Worry

by Jessica Westhead

  Except one time, early on, when Ruth and Stef were six years old and Stef picked up Ruth’s mom’s special flower vase and threw it on the floor. It broke into a million pieces and there was water everywhere and the flowers were drowning in it, and Ruth yelled at Stef and said she was bad. Ruth’s mom ran into the dining room then and grabbed Ruth’s arm, and suddenly her hand was a monster hand and she pulled Ruth away from Stef and into the kitchen, where she grew ten sizes taller and had long claws and sharp teeth and giant black wings, and she hunched down and hissed in a deep, scary voice with awful, stinky breath in Ruth’s face, “Don’t you ever tell her she’s bad. Do you hear me? Don’t you ever tell her she’s bad because she’s not, and nobody even cares if she’s good or bad at home anyway. This is a happy place for her here and I will not allow you ruin it. Do you understand?”

  Ruth was crying and shaking but her mother wouldn’t stop and turn back into herself. Her voice deepened even more and she growled, “Nod if you understand me.”

  So Ruth nodded to make her mom nice again, and it worked. The claws disappeared and the wings folded in on themselves and the teeth were flat and white instead of pointy and yellow, and her face was kind again and she was just Ruth’s mom who loved her. She leaned in and wrapped Ruth in a hug and her breath was sweet when she said, “That’s my good girl. Now go and play with your friend and tell her you’re sorry. Mommy and Daddy will clean everything up later, don’t worry.”

  Now the twins each take one of Fern’s hands, their fight forgotten, and lead her to the green coffee table. They heave the heavy chest open, excited to show their friend what they’ve done.

  Ruth can’t help but admire their stealth. They must’ve hidden Fern’s toy in there when nobody was looking. They would’ve had to lift up the potted plant and put it back too, but of course it’s not there now.

  Barry the treasure where no one can find it!

  With grave ceremony, Amelia hands Monsieur Foomay to Fern, who makes sure to say thank you before she hugs him to her chest and presses her face into his soft scales, drying her tears and wiping her nose on his shiny wings. Because no matter how many other stuffed animals Ruth tries to ply her with, the dumb dragon will always be her daughter’s favourite.

  Marvin says something, too softly for anyone to hear.

  And Stef says—brazenly, rudely, stupidly—“What was that?”

  “I said, they shouldn’t have done that.” His big hands are clenched at his sides.

  All three girls stop what they’re doing and cover their ears, cowering from the anger in his deep voice.

  “Marvin, stop it. You’re scaring them.” This voice is new. Prim and bristling, coming from above.

  “Hey!” says Stef. “It’s Lesley!”

  A dainty woman with short, curly hair stands at the top of the stairs. She’s probably in her mid-forties but looks more worn down than the rest of them. She’s very thin, with sharp-looking knees that poke at the folds of her long nightgown.

  “In the flesh,” Marvin says, backing away slightly.

  His wife scowls down at him. “Marvin, don’t say things like that in front of the children.”

  “What, flesh?” he says. “Is flesh a bad word now?”

  Lesley pulls her blue knitted cardigan more tightly around her as she glides down the steps and over to the fallen plant. Her outfit seems to belong to someone much older than she is, and larger. She picks up a piece of broken pottery, then drops it back onto the pile of dirt.

  “They were hiding things in there.” Marvin gestures at the open chest.

  Lesley’s slim hands flutter up to knead her collarbones, which jut out like wings. “Let them keep playing. It’s fine.”

  Fern charges off with Monsieur Foomay and runs up the stairs, shouting, “It’s our turn to hide!”

  Lesley fidgets with her nightgown and watches Fern go. “They’re always running off somewhere, aren’t they? On to the next adventure.” She nods over at Stef. “Hello, Stephanie. It’s good to see you.”

  Ruth waits for Stef to apologize for the mess, but she just raises the bag of chips in greeting and says, “Hi, Lesley. You’re looking well.”

  The twins blink around them as if waking up from a dream, and then they start jumping up and down and squealing, “Lesley! Lesley!”

  She smiles at them and opens her arms wide. “Hello, my darlings.”

  But instead of rushing in for a hug, they run over and start grabbing at her, pulling on her slender arms and reaching into the droopy pockets of her cardigan. “What do you have for us? What do you have?”

