Mother (66 page)

“And everyone else in that house,” Dave said.
 

“You’re right,” said Andy. “Come on.”

Andy, Dave, and Paul headed into Prissy’s house.

“Oh, my God.” Tears slipped from Claire’s eyes and the letter shook in her hands.

“What is it?” asked Stephanie.

“I can’t …” she handed the letter to Steffie.

The torture in Claire’s eyes brought Jason to the present. Tim’s bedroom forgotten, he put an arm around his wife.

“Read it, Steffie,” said Claire. “Please.”

“Okay.” Stephanie looked at the letter, her heartache obvious as she recognized Tim’s scrawl.

“Mother,

“First things first, I don’t care what becomes of my body. If you feel compelled to give me a ‘proper’ burial, that’s your business, but know that as far as I’m concerned, you can cremate it, put it in a box, or, for that matter, toss it in a river. That’s how much I care about the life you gave me.

“I can’t live knowing the things I know. I can’t live having done the things I’ve done. And I can’t live without Stephanie. You ripped her away from me the same way you ripped away everyone I cared about. You won’t allow me to love anyone but you. Not even Carlene is allowed to be with me anymore, because you know how much I love her.
 

“You are a sick woman, Mother, and I hope that if my death does nothing else, it forces you to look at who you are and what you’ve done. If I believed I could get Carlene away from you, I would. But I know now that you’ll never let that happen. I only hope she never knows how deep your sickness goes. She’s witnessed many of the horrible “punishments” you’ve given me over the years, and I hope she forgets them all. I hope she locks them in a box somewhere deep and never has to think about them again. But, most of all, I hope she never knows that you were carrying my child.”

Stephanie’s breath caught. “Oh, my God.”

Jason felt like someone had punched him the gut.

“Please,” said Claire. “Keep going.”

Stephanie took a slow breath, then continued.

“When you told me today that you miscarried, you were heart-broken, but for me, it was a miracle - a second chance. So, no, we will not ‘keep trying’ as you said, Mother. My death will make sure of that. I’m horrified, I’m ashamed, and I’m sickened by what I’ve done. And I’m sickened by who you are.
 

“I hate you, Mother. Live knowing that. With every cell in my body, I hate you and I always have. I only wish I’d strangled you in your sleep, or slit your throat, or slipped you an overdose - believe me, I’ve thought about it many times - but somehow, I could never do it. But I CAN end my OWN life. And I will.

“My death is just a formality, though. My life has ended a thousand times before today. It ended when I was five years old and I saw the look in your eye as you told me that you’d never let anyone take me away from you. It ended when I was ten and you started giving me enemas while fondling me. It ended the first time you pushed my hand up your skirt and said I was a good boy for touching you there. It ended when I was fifteen and you showed me what oral sex was. It ended when you took me away from Stephanie. It ended when I realized that even leaving the state wouldn’t put any distance between us - that you’d always find a way to bring me back. But most of all, it ended when I became so sick myself, and so desperate for freedom - that I allowed myself to believe you when you said you’d let me go back to Steffie if I gave you a baby - a permanent piece of me.
 

“But sitting here in this wheelchair, listening to your ugly lies, I realized there IS another way out.
 

“I don’t know where I’m going. Maybe there’s nothing after this life, and that would be fine with me. The only thing that matters is that, wherever I’m headed, you can’t follow.
 

“And in a way, that doesn’t make this the day I died. It makes today my birthday.
 

“Timothy.”

The three of them sat in silence. Jason’s mind whirled. Claire wept. Steffie’s face was a mask of shock.

“I can’t believe it,” said Steffie. “I had no idea …”

Now, more than ever, Jason knew he needed to tell Claire about what he’d seen in Tim’s bedroom, but he wasn’t quite sure how to say it.
I’m going to have to
show
her.
But not yet. He had to let the shock of the letter sink in first. He didn’t want to risk sending his wife spiraling into another fugue. Not after she’d just come back to him.
 

After locking both the front and kitchen doors, Priscilla started the record player. After taking a moment to calm her nerves, she took the stairs to the second floor. She had no interest in Frederick or Claire. What she needed was some time alone in Timothy’s bedroom.
Those ingrates!
she thought as she walked down the long hall.
Every last one of them! After all I’ve done for all of them!
But it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered now was Timothy. She couldn’t wait to tell him all about it.
 

