She Only Speaks to Butterflies (6 page)

Later, as Sherry lay in bed next to Leon, she watched the shadows on the ceiling, feeling the warmth of another man’s body beside her. Sighing, she said.

“God, Leon, it’s been so long.”

She heard Leon’s head turn abruptly towards her. “So long for what?” he said frightfully.

“Not that.” She pushed him playfully. “Well, that too, but that’s not what I meant.”

Leon waited.

“It’s been so long since I had another man next to me in bed.”

He giggled.

“What?” She giggled back, pushing him again.

“You called me a man.”

“Well, aren’t you?”

“I guess. I have the equipment.” He said it like it was a bad taste in his mouth.

“You don’t like your penis?” she blurted out, covering her mouth as she laughed.

He jeered. “It’s not something to
like
. That’s like me askin’ ya if ya like yer ears.” She stopped laughing and sighed. “It’s the way we’re born but ain’t necessarily what’s inside us or how we feel. It’s like a label God gives, and we have to live with it, whether we like it or not. You’re lucky.”

“Why am I lucky?”

“Because you like what you are.”

“That’s not true,” Sherry disagreed. “I mean, I like bein’ a woman, but I don’t like what I am.”

“What do you mean?”

She was silent for a moment. “I’m a widow. I don’t like bein’ a widow.”

Leon let her comment sink in. Then he cleared his throat. “Well, at least that’s somethin’ you can change pretty easily.”

“Really? Findin’ another man after you’ve vowed to stay with another one for the rest of yer life? That’s easy?”

“Relax.” Leon gently grasped her hand. “What I meant was that for you, you can feasibly find another man to spend the rest of yer life with. Emotionally it ain’t easy, but you can do it.” He inhaled deeply. “Me, on the other hand, I have to change my entire physical self to be happy bein’ what I am. You can change being a widow. I can’t change bein’ a man. Well, at least not without half a million dollars and major surgery.”

“I guess you’re right,” Sherry yawned.

They lay there holding hands, until Leon thought Sherry was finally asleep.

Then he heard her whisper. “Leon?”

“Um hmm.”

“I love ya just the way ya are.”

“I love ya, too. Go to sleep.”

…

The sound of whimpering awakened Sherry. Darting out of bed she scurried along the cold floor to Denise’s room. Denise lay on her bed, hugging Rainy Day Bear like someone threatened to take him away. Turning on the lamp, Sherry pointed it away to avoid the glare. Kneeling down beside the bed, the young widow was almost nose-to-nose with her daughter.

“Did ya have a nightmare?” She stroked Denise’s hair, forgetting that she was mute.

The little girl squished the bear closer to her chest as tears flowed from her eyes onto the pillow. Sherry had an idea.

“I’ll be right back.” When she returned, she knelt down in front of Denise, holding her hand out. “I have a present for ya.”

Denise gave Sherry a blank look. Opening her hands, Sherry showed her the butterfly keychain Ned had given her earlier.

“It’s from Ned.  You can go see him and say thank you in the mornin’.”

Smiling graciously, Denise took the keychain from her mother’s palm, hugging it with her bear.

“Do ya want me to sleep with ya?” Sherry asked, walking to the other side of the twin bed. She slowly climbed in. Wrapping her arm around the shaken girl, she laid her head on the remaining half of the pillow, and started humming a lullaby.

“Yer safe now,” she said once the lullaby was over. “Go to sleep.”

Sherry lay there, choking back tears. A normal mother would have been able to ask what the dream was about, and learn what demons haunted her child at night. Denise could have told her that she was scared of the ghost in the story that Leon had read earlier, or that a scary-looking man had approached her at school, or even that she saw a scary character on television. Information like this wasn’t privy to Sherry, so her only resort was to climb into bed with her seven year old without knowing the facts. She couldn’t discuss fear with her daughter, so that maybe Denise could understand things better and perhaps rise above them. It was nights like this when Sherry worried that Denise would never have true independence as long as she couldn’t or wouldn’t speak for herself.

