Mother (6 page)

Being here was like stepping into the past, and in the periphery of her mind, a vague and unsettling memory played hide-and-seek with her. Her stomach twisted as the acrid scent of bleach overwhelmed her senses. She glanced at Jason - he was oblivious. And then the odor was gone - as if it had never existed.
Just my imagination.
 

She looked at the mantelpiece over the red brick fireplace on the narrow end of the room. Above it was a gold-bronze metal bald eagle clock. The wingspan was at least a yard and its talons clutched an enameled green laurel. Its breast was emblazoned with an American flag which was mostly hidden by the clock face. Hideous didn’t begin to cover it. When she was little, it had terrified her. She was convinced the eagle flew through the house at night and peeked in everyone’s bedrooms. If it caught you awake, it would peck your eyes out.

The long-forgotten memory emerged unbidden - Mother had told her that to keep her in bed at night. And Claire’d told her big brother about it. One day when Mother wasn’t home, Tim had taken the eagle off the wall and showed her the back, where it had batteries and said, “Made in Taiwan.” He’d told her that if she was still afraid, he’d take the batteries out every night so the eagle couldn’t come after her. She glared at her mother.
Monster.

And then there was Tim. She tried not to think about him because when she did, tears came, and she did
not
cry. Would
not. He was ten when she was born and after her father’s accident, Tim had become a father figure. He’d kept her sane - until he lost his own sanity.
 

Tears imminent, she turned her gaze to the mantelpiece. The soldiers - little hand-painted porcelain figurines dressed in Naval blues and whites - were complete with gold detailing and red piping. Lined up by the dozens on either side of the framed veteran burial flag resting directly beneath the big eagle, the soldiers stood at attention, honoring the dead.
Not a speck of dust.
Claire glanced at Mother, who was clutching Jason’s arm and looking up at him with adoring eyes.
Nothing changes.
 

Tim’s father, Franklin, had never met his own son, dying in Vietnam a month before he was due to come home.
Her
father was Franklin’s identical twin, whom Mother married a few years later, after Frederick’s first wife died.
It’s all so … incestuous.
Her dad, Fred, had had his accident when Claire was only three, so neither she nor Tim ever really had a father.
 

“Carlene?”

Claire didn’t turn around.

“I mean Claire! I’m so sorry, darling, I’ll get better at this, I promise.”

Claire turned and blinked.
Another apology? From Mother?
She didn’t think she’d ever heard the woman apologize in her life. “Yes?”

“I was just telling Jason all about your apartment. Would you like to go see it before dinner?”

Black-Eyed Children

Priscilla Martin paused at the doorway to the above-the-garage apartment. “I was using this as my jewelry studio, but as soon as I knew you were coming, I moved everything to the guest room and had this all fixed up for you.” She smiled at Claire, then Jason. She really was trying hard. “I hope you like it. If you don’t, you can redecorate.”

She unlocked the door. Claire had told Jason that Tim had begged to live here when he’d turned twelve, but Mother wouldn’t hear of it, saying he was too young to live on his own. The real reason, Claire said, was because it was filled to the rafters with junk. It was hard for Jason to believe Priscilla, with her military neatness, harbored such chaos behind closed doors.
 

The lock clicked and Priscilla stood back. “Go on in, you two, and tell me what you think.”

“Thanks.” Jason followed Claire inside. Priscilla brought up the rear.

Seeing Claire’s expression, Jason smiled. “This is really nice, Mrs. Martin.”

“Oh, please, call me Prissy. Or Mother.”

“Okay … Prissy. This is great.”

“Car- Claire?” Prissy asked in her peculiar nasal tone. “Will this do? I tried to furnish it with things you’d like.”

 
Claire turned. “It’s … It’s nice. Thank you.”
 

Jason could see she had trouble getting the words out. He took her hand and squeezed it.
 

“I had them paint all the walls in Navajo White. I remember you always liked that shade, Car … Claire. I hope you still do.”

Claire nodded. “I do.”

Jason crossed to the tweedy couch - browns, blacks, oranges, whites - and sat down. “This is really comfortable.” It faced a wall-mounted flat screen TV.

Claire nodded. He could tell she was shocked that her new living room wasn’t done in pastels. She loathed what she called “wimpy” colors and, after seeing Priscilla Martin’s living room, he understood why.
 