She pushed his bedroom door open on darkness and closed it gently, then turned on the light and crossed to the newly painted crib she’d been working so hard on. She had painted it the same beautiful sky blue it had been when it was new; redoing it three times before she got the shade of enamel just right. The paint still smelled - she’d done the third coat last night - and the smell of thinner traced through the room.
 

She looked around. In every corner was something from Timothy’s infancy - his
first
infancy. Except the changing table. That was new. “Timothy,” she murmured, “Your room is almost ready for you.” Oh, what a chore it had been putting his old crib together again. “But, it was worth it wasn’t it, Timothy?
You’re
worth it, my sweet little Angelheart.” She smoothed the blue blankets that she’d carefully stored away all these years, then touched the frayed ears of the little blue stuffed bunny he’d loved so much - the one with brown eyes. She’d considered replacing it, but was afraid he wouldn’t be as happy with an imitation. “You’re going to help him remember,” she whispered to the bunny. “You’re going to help Timothy remember who he is when he’s born.”

She lit a scented candle that sat on the dressing table. The smell of baby powder softened the stench of paint. She caressed the white mobile hanging over the crib, touching the musical notes and blue and yellow ducks and chicks that hung from it. Unable to resist, she wound it up, smiling as the first notes of
The Magic Flute
began tinkling. “Do you remember your mobile, Timothy? I’ve kept it for you all these years. Oh, how it made you smile, and it will again very soon, I promise.”

The walls were pale blue with colorful wallpaper borders that were almost identical to the ones she’d put up nearly forty years ago - cavorting ponies and baby cowboys, edged above and below by coils of western rope. Calves with smiling faces branded on their backsides appeared every six feet or so. The new paper didn’t have the brands, so she’d painted them on herself, using old photos to make sure they matched the original. She’d done a good job. “I hope you’ll appreciate all I’ve been doing for you, Timothy.”

Moving toward the bassinet, she lifted the baby blue curtains and stared down at the street, thinking of her neighbors, of the humiliation they’d put her through. She wanted to tell Timothy all about the trouble they’d caused her, but being in this room calmed her nerves. She didn’t want to tarnish the room with such negativity.
Soon, my baby boy will be back, and none of it will matter.
She pulled the curtains closed and continued on, running a lingering finger along the lip of the blue bassinet - her favorite item. It was a roomy wicker cradle that, as soon as he was born, she’d move into her own bedroom, so he could sleep with her. “Timothy, I’m so glad you’re
finally
coming home again.” she murmured. “So glad. I only wish I could have carried you myself and nursed you like I did the first time. But we can buy you formula and you’ll be mine - all mine - from the moment you emerge from Carlene’s womb. All mine. It’s going to be just perfect.”

“Mother?”

Prissy whirled and locked eyes with her daughter.
 

Carlene, Jason, and that tawdry Audrey, Stephanie Banks, all stood, watching her, listening to her.

“It’s locked.” Andy shook the knob on the front door.

“What now?” Dave Flannigan stared at the door and windows. “We need to get in there.”

Andy knocked on the door. “Priscilla,” he called.

Babs Vandercooth headed toward them. “There’s a key,” she said in cheery tone. “It’s in a holly planter by the back door.” She smiled. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

“My God.” Claire looked wildly around the room.
This is what she’s been doing in here?
She stared at the crib, caught the sickening-sweet scent of baby powder that came from a burning candle on the dresser, and the sharp tang of paint thinner coming from a tin that stood next to it. She saw the bassinet, the changing station, the new wallpaper, all the old toys, and it began to make sense - yet she couldn’t quite wrap her mind around it. “What in the name of God are you doing?” Her voice was thin, weak.

“Carlene …” Mother’s smile was placid but her eyes were crazed.

“A
nursery?
” Claire’s voice bordered on a shriek. “You’ve been building a nursery in here?”
She never intended to let us leave!

Mother smiled. “Yes, dear. For Timothy when he comes.” Her gaze roamed over the faces that stared, darkening when it lit on Stephanie. “Don’t you see? That was God’s plan, Carlene. To bring you back to me so you could give me my Timothy back.”

