Her guardian? She’d rescued Maggie from a ghost, for Pete’s sake!
“I can get one,” she said. “What time does Mullen’s open?” She got up from the stool to retrieve her purse.
Derrick’s eyebrows came together. “Mullen died three years ago. His shop’s been closed ever since.”
Teresa dropped her eyes to the counter top and bit her lip. When she looked back up at her husband, she heard the words behind his frown
Don’t you ever leave the house? Don’t you read the community paper? Don’t you care about the town you live in?
“Maybe next time,” she said in a quiet voice. “Excuse me.”
She went to the front room and sat on the love seat with Big Bear. Outside the window the sun warmed the night’s dew. Clouds of steam rose from the ground like awakened spirits.
Derrick’s singing and Maggie’s laughter drifted down the hallway.
We can be together again. Tiffany’s words whispered in her mind. Just say yes.
Laughter. Singing. Smiles. Happiness. Where did she fit in with that? What did she have to do to wedge herself into their lives? To be part of this family?
Say yes, Mommy.
Teresa lifted her hand to the cross at her throat. A tear dripped down her cheek.
God, forgive me.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”
Chapter 13
Derrick and Maggie left with backpacks and fishing poles and smiles. Teresa waited until the family car pulled out of the driveway and disappeared down the road. Then she tiptoed into the hallway.
“Tiffany? Are you here?” She peered into the front room. “I’m saying yes. I want another chance. Please come out.”
Nothing.
She sighed and looked at Big Bear. Seeing him sitting there amongst the pillows jarred her memory. Tiffany had said her friend was staying in the abandoned funeral home. Maybe Tiffany was staying there too. She took a light jacket from the coat closet and went outside.
Derrick and Maggie went south. She went north into town. Derrick was right. She rarely left the house. Why would she? There was nothing out here for her. The people didn’t even care for her.
“Good morning, Mrs. Hart,” someone shouted from across the street, as if to prove her wrong.
“It’s Doctor Hart,” she said. The person’s smile faded. Teresa pulled her jacket tighter and kept her eyes on the sidewalk until she reached the dirt road that led out to the old graveyard.
When Derrick first brought her to Harmony, he’d given her the grand tour of the place. Back then she was just happy to have a new husband and a new future ahead of her. Happy to be living her life according to her mother’s plans. His tour included the abandoned funeral home, mainly because that’s where he and his high school buddies did all of their underage drinking.
He probably took Ann there, too. Is that where they shared their first time? Teresa shook the thought from her head and lifted her chin.
The damp ground squelched under her feet. She wiggled her toes inside her ballerina flats, and, undeterred by her lousy choice of footwear, picked her way between the muddy potholes.
Despite her careful attempt to keep her shoes clean, they were a mess, and her toes were numb by the time she reached mile marker one. She turned and peered into the forest. Then she stepped over the little creek and stood among the trees.
The old house sat tucked back away from the road. The front porch steps bowed in the middle, the rusty nails no longer able to hold them to the frame. It made the house look as though it smiled. The front door hung open to the left on a single hinge, inviting her in.
Teresa wondered if Tiffany was inside, if Tiffany’s friend was home. The friend who would reunite them and make everything better. Fix it all. Bring back her happiness.
Teresa approached the porch and ascended the steps.
“Tiffany?” she called, though her voice only came as a whisper. “Are you here?”
A sudden chill in the air tingled over her skin, and she tugged her jacket tighter. She peered through the darkness into the entry but couldn’t see anything. The remnants of caution tape hung from a staple in the upper right corner of the door frame. She put one foot over the threshold. No turning back.
This is what you want.
Inside the house, the air warmed. Much warmer than it should have been. The stench of mildew and urine permeated her nostrils. Teresa crinkled her nose. This was no place for her daughter to live.
The farther she ventured inside, the warmer it got. Teresa loosened her jacket. It had to be nearly as warm as Derrick kept the house.
“Tiffany?” Teresa’s voice seemed too loud in this damp, muted place. She closed her eyes. It wasn’t real. It had been a dream. Of course it had been. Since when did dead daughters appear seven years after their death asking for help to come back? Teresa let out a long breath and opened her eyes.
Fire light licked from torches set in stone. Stone walls? She turned around. The doorway was still visible, centered on a crumbling plaster wall, flanked by windows. But when she turned back around, the walls dissolved into sandy stone. Toward the back of the cave, a pool of water reflected the light, and a tunnel led off into complete darkness.
“Hello?” she said. Her voice traveled far away. She reached for one of the torches.
“Mommy!” Tiffany’s voice said from behind her. “You came!”
Teresa turned, and Tiffany ran to her and danced around her, beaming with delight. What a difference from the malice that adorned her face the previous night.
“I knew you would come.” She grinned up at Teresa. Teresa dropped to one knee. The firelight danced across Tiffany’s beautiful, pale face.
“Yes, I’m here,” Teresa said. “And my answer is yes. I do want to be with you again. I will do anything to have you back.”