“And I got this recliner just for you, Jason.” Prissy pulled a throw off the chair. “And I hope the television is big enough. It’s thirty-six inches. We have cable.”

“The chair looks great.”

“If you don’t like it, the salesman assured me we can exchange it. Try it out.”

Jason sat in the dark brown recliner. It was a little stiff, but he’d break it in in no time. He really liked the nubby upholstery. ”You didn’t have to do all this, Prissy.” ‘Prissy’ was awkward in his mouth but ‘Mother’ would be worse.

“I wanted to.” Claire’s mother smiled.

Natural bamboo blinds covered the big window that looked at the rear of the main house and a sturdy pine coffee table fronted the couch. Matching end tables held lamps - thankfully without frilly ballerina shades - and a wooden magazine rack and a brass pole lamp with an amber shade stood next to his recliner. “This is really nice,” he said again.

Finally, Claire looked at her mother and nearly smiled. “Thank you. You’ve been … thoughtful.”

“Let me show you the dining area and kitchen.” Prissy led them past the couch, through a wide doorway that opened on the tiny dining room. A modest round maple table and four chairs were installed there. Claire made an approving noise. Beyond that was the kitchen. “I had them install this fridge and stove just last week.” The white appliances were sized to fit the petite yellow-walled kitchen. “There’s no dishwasher - if you want one, we can have some cabinets removed. Just say the word.”

Claire spoke up. “We rarely used a dishwasher when we had one.” She smiled and opened one of the cabinets by the sink.
 

“Everything’s new,” her mother said. She looked at Jason and he saw tears of joy in her eyes. She wanted Claire’s approval badly and now she finally had it. It would be a downhill battle from here.
 

“Jason, aren’t these pretty?” Claire showed him the dishes stacked in the cupboard. It was Corelle Ware, tan with a subtle flower border. There were tumblers, coffee mugs, juice glasses. In the drawer was a gleaming set of silverware, and on the Formica countertop were a toaster, a small microwave, and a coffeemaker.
 

“There’s a mixer and blender in the bottom cabinet. If there’s anything else you need just let me know.”

“This is perfect, Mother.” Claire smiled at her. “Thank you.”

“We’ll just go to the market for a few things tomorrow and we’re all set.” Jason felt the best he had since everything had gone to hell.

“No need.” Priscilla opened a cupboard, revealing cereal, soup, spices, flour, canned vegetables, fruits, and other basics. “Look in the fridge, Claire.”

Claire opened the freezer first, revealing frozen veggies, a couple TV dinners and raspberry Toaster Strudel, which Jason knew was Claire’s absolute favorite thing in the world. She looked at him. “Did you tell Mother I love these?”
 

“No-”

“I remembered you love them all on my own, honey.”
 

“That’s nice.”

Mother nodded. “There are only a couple things in the fridge. I didn’t want to stock it until you got here, so everything will be nice and fresh. I’m taking you two to the market tomorrow, my treat.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Jason said.

“I don’t have to, but I want to.” She smiled at them both. “You’ll let me, won’t you?”

“Yes,” said Claire before Jason could. “Thanks.”

“I’ll pay you back out of my first check.”

“No you won’t, Jason. You’ll save every cent to get back on your feet, and I’ll help you however I can. By the way, are you excited about starting your new job next week?”

“I am.” Jason, overwhelmed with gratitude, searched for the right words. For days now, every time he thought about his sudden good fortune - thanks to the woman standing before him - relief threatened to overwhelm him. It was as if all the anxiety of the past months was melting away. Finally, he and Claire had a chance at happiness again. Tears pricked his eyes and for a moment, he thought he might lose it. “Thank you.” His voice quavered.

“You’re welcome. Let’s see your bath and bedroom, shall we?” Priscilla led them from the kitchen into a small laundry area built into the hallway. A brand new washer and dryer awaited them. There was a built-in ironing board and shelves that held detergent, fabric softener, and bleach. Beyond that was the bathroom. Small, but neat and clean. The shower/tub combination had a striped blue and white curtain that matched the small one on the window. “I like this apartment because it’s circular - you don’t have to go back and forth to get to where you want to go,” Priscilla told them. They turned into another short hall. “Now, here’s the bedroom. I tried to make it extra cheerful. I used a few things from your old room, Claire, to decorate.”