Claire crutched into the room, closer to Mother. “You want to …
steal
my baby?”

“Of course not, dear.” Mother raised a hand to her throat, toying with the hair necklace.

“You think my baby is Timothy?”

“Of course he is. It’s God’s will, dear, that he come back to me.” She paused. “You aren’t fit to raise him. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth. You’re not stable. Everyone knows that.”

Hearing the words was like a kick to the gut. “This is why you drugged me? To prove I was unfit?” Her mind raced. “And you broke my leg. I don’t know how you did it, but I know you did. It was your plan to keep me here all along, wasn’t it?” Her voice took on a hard edge, and she felt Jason’s hand on her waist.

She stumped forward several paces. “Oh, poor put-upon Priscilla Martin, stuck nursing her daughter back to health. Poor Priscilla, thank heaven she’s a fucking nurse so she can oversee her daughter’s recovery.”
 

“Claire?” Jason’s voice was low, cautious.

Claire ignored him. “What were you going to do, Mother? Deliver the baby yourself and make sure I didn’t survive? And what were you planning to do about Jason? Pump him so full of drugs he can’t speak? Like you do Dad? You’re behind Dad’s accident, aren’t you?”

Mother gasped. “Carlene! You’re being so paranoid! How could you even
suggest
such an appalling thing?”

Steffie Banks stepped forward and spoke through clenched teeth. “Because you’re not sane. And when your husband recovers from the drugs and damage you’ve inflicted, I’m betting he’ll tell us plenty that backs that up.”
 

Mother laughed. “Well, well, if it isn’t little Stephanie Banks all grown up. Finally grew into your teeth, did you?” She crossed her arms. “Given your expression, I take it you think your presence in my home comes as a surprise to me. Don’t you think I know what goes on in my own house? I’ve been expecting you for days now, Ms. Banks.”

Steffie’s eyes didn’t waver. “It’s
Dr
. Banks.”

“You look … different,” said Mother. “Though I can’t say it’s much of an improvement.” She looked at Claire. “You need to get back to bed, young lady. You aren’t well. All of this upset isn’t good for little Timothy.” She reached out and ran her fingers over Claire’s abdomen.

Claire slapped her hand away. “Don’t touch me, Mother.”

“Oh, Carlene. Don’t act up in front of your friend. You always were so
eager
to please Ms. Banks. You seemed to think she walked on water.” She sighed. “Unfortunately, your brother wasn’t quite as taken with her.”
 

“You. Are. A. Crazy. Bitch.” Steffie spoke between her teeth.

Mother’s spine went rigid. “Excuse me?” She pinned Steffie in a cold, furious gaze.

Steffie stepped forward. “You heard me.”

Paul, Andy, and Dave entered the kitchen. Andy led the way upstairs, walking quietly, listening hard. The muted voices they’d heard from the kitchen sounded louder now - and angry. He glanced at Dave and Paul, a finger to his lips as they reached the landing.
 

The block party had ended abruptly, though the music from Hank Lowell’s radio played on.
Stand By Me
filled the air as potlucks were solemnly disassembled. Stan and Aida’s chili table was neatly folded, the leftovers put in the refrigerator for tomorrow’s lunch. Bettyanne’s vegetable soup and Candy’s salads had been put away. Others followed suit until, at last, Carl and Babs’ hot dog grill was closed and rolled back up the driveway.
 

The neighborhood began the cleanup, removing trash and banners and balloons, pushing trash cans up driveways until, finally, there was no evidence anything unusual had happened on Morning Glory Circle.
 

When they were done, the residents remained outside, silent in the clear afternoon, listening to music and watching the big white house that presided over the street.
 

“How dare you?” Prissy said to Stephanie Banks. “Haven’t you done enough damage to this family?” A vein pulsed on her temple.
 

But Claire felt no fear. “Tim would be alive today if you hadn’t dragged him back to Snapdragon, Mother. He’s dead because of
you
!”

Prissy whirled. “You bite your tongue, you vicious little brat!”

“It’s the truth,” said Steffie. “And you can’t bring him back, Priscilla. He’s gone.”