Helens-of-Troy (10 page)

“Don’t go there, Helen. You’ll be sorry
you did. Mr. Wagner had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. He was
beyond chemo, so I was doing what I could for him from a holistic
approach. He was my patient. All summer long he would come and sit
on my porch and drink the herbal tea I would leave out for him. He
told me once that's where he wanted to die. Sipping tea on my
porch. He said he wouldn't bother me with the details, but when it
was time, it was time, and I would find a note in his shirt pocket.
I should have left some tea out for him yesterday. I meant to. I
just got busy.” She paused for a moment, a look of puzzlement
crossing her face. “I wonder what he did with the other dead
body?”

“What other dead body? Do you mean
there's more than one?”

Helena took her housecoat off, fully
revealing the matching silk negligee underneath. “Oh relax, Helen.
I meant the stuffed shirt and pants I put out there on the veranda
earlier in the day as a Halloween prop. Honestly, you're letting
your imagination get the better of you.” She picked up the cereal
box and peered inside it. “Nope. No police badges inside.
Satisfied?”

“This is why I moved away from home the
first chance I got. You’re like a tornado. Anything in your path
that’s the least bit unbalanced, spins around and winds up dead on
your doorstep.”

“Are you saying that you’re
unbalanced?” Helena said tersley as she sat down at the table. “Are
you about to die on my doorstep?”

“Of course not.”

“Then that statement is a bit extreme,
don’t you think? So what if we have a gust of bizzaro from time to
time around here? Every household does. Mr. Wagner wasn’t
unbalanced. He was just lonely. So stop your nonsense, take some of
the iced tea out of the fridge and sit down. Don't worry, it's not
going to kill you. There’s no eye-of-newt in it. It's
decaf.”

“That's not funny. Where do you keep
your drinking glasses?”

“It wasn't meant to be. Top right
cupboard.” Helena noticed the look of anger on her daughter’s face
as she passed by her. “All right then, we’ll change the subject.
Ellie looks lovely.”

Helen’s face turned a deep shade of
crimson. “I am so sorry about that. I don't know what's gotten into
her. She won’t leave the house without her ‘dawn-of-the-dead’
make-up. I tried to get her to take it off before she came here
yesterday, but she wouldn’t.” She walked over and opened the
refrigerator. “I don’t see it. The tea, I mean.”

“Top shelf, behind the milk. I wasn’t
being sarcastic. She really does look lovely. I haven’t seen her in
ages. Those eyes of hers are gorgeousthat piercing green stare she
has beneath those killer long eyelashesshe must send the boys
wild. You didn’t actually think I’d be offended by her appearance
did you? It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Helen poured herself a drink. “The
thought had crossed my mind.”

“For heaven’s sake, Helen. She’s not
the only one who dresses like that. There are quite a few
non-confirming gothic teenagers conforming in this town, let me
tell you. It's just a phase she's going through. And you do too
know what's gotten into her. You just weren't that clever when it
happened to you.”

“When what happened to me?” Helen
asked, sitting down at the table.

“When you looked twelve when you were
really fifteen. It can't be easy for her. It wasn't easy for you.
You stuffed your top.”

“I did not!”

Helena choked on her coffee. “You went
from a 32a to a 34c overnight.”

“I was a quick blossomer,” Helen
replied, putting her head in her hands. “Oh God. I did do that,
didn't I?”

“I still have the pictures. Maybe
that's why you're so insistent on covering your boobs up to this
day.”

Helen pulled her flannels closer to her
chest. “Not everyone has the uncontrollable urge to expose their
mammaries to perfect strangers like you do, Mother.”

‘Well it’s an icebreaker, that’s for
sure. Do I need to remind you of your short-lived punk rock period?
You used to buy your belts extra long so you could wrap them around
your leg and then up around your waist. Now that was a look a
mother could be proud of. Bondage. You may recall I chose to ignore
your fashion experimentations at the time. Thankfully you seem to
have been able to make the jump to Armani. I’m sure in time, Ellie
will too.”