The room was spacious for such a small place. A double bed rested beneath a large window through which the last golden rays of sunlight shone. There were two dressers against opposing walls, a beige rug, and paintings of children and grinning clowns on the walls. The children, with their large, black eyes, were even creepier than the clowns.
 

Jason glanced at Claire, who stared at the demonic children and oily clowns with a look of horror.
 

“These were your favorites, remember, darling?” Prissy admired the artwork.

Claire swallowed hard.

“Maybe the baby will like them, too.”

“These things gave me nightmares, Mother. I hate them.”

Prissy’s mouth became a little O, and she brought her hand to her breast. “You never told me that, Carlene - Claire. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Claire’s jaw flexed. “I did.”

Prissy gave Jason an imploring look.

He put his arm around Claire’s shoulders.
 

“You may re-decorate however you want. I just thought you’d like them.” She clasped her hands and wrung them, and Jason felt a stab of pity for Prissy. She was trying so hard, and Claire was giving her so little. He pushed away his irritation.

“We’ll buy you better paintings tomorrow when we go out,” said Prissy. “There’s the best little art shop downtown. They’ll have something you like more.”

Claire nodded.
 

“Well then,” Prissy said, “why don’t we go back to the house and have dinner? I’ve made your favorite - manicotti with extra ricotta. That
is
still your favorite, isn’t it, darling?”

Claire blinked and smiled weakly. “Yes. I still love manicotti. But-”

“I’m afraid we’ve already eaten, Prissy.”
 
Jason smiled. “It’s all my fault. I just had to try the burgers and ice cream sodas at the Daffodil Grill.” Despite Claire’s claim that her mother was rigid about dinnertime, the woman’s smile never faltered.

“Of course, we can keep it warm.” She turned to Claire. “I didn’t know you’d ever been to the Snapdragon Hotel, let alone their restaurant.”

Claire nodded. “It was a long time ago. With a friend.”

“Did you?” Prissy blew out a breath and looked around. “At any rate, I should leave you two alone now. I need to feed your father, and I’m sure you kids want some time to yourselves to settle in. Just pull your car up next to mine in the driveway.” She looked from Claire to Jason. “If you need anything - anything at all - don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll see you for dinner at seven.”

Claire cleared her throat. “How is Dad? I’d like to see him.”

Prissy frowned. “No better, I’m afraid. He’s had quite a bit of excitement today. Let’s wait until morning for visiting, shall we?”

Claire nodded. As soon as Mother left, she started opening windows. “I hate her perfume. It gives me a headache ... and it makes the dizziness worse.”
 

“You should tell her.”

“I will.”

Marble Madonna

“This all looks so delicious!” Jason deposited a big spoonful of chicken Alfredo next to his cheese manicotti. Caesar salads and garlic bread accompanied each plate. At the center of the polished cherry wood dining table, four tall white candles burned in a gaudy silver candelabrum. Their dishes rested on fancy silvery placemats and Claire couldn’t help noticing Mother had broken out her best china - the same china neither she nor Tim had ever been allowed to use. Even at Thanksgiving dinner, the kids had been relegated to a card table set with plastic dishes.
 

“Would you like to say grace, Jason?” Mother asked.

Jason fidgeted with his linen napkin. “Um, won’t you do it tonight, Prissy?”

“Of course.” Mother closed her eyes, bowed her head, and clasped her hands in front of her. For a very long moment, she was as still as a marble Madonna. Jason and Claire exchanged glances.

Mother sighed. “Our Father in Heaven,” she began. “Bless us this day. We give You our thanks for the meal we, Your unworthy servants, are about to enjoy.” There was silence and just as Claire unclasped her hands, Mother continued. “Lord, thank You for the opportunity You’ve given me to spend time with my daughter, Carlene - who calls herself Claire now, just so You know - and her husband, Jason Holcomb.”

“It’s Holbrook, Mother.”

Mother took no notice as she plowed on. “Oh, Lord … we have so much to be grateful for, and we know that Your graciousness is beyond our capacity to understand, even though we don’t know what Your Grand Plan really is … Oh, Lord … “