Tiffany’s eyes sparkled in the flickering flames. “I know.”
“Where is your . . . friend?” Teresa looked around. “I’d like to meet him.”
“He’s not here.” Tiffany danced away in a circle. “You don’t need to worry about him, anyway.” She twirled back to Teresa and stared into her face. “I will come to you tonight, and we can get started.”
“Get started on what?”
Tiffany threw her head back and laughed a girlish cackle. “It’s a surprise, Mommy! I can’t tell you everything!”
Teresa didn’t like not knowing what was expected of her. She wanted all of the details, the requirements, to get her daughter back. But Tiffany’s face, her beautiful expression, told her, just this once, she could let go of that control.
“Okay,” Teresa said. She watched her daughter dance in the firelight. Her grace and beauty in direct contrast to the rough and dirty cave. “Would you be more comfortable at the house?”
Tiffany shook her head. “I can’t be away from my friend for very long. I get so weak.” She drooped her body forward. Then she snapped upright again. She patted Teresa’s head. “Go home, Mommy. I will see you tonight.”
“Oh . . . okay.” Teresa stood and backed away, not wanting to leave her baby. She turned and stepped onto the
front porch. At the steps, she looked back. Inside, the room was dark, but she could just make out old living room furniture, a door, and a staircase.
“I’m losing my mind,” she whispered. “I’ve completely lost it.” She trudged back to town, ignoring the puddles and the muddy sections of the road. When she reached the roundabout, her pant legs were wet halfway up her shins, her feet covered in mud. She’d have to throw those shoes away. There was no saving them.
Chapter 14
After going home to change clothes—she couldn’t have possibly gone to Tiffany’s grave covered in mud—Teresa wandered to the new cemetery west of town and turned left at the winterized fountain near the entrance. The absence of the trickling water cast an eerie silence over the grounds. She shivered against the chilly morning and slipped her hands into her pockets.
Tiffany’s grave wasn’t too far. With everything going on yesterday, she’d forgotten to stop by. She always visited twice a year. Tiffany’s birthday, and the anniversary of her passing. It was part of her grieving process, like cleaning the basement nursery every week and sitting in the rocker most mornings.
She followed the path to Tiffany’s grave. The casket beneath her feet was smaller than the massive white marble tombstone Derrick had picked out.
A sob bubbled up at the thought of the tiny pink box holding her daughter’s remains. She stifled it. Soon enough they would be together again. No need for tears.
She knelt on the ground, cleared away the debris around the grave, and straightened the white river rocks decorating the outer border. For Tiffany’s birthday, she always brought flowers. For the anniversary, she brought guilt and sorrow.
She cleared her throat and prepared to recite her usual prayer.
“My little blessing,” she whispered. “God has you in his arms now—”
Footsteps crunched on the gravel path, and three teenagers, two boys and a girl, laughed their way past her. Teresa scowled. Such disrespect to laugh in a cemetery. They stopped at a large grave marker ten yards away and leaned against it. The first boy flicked a lighter and lit a cigarette. He took a long drag and held his breath before letting it out. A skunky scent wafted over to her, carried on a slight breeze.
The boy said something, and the other two laughed again.
“Show some respect,” Teresa said, loud enough for her voice to carry to them.
One of the boys peered at Teresa and took a few steps in her direction. The girl tugged at his arm and pleaded with him. Teresa heard it in the whine of the girl’s voice. The boy pulled out of her grip. “Excuse me?”
Teresa turned back to Tiffany’s tombstone, traced the letters of her name. She closed her eyes.
“Excuse me? What did you say?” Gravel crunched as he took a couple more steps toward her.
She ignored the kids, pretended she couldn’t hear them, bowed her head, and clenched her teeth.
One boy said, “Oh jeeze. Do you know who that is?” One of them sucked on the marijuana cigarette they were sharing. On his exhale, he said. “It’s Teresa fuckin’ Hart.”
“Is that her dead baby’s grave?” The other boy said in a voice Teresa hoped was supposed to be a whisper.
Teresa touched her collarbone, found the chain of her necklace, and held the cross in her hand.
“Guys, shut up. She might hear you,” the girl’s voice whined.
Without turning to them, Teresa shouted, “You kids get out of here!” She wished they would leave so she could make her annual peace.
Another round of inhales. Out of the corner of her eye, Teresa saw one slap the other on the shoulder with the back of his hand.
“Hey, hey, Paul.” He let out an unharnessed laugh. “How do you put a baby in the blender?”
Paul laughed so hard his voice cracked, and all that came out was airy huffing. “Feet first,” he said with a gasp, “so you can see the expression on its face.”
Teresa’s throat went dry. Her heart beat so hard and so fast, she swore anyone with eyes could see it pound. Her ears tuned in on every word they spoke.
“Hey, Ryan, what’s worse than a pile of dead babies?”
Teresa refused to give any sign she was listening to them.
“Oh god, I love this one.” Ryan laughed. “A live one at the bottom, eating its way out. Nom nom nom.”