“Please don't tell her about that. I'm
trying to instill her with a sense of what it means to be a
successful career woman, and if she gets even the slightest hint
that I wasn’t always so conventional, it’ll be game over. It’s not
easy, you know, trying to get her focused on what she wants to be.
She’s got it into her head that she wants to be a
plumber.”

“Maybe she should be a plumber. Your
PhD in medieval history hasn't done you that well in the long run.
Or should I say mid-evil?”

“That’s not fair. There’s just not a
lot of demand for my particular expertise right now.”

“You should have listened to me and
majored in Archeology. Archeology/grave digging, what's the
difference, really? You'd always have a job.”

“Nice to see you too,
Mother.”

Helena looked at her daughter, wishing
she could break down Helen’s hard exterior. “Where is your sense of
humor, Helen? I was kidding. Of course it's nice to see you. Is
everything okay?”

“Not exactly. I've left
him.”

“So everything's fine then. I warned
you not to marry that man. He reminds me of Napoleon.”

“Napoleon was French.”

“He was a mouthy little dictator. End
of story. You know you and Ellie are always welcome here. How long
are you staying?”

“Thanks for your concern, Mother. What
time is check out?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know you didn't like Tony, but I
thought I’d at least get some empathy from you. I know sympathy
would be out of the question.”

“He’s not dead and that's not why
you're here. I wasn't born yesterday, Helen. If you just wanted to
move away from Tony, you could have moved anywhere, anytime. Like
perhaps before school started this September. I don't think here in
Troy, with me, at the end of October, would be first on your list
if that were truly the case. What's really going on?”

Helen stood up and began to pace in the
kitchen. “Ellie's having nightmares,” she finally said, her voice
trembling.

“What kind of nightmares? Have you had
a talk with her yet?”

“I don't even know how to begin that
talk.”

“Well darling, don't you think it's
time you figured that out? It’s not like the sex talk. She’s not
going to figure it out on her own.”

Helen glared at her mother, her eyes
revealing the anger her lips failed to emote.

“Calm down, Helen, before you give
yourself an aneurysm.”

“I'm sorry, Mother. I haven't seen the
talk show episode yet where the psychologist says, ‘Helen, you need
to look your daughter in the eye and tell her she’s never going to
look her age. Her blood contains proteins that slow down the aging
process by oh, a century or two. She’s eventually going to have to
move every five years so people don't get suspicious and start
sticking needles into her to get some of her DNA.’” She took a deep
breath. “I must have been grave digging the day he covered that
topic."

“Ten.” Helena said
indignantly.

“What?”

“Ten. I move every ten years. People
aren't that quick. Hereditary youth is a wonderful thing, Helen. At
least when you’re older. I'm willing to bet that to this day you
don't mind running into your old friends. I'm surprised you're not
head of the reunion committee. What are you telling them these
days? That you are still thirty-nine? I tell everyone I’m
fifty-eight, just so you don’t blow it for me.”

Her mother had a point there. People
were starting to talk about how Tony was looking older and she
wasn’t. It was another reason it was time for her to leave him. But
not the most important reason.

“Mother, I'm serious. I'm worried about
Ellie. She sleep walks.”

“So did you.”

“When I was four.”

“I see what you mean,” Helena
acknowledged. Ellie was a little old to be doing that. “Does she do
anything else odd?”

“Define odd. She’s a
teenager.”

“Does she scream out in the middle of
the night for no reason?”

“Sometimes.”

“That's okay. Most people do. I blame
it on jalapenos. Don’t eat them before bedtime. Does she have
visions?”

“You mean like knowing that kid was
going to faint before he did? Things like that happen all the time
around her.”

“Well, Stan's a bit nervous. It was
bound to happen. She didn’t foresee Tom collapsing. Mind you, she
was probably blinded by that smile of his. If I was fifteen and Tom
was around, my mind might not be focused either. Tell me
more.”