  Lesley’s smile sags. There’s a flash of irritation in her eyes, but then it’s gone. She straightens up and digs both hands into her pockets.

  Isabelle throws her head back and howls, “What is it?”

  “Now, now.” Lesley holds out two closed fists for the twins. “Guess where.”

  Amelia slaps the top of Lesley’s right hand, and Marvin’s wife winces slightly before uncurling her palm, which is empty.

  “The other one! The other one!” the twins shout.

  Lesley opens her left hand to reveal two candies in silver wrappers, and the twins immediately snatch and open and gobble them up, letting the wrappers drift to the floor.

  Stef doesn’t move to pick them up, so Ruth does. Then she lifts her hand in a feeble wave. “Hi, I’m Ruth. And that was Fern. You have a lovely place here.”

  “Thank you.” Lesley beams at her. “We had this cottage built especially for us, did Marvin tell you? Exactly the way we wanted it. We hand-picked all the furnishings as well. It’s our dream come true.”

  “Mama!”

  Ruth jumps at her daughter’s voice.

  Fern is standing at the top of the stairs, clutching at the hem of her dress.

  “Honey, be careful you don’t fall.” Ruth takes a step toward her.

  Lesley stares up at Fern. “Look at her. She’s beautiful.” Then she frowns. “She’s hiding something.”

  “What?” says Ruth. “What are you talking about?”

  “Look at her. There’s a bulge.”

  Oh no.

  “Mama! I have a baby!” Fern pats the lump over her tummy, visible now beneath her clothes.

  All the colour has bled out of Lesley’s face. “What is she doing?”

  “Fern,” says Ruth. “That’s not a good game for right now.”

  “Look! She’s about to get born!” Fern tugs at her dress, and a plastic doll—the one from Marvin and Lesley’s bed—falls out onto the carpet with a soft thump. It rolls onto the top step and then somersaults the rest of the way down, bumping to a stop at Lesley’s bare feet. “I found her upstairs! Can I keep her?”

  Lesley nudges the doll with her toe, then bends to pick it up. “No,” she says. “She’s mine.”

  “That’s okay,” says Fern. “Sometimes people don’t like to share their extra-special toys, so we have to understand.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Ruth says to Lesley in a rush.

  “It’s all right. It’s not her fault.” Lesley strokes the doll’s smooth skin. “It’s normal for them to test us. They pull us in and they push us away.” She smiles a distant smile. “Because they know we love them when they’re very, very good, but they’re never sure how we’ll feel when they’re very, very bad.”

  Fern comes down the stairs slowly, and when she reaches the bottom, Lesley asks her, “Would you like a candy, sweetheart?”

  Fern trembles with excitement. “Yes, please.”

  Lesley tucks the doll under one arm and digs another treat out of her pocket. “Look how polite you are.”

  “She’s perfect, isn’t she?” Stef picks something out of her teeth. “She’s a gift from the angels.”

  Fern carefully unwraps her candy and holds the bright-green sweet briefly in her hand before popping it into her mouth. She stares at Lesley. “Why is your hair so curly?”

  “Fern,” says Ruth. “Shh.”

  “No, it’s a fine
question.” Lesley bends forward and offers her head for Fern’s inspection. “Would you like to guess?”

  Fern looks closely at Lesley’s curls. “Because it’s a nest for birds?”

  Lesley leans back and releases a high, breathless laugh. “Oh, that’s priceless! Yes, Fern. That’s exactly right. My hair is a nest for birds. But these birds are very special, do you know why?”

  “Why?” Fern whispers.

  “Because they’re so small you can hardly even see them. Well, one of them got bigger. He was my extra-special one. But the rest of them start out being small, and they stay that small forever and ever.”

  Ruth gets colder as Lesley speaks, even though there’s no breeze. She hugs herself and her head fills with a chorus of hushed voices, murmuring concern.

  “How small?” says Fern. “Like a snail?”

  “Smaller than a snail. Smaller than the nail on your pinky finger, right there.” Lesley touches Fern’s baby finger, feather-soft. “They are so small that they barely even exist, but they do. They arrive—‘Hello!’—and they stay in my nest and keep me company for a while, and then they fly away. ‘Goodbye!’”