The girl tugged at the first boy. “Please, you guys. Ryan, stop. You’re being so mean.”
I should leave.
But Teresa wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She would have to walk right past them to get to the front gate. And if she left now, they would win.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Paul said. In her peripheral vision, he turned to Teresa and smiled a devil’s grin.
“When is the best time to bury that baby you killed?”
Teresa’s fingernails bit into her palms. Her heart thundered behind her eyeballs.
Ryan snorted. “When it . . . when it . . . when it . . .” He couldn’t get the last part out through his laughter. “When it starts talking to you again.”
Teresa’s head involuntarily jerked in their direction. The boys stopped laughing and stared at her with evil sneers. The girl stood off to the side, gripping her elbows, as if not to be guilty by association. She looked at Teresa with sadness. Pity.
The boys doubled over, howling and slapping their knees.
“Please, Ryan, stop it,” the girl said. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Hart,” she whined at Teresa.
Teresa stood and faced them. “That’s Doctor Hart.”
The girl took off, leaving her male comrades behind. Teresa wanted to mock them—words that would hurt—but she leaned against Tiffany’s gravestone in resignation.
Her eyes focused on a rock. Her mind carried her away.
What if I just threw it at them?
She imagined doing so. Imagined the rock sailing through the air and hitting the boy named Paul in the foot. His dance backward while Teresa picked up a second rock. She’d throw it as a warning, a threat. But it would fly through the air and hit Ryan clean in the nose. He would cry out and grab his face, blood dripping between his fingers . . .
“Fucking crazy lunatic!” Paul shouted.
She shook herself from the dream to find she’d approached them a few steps. Blood gushed from Ryan’s nose.
The boys kept their eye on her and edged out of the graveyard.
“Well, I am a doctor,” Teresa shouted. “Or did you forget that, you little shits?”
“I’m calling the sheriff!” Paul shouted over his shoulder, ushering Ryan away.
“For what? To tell him you were smoking pot and being disrespectful to the dead? Go ahead!” She strode after them a few paces, hurrying them on their way.
On her way back to the grave, she found one of the stones shot with rose quartz from the site and picked it up. Someone had defaced it with red paint. She put it in her pocket along with some other refuse to throw away later. Then she knelt again and bowed her head to deliver the annual prayer.
“My little blessing. God has you in his arms now, to love and protect you as one of his own angels. As the angel you are and always will be.” Then, she recited Ecclesiastes, for everything there is a season, and bowed her head to sit in silence.
Chapter 15
Teresa woke curled in a ball on the ground, disoriented until her eyes landed on the gravestone. She placed her hand on it, a loving caress across Tiffany’s name. A silent vow to free her. Then jerked up and looked around. No one was there. Hopefully no one had seen her sleeping in a public place. Imagine the rumors that would cause. She straightened the stones around the grave.
When is the best time to bury that baby you killed?
She sucked in a breath. A tremor shook her hand as she laid the last stone.
It didn’t happen. It was a dream, or vision. A sick carrying away of thoughts. She got to her feet and crossed her arms, clamping her hands in her armpits to stop the shaking. The air grew chilly.
Bury that baby you killed.
&nb
sp; She shook her head. A nightmare. She had fallen asleep, after all. It was a dream.
That baby you killed.
That joke didn’t even make any sense.
Baby you killed.
“I didn’t kill any baby!”
A sob escaped her. Then a second. A third. She sank to her knees and rested her forehead against Tiffany’s name. “We’ll be together again soon.” She kissed the smooth stone and wiped her eyes.
* * *
Ann chose her usual booth in the back corner of the diner. Louise had mentioned she’d seen Ann’s dad at the diner a while back, reminding her she’d never gotten a response from Ruthie about when she’d seen him last.
Ruthie came by with a coffee pot, which seemed to be an extension of her arm, and filled Ann’s cup.
“How’re you settling in?” Ruthie asked, placing a menu on the table.
“Little at a time.” Ann tore open a creamer cup and stirred it into her coffee. “It’s weird being back in my old house, but I’m getting used to it. Hey, when was the last time my dad came in?”
“I remember exactly,” Ruthie said. “Three months ago, Wednesday, the same day Bobby set fire to the cook top trying out a new recipe.” She rolled her eyes. “Your dad jumped to action and stopped Bobby just in time. He was going to throw water on a grease fire.”
Ann winced.
“Yeah. Bram grabbed the class B and put it out lickety-split.”
“Bobby still work here?”
Ruthie dropped her head back and groaned. “Yes. He knows the menu. He’s just not allowed to experiment anymore.”
Ann snorted. “Plus, it’s Harmony. Not like people are flocking here for work, right?”
Ruthie winked and placed her hand on Ann’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back to take your order.”
Ruthie rushed around the dining room, refilling coffee, chatting and laughing with the other guests. Ruthie was a staple in this town. The people could count on her, and she obviously enjoyed having that role in the community. It was all over her smiling face and in the sound of her voice.
The Blood of Seven Page 6