Part of the horror was knowing that if Denise spoke again, she could wake up one night calling for daddy. Had Denise properly grieved for Chris? She couldn’t join support groups or talk about it like other children could, so it was possible that when Denise did finally wake from this haze, that she may have some regression. Sure, Denise communicated in other ways with Sherry and others, and her therapist attested to this, but did that mean she’d learned to deal with things the same way a normal seven year old would have dealt with them? Even if Denise could speak again, would she be able to lead a normal life afterward? Would she remember the time when she didn’t speak?

Sherry lay in bed, sobbing gently when Denise suddenly turned over, facing her mother. Holding her breath, Sherry felt Denise snuggle closer. Sherry exhaled slowly, relaxing. Denise wiped away a tear from her mother’s face, and then she kissed the tip of her nose.

Sherry whispered. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

Chapter 7

The morning was crisp and fresh, and despite a hangover, Sherry wanted to take Kate’s offer to have Denise visit for the morning while she cleaned out the guest bedroom.

“Where’d you end up to last night?” Leon asked, brewing a pot of coffee.

“Denise had a nightmare.”

“Hmm…I’m going into the store for a coupla hours this mornin’. Y’all need me to stick around for anything? I gotta head home and get ready.”

“No, thanks.” Sherry popped a couple of Aspirin tablets into her mouth. “I’m takin’ her over to visit Kate and Ned.”

“I can bring her home later,” Leon offered. “I’m workin’ there this afternoon.”

Sherry washed down the Aspirin with water. “Thanks.”

Denise stuffed Rainy Day Bear in her purse as they headed over to Baker’s Farm. Sherry pulled up to the side parcel of land, where Ned was growing corn, cabbage and various other root vegetables for sale. The other side he grew wheat, strawberries and other vine-grown fruits. The back parcel was where the cows, pigs and horses grazed, and the barn was where the butterflies were kept in the conservatory.

Baker’s Farm was in the centre of town, and had existed for more than one hundred years on Ned’s side. It was where he grew up and married Kate thirty-five years ago. Up until eight years ago, Ned’s mother still lived with them; she passed from a stroke in her sleep.

The girls walked up to the farmhouse as the storm door creaked open and Kate appeared with a serving platter, two teacups, milk and sugar. She’d been expecting them. Ned motioned to Denise to come out back to the conservatory. The little girl didn’t need to be asked twice.

“Alan was by earlier; he hired a new guy to replace Nate Zimmerman,” Kate said, pouring two cups of tea.

“So fast?”

“That’s what Ned said.” Kate gave Sherry her tea. “He musta had a pool of applicants ready. He knew about Nate retirin’ for a while now, mind you.”

Sherry nodded thanks. “Did he tell you anything about him?”

Kate took a seat and sipped her tea. “He’s young; early thirties, divorced.” She shook her head distastefully and sighed. “Ned’s not pleased about that. Anyway, he’s rentin’ the Smitherman’s basement out until he finds a place.”

“Not much available right now. I hear Greg Groves sold the Berkshire’s just the other night.”

“Mathilda Farnsworth is getting’ ready to sell, I hear,” Kate volunteered. “Her place would suit him fine.”

“Grace and Chuck Grey are havin’ another kid. She’s been complainin’ their house is too small for a while now,” Sherry added. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they moved soon, too.”

“Seems Rick and Molly Berkshire sold at the right time. Market’s gonna open up good this year.”

Sherry changed the subject. “Reverend Telly say how much the bake sale raised?”

Kate shifted her weight on the chair. “Five hundred, I believe.”

“I think they were aimin’ for that.” Sherry’s brow furrowed. “They should be able to get lots of new books with that amount.”

“Red Bates over at the library says he’ll donate some, too.”

Sherry took the last sip of her tea. “I should get goin’. I’ll peek in at Denise before I head out.” She placed her empty teacup on the serving platter. “Thanks for the tea.”

“I’ll make her a picnic lunch in the garden; she seems to love that.”

