Mother (8 page)

Jason watched her. “I thought you liked corn.”

“I do if I don’t think it’s going to poison me. These are expired. By years. All of them.” She continued tossing cans then picked up the bag of flour and opened it. “Look at this.” She held the bag out to Jason.
 

“Yuck! What is that?”

“Weevils. And more weevils.”

Jason took the flour and set it in the trash. “Well, at least there’s Bartoli’s. We’ll always know where to get damned good pasta,” he said. “What are you looking for?”

Claire sighed. “I need a Nuprin. I was hoping she might have stocked some for us.”

“In the kitchen?”

“Mother thinks pills belong in the kitchen. They’re part of the five basic food groups. Just ask her, she’ll tell you.”

Jason tossed the half-eaten cookie on top of the expired flour and vegetables, then picked up a can of soup. “Jesus, this dates back to the last century.” He tossed it and the rest without checking further. “You have a headache?”

“Her perfume makes my head hurt.” She shut the cupboard. “Did we bring any ibuprofen up?”

“There’s a bottle in the overnight case I brought up with the computers. Your pill organizer and prenatal vitamins are in it, too. So is your music box. I figured you’d want that.”

“You’re so sweet,” said Claire. The music box, a gift from Timothy for her ninth birthday, was one of the few things she truly cherished. It had a little plastic ballerina that spun and bobbed on its springs to sweet, tinkling music. It was empty inside. Claire had never worn much jewelry - but that music box … it was special. When Tim had given it to her, he’d told her that she could tell the little ballerina anything, and she would always keep her secrets. Claire had taken that literally and had often talked to the tiny dancer when she was upset.
 

“I’ll bring up the rest of the bags in the morning,” Jason said.

She gave him a flirty smile. “So, we’re sleeping naked tonight?”

Jason leaned against the counter. “Sounds good to me. I’ll go get your painkillers.”

“Thanks. I’ll be in the living room checking out that comfortable sofa.”

Jason returned with two ibuprofen and a glass of water.

“Thanks, babe.” She tossed the tablets back, then drained the glass as Jason tried out the recliner. “Will the TV irritate your headache?”

 
“No, it’s fine.”

He picked up the remote, aimed it at the television and clicked it to no avail.
 

She looked at the clock. It was only nine, but she was tired and Jason looked tired, too. “I think I’ll take a shower and go to bed.”

“Maybe I’ll join you.” He shook the remote and tossed it on the couch. “I’ll figure the TV out in the morning.”

Claire laughed. “That’s the first thing you’ll learn about my mother, Jason: nothing works. When something breaks, it goes onto the list of things that need to be taken care of, where it stays forever.”

Jason frowned. “Well, she’s probably been pretty busy setting this place up for us.”
 

He thinks I’m a terrible daughter.
 

But if that was his thought, he didn’t say so. “Speaking of lists, let’s make one for the groceries in the morning. Do you think your mother will mind if we get a couple of steaks?”

Claire shrugged. “No. You’re in the seduction stage.”

“Huh?”

“There are three stages to all of Mother’s relationships. The first is that she seduces you. Next, she tries to establish dominance, and that leads to the third stage, which can go one of two ways - either she’ll realize she can control you, or she’ll stay as far away from you as she can get. Right now, she’s seducing you, showing you how generous she is. She’ll encourage steaks.”

“Cool. Let’s try to keep her in that stage. Does she have a barbecue?” His look told her he thought she was being too harsh.

“She has several, I’m sure.” Claire stood up. “Are you coming to bed?”

Jason pursed his lips. “I think I’ll stay up a while, after all. Maybe I can figure out the TV and see if we have an internet connection for the laptops. It’ll be less we have to do tomorrow.” His voice was flat.
 

She was certain now that he thought she was being unfairly critical of Mother. And that meant he’d been sucked in by her charms.
And why wouldn’t he be? She’s the finest actress this side of Hollywood.
Claire wanted to be angry, but she was too tired. She rose then stooped to kiss her husband on the lips. His kiss was chaste. She headed toward the bedroom, eager to rest her aching head on a soft, cool pillow.