  Fern’s giggle is uncertain. “Do you get lonely when they go?”

  “I do.” Lesley reaches out and clasps Fern’s hands in hers. “But then I met you just now, and you made me happy again. Isn’t that such a nice thing that you did?”

  Instead of answering, Fern makes an odd sound, a sort of whistling. Then she puts her hands on her throat.

  “Fern,” says Ruth, “are you okay?”

  The little girl’s eyes are too wide. She shakes her head, the tiniest movement.

  Ruth bolts over, reaching for her daughter. Lightning speed and useless arms. She has no idea what to do.

  She squeezes her eyes shut, summoning up the friendly young woman with the long, wiggling ponytail who taught the infant-and-child first-aid course Ruth and James took when Fern was a baby, because they wanted to do everything they could to keep her safe. The woman had instructed James and Ruth and the other anxious new parents in her chirpy voice, “If your child is choking, you should first encourage him or her to cough.”

  “Fernie?” says Ruth. “Can you cough?”

  No answer.

  “Somebody do something,” says Stef. “She’s turning blue.”

  Any second now, she’s going to cough.

  “Marvin!” Lesley shouts. “Help her!”

  Her voice jolts him into action and he leaps toward Fern. He thumps her on the back, hard, and the candy flies out of her mouth and lands on the floor with a small cracking sound that reverberates in the silent room. It lies there, glimmering like a jewel.

  No one speaks until Fern coughs, wipes some drool from her chin and takes a long, ragged breath.

  Ruth whispers, “Thank you,” as she picks Fern up and holds on tight. Then she says, mostly to herself, “I didn’t think you were supposed to hit a choking person on the back anymore. That’s what they taught us in the first-aid course we took.”

  Lesley bends down to pick up the candy, still cradling the doll in her other arm. “You can clean up the other mess later,” she tells Marvin as she heads toward the kitchen.

  The rest of them rouse themselves, getting ready to leave.

  “Whew!” Stef slaps her thighs and stands up. “Not a dull moment with this bunch, right Lesley?”

  Lesley gives her a wisp of a smile. She looks even smaller now, dwarfed by the wide, blank walls and sky-high ceiling.

  Marvin opens the front door and ushers everyone outside, and a few tendrils of smoke immediately reach in. “I left your tea on the counter for you,” he tells his wife gently. “It’s cold now, though. Sorry.”

  “That’s all right, I don’t mind. Thank you.” She nods. “It was nice to meet you, Ruth and Fern.”

  Ruth starts to answer her, but then Marvin closes the door and she’s gone.

  THE BONFIRE IS much bigger now.

  Ruth and Fern and Stef and Amelia and Isabelle walk toward it, leaving the cottage behind, and Marvin lopes off to greet some new arrivals.

  Sammy waves to them from his camping chair, with several empty chairs around him.

  There are a lot of people. Sitting, standing, dancing, tossing Frisbees and kicking balls back and forth. Eating and drinking and laughing and shouting across the vast expanse of lawn.

  “I didn’t realize there were so many cottages around here,” Ruth says to Stef. “Your place seems so remote.”

  “Everybody comes from all over,” says Stef. “Word gets out that Marvin’s hosting, and the horde descends.”

  The party is wilder than Ruth was expecting. Adults talk and joke together, heedless of the many small children running around unattended, and teenagers don’t bother hiding the beer and wine and liquor bottles they’re passing around.

  As the mothers and daughters get closer, Sammy frowns at Isabelle’s bloody lip and the scratch on Amelia’s chin. “What the hell happened to you two?”

  Both girls point at Fern. “She did it!”

  “Really?” He gives Ruth an appraising look. “That wasn’t very nice.”

  “They were all fighting,” she rushes to say, giving Fern’s arm a squeeze.

  “Okay, kids,” says Stef. “Go play!”

  Ruth leans down and whispers to Fern, “You can stay with me if you want.”

  But Amelia yells, “Come on, let’s go!” Then Isabelle takes Fern’s hand and all three girls vanish, just like that.

  Ruth starts after them but Stef grabs her arm. “We’ll go and find them later. Let them have some fun for now.”