“Thanks, Kate.”

Sherry walked to the side of the porch and down the steps to the stable. A couple of farm hands were working inside the stables, tending to the horses and shepherding the other animals outside for their morning feed. The conservatory was just beyond the grain silo, where the other animals wouldn’t disturb the butterflies.

She opened the screen door and felt the temperature change. Ned created a warm, humid environment for the butterflies and the pupa to flourish. Along the sides of the room were ledges that came up to Sherry’s hip; she saw Ned and Denise placing small dishes of over-ripened citrus fruit on the ledges for the insects to eat.

Denise stood in awe as the butterflies collected on the trays, landing on the fruit and inserting their long, straw-like tongues into it. Sherry heard Ned naming the species of a few to her as she held out half an orange, unpeeled, on her palm. Three butterflies flocked to her, landing gently on the sweet fruit.

“See, they’re attracted to you, dear. Yer sweet just as you are.” Ned stroked her chubby cheek with his finger. He caught Sherry in the corner of his eye and offered her the other half of the orange. “You want to give it a try?”

“No, thanks,” Sherry smiled. “I just came to say goodbye for now.” She looked at Denise, who was distracted and showed no interest in her mother. “Leon’s bringin’ ya home later, sweetie, okay?”

Denise blinked, evidently scared to move and disturb the feeding frenzy.

Ned beamed. “She’s no mind.”

“Ring if ya need me,” Sherry said before heading out the door. She waved at Kate, watching from the kitchen window, and entered the Eldorado.

Driving up her street, she heard a loud bang and slowed down as she craned her neck from side to side, looking for the cause of the noise. As she approached Mrs. Marx’s house four doors down, she saw the elderly woman lying on her back in the driveway. A garbage bin was moving back and forth on its side as the lid wound itself down, making such a racket as it finally hit the ground. Sherry pulled over quickly, slamming the car door as she raced to Mrs. Marx’s side.

“Mrs. Marx, are ya okay?” Sherry cried. “Why didn’t you ask someone for help?”

Jinny Marx was a small, slender woman in her seventies. Her long white hair was pulled back in a bun at the nape of her neck. Her stark blue eyes looked miles away.

“I…I got dizzy,” she said, before closing her eyes, losing consciousness. Sherry bent down and took Jinny’s head into her hands, scanning the area for help. A small car pulled up behind Sherry’s Eldorado and she was relieved to see a familiar face: Jinny’s daughter, Mandy.

“Mandy!” she yelled, cradling Mrs. Marx’s head in her arms. “Call 911!”

Mandy hurried into the house, stumbling on a pile of garbage sitting on the front stoop.

“Just hang in there, Mrs. Marx,” Sherry said, smoothing a loose strand of hair away from the old woman’s eyes. “We’re gettin’ help.”

Moments later, Mandy joined Sherry at her mother’s side.

“I told her to wait until I got here,” Mandy insisted. “That’s what I get for bein’ late I s’pose.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Mandy.” Sherry was solemn. “She’s a stubborn woman. I see her doin’ stuff like this all the time.”

“I know it.”

Hours later, when Sherry and Denise were cleaning up the dinner dishes, the phone rang.

It was Mandy Marx.

“Hi, Sherry. I just wanted to thank you for being there for my mom today.” Her voice was quivering.

“Oh, it was nothin’, darlin’, I was just passin’ through on my way home.” She hesitated, “H…how’s your mom?”

“She had a stroke.” Mandy’s voice cracked. “I just wanted y’all to hear it from me. I know how fast news travels in this town.”

“Good Lord.” Sherry breathed. “I’m so sorry, Mandy,” she gulped. “I really don’t know what to say.”

She heard Mandy whimper. “Just pray for her at church.”

“I will. With all my heart, I will.”

“I’ll see ya there Sunday, if momma’s feelin’ better.”

“Give her our love.”

…

Sherry and Denise sat together at the table. Sherry was eating a bowl of oatmeal and Denise was devouring her cereal and milk. There was a knock at the door.