After doing a set of nightly push-ups and sit-ups, Jason lay on the couch, thinking. He wondered why someone would hire him, sight unseen. He knew his soon-to-be-boss, Paul Schuyler, was an old friend of Tim Martin’s, but it seemed awfully risky to give a job to someone you’d never even met, let alone interviewed.
What if I’m not what he expects? What if Prissy made me out to be something I’m not, and he’s disappointed?
Jason decided not to worry about it. He would do the best he could. It was nice of the man to hire him, and very kind of Prissy to make it happen.

His thoughts drifted to Timothy Martin, dead at twenty by his own hand. Claire hadn’t told him an awful lot, but he knew Tim had a girlfriend who had moved to Brimstone, Arizona, and he had joined her soon after. Then he’d had an accident and Prissy had brought him home to Snapdragon where she could help him recover. At least that’s what he’d gleaned out of Claire’s not-so-nice telling of the tale. Surely, he’d intended to get well and go back to Brimstone, back to his girlfriend.
So why did he kill himself?
As far as Claire knew, Tim hadn’t suffered from any kind of depression, though he had developed a drinking problem.
Maybe that’s what did it.
 

Jason wondered what became of the girlfriend in Brimstone. Maybe, if he hit it off with his new boss, Paul would tell him. The whole thing was just so tragic. When Jason himself was twenty, he’d felt like he had the world on a string. Anything was possible. His entire life had sprawled ahead of him, waiting for him to live it. He simply couldn’t imagine what would drive someone so young to end his own life.
Tragic. And tragic for Claire. She loved her big brother so much.

Algebraic Prowess

Jason placed a can of corn in the shopping cart.

“Oh,” said Prissy. “I gave you plenty of corn and other veggies. I put them in the cupboard next to the sink.”

Jason felt his face heat up.
 

“It’s all expired, Mother,” said Claire.

“Of course it is, dear. These things are good far beyond the dates they put on the labels. We mustn’t be wasteful.” Prissy touched the beaded hair necklace between her pointed breasts. She wore a pastel blue pantsuit dressy enough for a business meeting and matching blue and white pumps. Her hair and makeup were flawless, as if she’d just stepped out of a beauty parlor, and
Opium
hovered around her like a chemical fog.
All this, for a grocery store?
The pumps bothered him the most. He was with Claire on foot comfort and couldn’t imagine why any woman would wear heels to the market.
 

Claire’s jaw flexed. “I’m not going to eat corn that expired before I was even married. And even if the spinach and beets were still fresh, you know I don’t eat those things. I never did.” She added a smile. “Not even Popeye could talk me into canned spinach, don’t you recall?”

Prissy stared at her daughter, then smiled. “Of course. I didn’t realize they’d been expired so long and that probably wouldn’t be good for the baby.” Her gaze flicked to Claire’s stomach. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m so sorry, Claire.”

Relief swept over Jason as the women’s eyes unlocked. A treaty had been struck.

“Just let me check this,” said Prissy, snapping a can of corn off the shelf like a lizard going for a fly. She turned it over, studying the label as she punched numbers into a clunky calculator she’d pulled from her handbag. Satisfied with the equation, she reached for a different brand of corn, punched in more numbers, then did the same with a third. And a fourth. “Just as I suspected,” she said, arching her brow.

“What’s that?” asked Jason, leaning on the shopping cart.
 

“Well, this one has more ounces than the other three, but the price of
this
one,” she flourished the third can, “is actually lower. While it may have the lowest price, it also has the lowest ounces. So this one,” she said, holding up the second can, “is actually less expensive, because while it’s priced a little higher, the ounces exceed those of the other three cans.” She beamed at him and Jason blinked, unable to imagine going to this much trouble.

He pointed at the price tag on the shelf. “It has the price per ounce right here, Prissy. You don’t need to bother with a calculator.”

“You can’t trust the store itself to be honest. You never know what they’ll try to pull. They
rely
on misplaced trust, Jason, sweetheart.
Capitalism
relies on it.” Prissy placed the can in the cart and waved a hand. “I know. It’s a little more time-consuming this way, but I always get the best bargain possible … and we
must
keep a close eye on our finances, mustn’t we?” There was something in her tone - something close to judgment - that irked Jason.
 