  “I let her have fun.” Ruth rises up on tiptoes, peering into the dark. “I just like to know where she is, that’s all.”

  “I guess this whole thing is a lesson in letting go for you, right?” says Sammy.

  Ruth frowns. “Excuse me?”

  Stef sits down beside Sammy and whacks him on the shoulder. “Give her a break, okay? Her kid just almost choked to death.”

  “Shit. Is that why you guys took so long?”

  “Yes,” says Stef, then lowers her voice. “And they also met Lesley.”

  “Aha. I thought I smelled extra sugar on the girls’ breath.” He glances around for Marvin, making sure he’s out of earshot. “So what’s inside the fortress, my sneaky little snoop? I can’t believe you got in there on that ridiculous pretense. Washing your child’s hands, my ass.”

  “I know!” She grins at him. “Super fancy. Stupid clean. I couldn’t see one room, though—the door was closed.”

  He nods. “That’s where they keep the whips and chains, obviously.”

  “Obviously.” Stef’s grin widens.

  “Fern’s fine,” Ruth tells him. “Thanks for asking.”

  “Ooh, touchy.” Sammy aims a look at Stef and then busies himself with the cooler bag. “All I was saying, though, is that sometimes you have to love them from a distance. You have to give them some freedom or they’ll just run away one day and never come back.”

  Someone on the other side of the bonfire pokes the coals, sending up a spray of sparks.

  “I don’t think that’s true,” says Ruth. “Not yet, anyway.”

  Stef rips open a package of Oreos, speaking as gently as she can. “I think what he means is, it wouldn’t be so bad if you let Fern fall off the monkey bars sometimes. It’s not your job to protect her from every single awful thing in the world, and the sooner you figure that out, the happier you’ll be and the stronger she’ll be. It’s a win-win.” She pops a cookie into her mouth and chomps down.

  Music is playing from somewhere. Nothing that Ruth recognizes. A woman’s sad, sighing voice and a fast, insistent beat that she wouldn’t know how to dance to.

  “See, here’s the thing.” Stef’s teeth are black with pulverized Oreos. “You have a skewed view of reality because Fern still thinks you’re a rock star, but that won’t last. You’ve got maybe another year, year and a half, tops. They go to school and
they’re gone. They have their friends and they don’t need us anymore.”

  “They always need us,” says Ruth.

  “Oh yeah? Let’s have this talk again when she’s seven and she tells you she hates you on a regular basis. See how you feel then. You won’t even care that she hates you because you’ll be so fucking glad to be away from her. She can yell and scream and slam her door and you’ll just be thrilled to be on the other side of it.”

  Ruth shakes her head. “I don’t think I’ll ever feel that way.”

  “Well, I’m happy for you. I’m happy that you two are so comfy-cozy.”

  Sammy reaches out to pat Stef’s knee.

  “You’re not your parents, you know,” Ruth murmurs.

  “What did you say?” Her friend’s eyes narrow.

  “I just mean that you’re better than they were, that’s all. You love your kids.”

  Stef juts out her chin. “They love me.”

  Ruth nods. “I know they do.”

  “Not my kids.”

  “What?”

  “I mean my parents. My mom and dad love me.”

  “Yes, of course. I wasn’t saying—”

  “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Stef thrusts a hand at Sammy, fingers waggling impatiently. “Give me a beer.”

  Sammy pulls a can out of the cooler bag and hands it to her as Marvin bounds back over to them, his good mood restored.

  He hovers there for a moment, taking in everyone’s stiff posture, and then he carefully folds himself into one of the flimsy chairs. “Grab a seat, Ruth,” he says. “Get comfy.”

  She’s the only one still standing.

  “Come on, Ruthie. Take a load off.” Sammy slaps the empty chair next to his. Then he pulls a joint out of his pocket and starts to light it.

  “Oh, should we maybe not—when they—” Ruth squints to the left and right of the bonfire, trying to locate Fern and the twins.

  Sammy raises an eyebrow at her. “It’s no different than getting drunk in front of the kids. Right?”

  “I never get drunk in front of Fern.” Ruth squares her shoulders. “I always pace myself until she’s asleep.”

  Sammy sucks on the joint and blows a big plume of smoke over her head. “Sure you do.”