“She whistles in her sleep. Not happy
little lullabies, either. They’re these low, haunting little
melodies. She never whistles when she’s awake. Ever.”

“Oh dear. That's not good. That could
mean it's starting.”

The two women ended their conversation
abruptly as Ellie walked into the kitchen, ignored both of them,
and headed toward the fridge.

“She’s not much of a talker in the
morning,” Helena commented.

“No, wait...” Helen replied, raising
her hand alarmingly to her mother.

They watched as Ellie crashed head
first into the-side by-side panel door of the
refrigerator.

“Do you see what I mean?” Helen
whispered. “She's asleep.”

“She made it sleepily all the way
downstairs, in a house she hardly knows. What's a little
navigational issue like a fridge? She's fine.” Helena assured her.
“Although she does look like she’s twelve without all the
make-up.”

“Mother! She is not fine. Look at her
feet. They’re covered in mud.”

“She went outside last night to the van
and her runners fell off her feet. I was watching from the front
window. Darling, you really should have taught her how to put her
shoes on properly.”

Helen walked over to her daughter,
placed her hands on Ellie’s shoulders and shook her. “Ellie. Ellie,
wake up.” She clapped her hands loudly in front of Ellie’s face,
awakening the teenager from her slumber.

Ellie shook her head dizzily as she
tried to recognize her surroundings. “Sorry,” she said bleary-eyed.
“I don't know why I keep doing this.”

“You're over-tired,” Helena offered.
“You had too much excitement last night. Apparently so did your
mother.”

“I guess so. Maybe that and too much
sugar. I snuck some of your left over chocolate bars into my room.
They were really good,” Ellie said, rubbing her head.

“Headache, dear?” Helena asked.
“There’s some pain killers in the bathroom cupboard if you want
some.”

“No. I’ll be okay. I'm just a little
groggy. I had the weirdest dream. There was this whistling manyou
know those wooden cowboy cutouts some people have on their
fenceshe sort of looked like that. And he took me out to the
country to this little girl who was wearing a blue checkered dress
like you’d see in Oz. The whistling dude, he kept telling me I had
to save her, that it was my manifest destiny or something. And she
kept saying ‘Ellie, find me. Save me.” She took a deep breath. “It
was totally scary.”

“And then what happened, dear?” Helena
asked, entranced.

“Then I hit my head on the
fridge.”

Helen anxiously turned to her mother.
“What do you think?”

“I think that would hurt,” Helena
replied. “I still think she needs an pain tablet.”

“No, Mother,” she sighed, exasperated.
“Do you thinkyou know?”

“Willie?” Helena asked. “I suppose it’s
possible. I haven’t seen him in years.”

“Will he, won’t he, what? Hello?” Ellie
waved, “I'm right here in front of you. It's not nice to keep
secrets. I am awake now. I can hear you. Were either of you
whistling Frère Jacques earlier? Because that would be a big
help.”

Helena looked at her granddaughter
gravely. “Ellie, sit down dear. We need to have a little
talk.”

“I hate little talks,” Ellie sighed,
pulling a chair up beside Helena.

“I hate little talks with your mother
too. But this one's different.” She looked at Helen for some
assistance, but Helen only shrugged, helpless. “Ellie, there's no
easy way to tell you this. We're not normal, we
LaRose's.”

“Well, that explains Mom. But you and
me? Not normal how?”

“You know how your Nan was dressed as a
witch last night,” Helen interjected. “That wasn’t a big stretch
for her. For any of us.”

“Helen, don't be so simplistic. We are
not witches,” Helena stated.

Ellie looked from Helena to Helen
looking for an answer. There was none. “Well that sucks. First I
am, then I'm not. A witch. Talk about parental cruelty. You've
taken away a possible career choice and any supernatural powers I
may have in less than a minute.”