Claire, however, looked fit to be tied. “We like Green Giant Niblets, Mother.” She took a fifth can from the shelf and placed it in the cart. “And if we have to pay for it ourselves, we will, because this is the kind we want. We aren’t entirely penniless, you know.”

Prissy nodded. “Of course, darling.” She replaced the other cans, disapproval on her face.

As the Carpenters sang
Close to You
overhead, they walked down another aisle, filling their cart. Priscilla moved even more slowly than the song, stopping at every item they chose to inspect the labels, and compare the product to its competitors with surgical precision and the algebraic prowess of a 1980s Texas Instruments calculator.

Jason thought Prissy’s eccentricity was funny - he couldn’t help it. Claire, on the other hand, did not appear amused.

Now and then, as achingly slow melodies dribbled from the loudspeakers, they ran into someone Priscilla Martin knew, though she never bothered to make introductions. There was an attractive thirtyish blonde named Iris, who introduced herself as the daughter of Ace Etheridge, editor and publisher of the
Snapdragon Daily
. She lived at the other end of Morning Glory Circle with her father and taught fourth grade at Snapdragon Elementary. When she invited Claire to come over for coffee, and Claire accepted, Prissy spoke up.
 

“I don’t see any flour or sugar in your cart, dear. Have you already bought your ingredients for our annual yard and bake sale?”

“I’m no cook.” Iris smiled. “We’ll pick up some cookies or something for your sale.”

“Well, we can’t all excel at baking, can we?” Prissy said. “So tell me, Iris, have you read any good books lately? I hear you’re a fan of romance.”

Iris looked perplexed, worried even. “Excuse me?”

“You could sell them at your yard sale to pay for the cookies you’re donating.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

Prissy smiled. “I mean, I’ve read romances and they’re not the kind of books you want to hang onto or read more than once, are they, dear? You might sell them while you can, you and your father. Such a nice man. Do give him my regards.”

“Excuse me, I have to get going,” Iris said in a cool tone, without taking her eyes off Prissy. “See you soon, Claire.” She pushed her cart briskly away.
 

Near the bakery, they ran into a tall, distinguished man whose close-cropped dark hair with salt-and-pepper temples, and stylish casual wear made him look like a male model. “Why, Quinton Everett, what are you doing here?” Prissy asked in a breathless tone.
 

As the speakers began playing
I Heard It Through the Grapevine,
Jason was amused to see his mother-in-law bat her eyelashes and posture like a schoolgirl with a crush. Everett didn’t seem to notice. “Just doing my weekly shopping.” He turned his gaze on Jason and Claire and smiled, raising his hand, but Prissy grabbed it before Jason could shake it. “You have the best manicurist in town, Quinton,” she gushed. “Just the best. I hope you’ll come and see us at the Morning Glory Circle Yard and Bake Sale next weekend.”

“I’ll certainly try.” His cell phone rang. “Excuse me, won’t you?” He put the phone to his ear and pushed his cart away.

“Busy, busy man,” Prissy said. “In fact, he’s just about the most important man in town. I nearly married him, back in the day.”

Claire looked shocked. “Who is he?”
 

“Why, only the President of Snapdragon Bank and Trust. He’s done me a lot of favors over the years.” She looked after him, lashes batting again.

Jason managed not to laugh.
 

“Let’s continue, children. We haven’t got all day, you know.”

They began trudging after Mother once more.

As the minutes dragged by, and time slowed to a creeping pace that would try the patience of a tranquilized garden snail, Jason began to understand his wife’s point of view.
Tick … Tock … Tick … Tock … Is it possible to doze off in a market? Yes, it is. Tick … Tock … But Prissy’s helping us,
he reminded himself as they approached the two-hour mark and The Carpenters began singing about being close to you again. She was eccentric, but she was kind. He could see how she could annoy some people, but he still couldn’t help feeling that Claire had painted her mother in a worse light than she deserved.
People
do
change
, he told himself.

Forty-five minutes later, as they made their way to the self-checkout, Jason had surpassed his limit and was becoming angry. But he held it in.

“I don’t trust checkout girls,” announced Prissy. “I prefer doing it myself so there’s no risk of being overcharged.” She was nothing if not frugal, Jason told himself.
And just a little eccentric.