The Thirteen (20 page)

The claiming could come at any time, Izzy had told her. But Izzy had also grinned and said that nothing had happened to her yet.
Maybe nothing will happen. Maybe our allegiance is enough
.

And afterwards Walter stopped drinking. He got his position back. He was promoted. Life was good. Paula grew, as did the Riley children. They were happy. Very happy. She had
everything she wanted

After her own blood was spilled, Audra had met Aggie, Izzy’s first recruit. Together the three of them brought in Tula, Bella, Chick and others, faces that sometimes changed, sometimes through tragedy. They had tried to find thirteen, but it was harder than it seemed. And easy to forget why. There was always a normal veneer to what they did—got together and drank coffee, talked about their children, food, their husbands.

How many had they been during the summer of Walter and David? Twelve? She couldn’t think. It was easy to let the days pass, to not think of hard times, when things were good. So good. There was time enough for more to come, they had thought. Audra had thought.

Not so.

Izzy fussed and worried during those days. She and Audra had been so close then, something the years had erased, and the group of them, the things they did, had eroded their friendship too. But back then it had been the two of them at the centre of things.

We must make good on our promises
Izzy had told her one day.
We must make a sacrifice
.

Audra remembered laughing at that. It was so dramatic. Izzy’s expression had changed to one of wonder and then she smiled.

Do you know why Aggie is a widow?

Because her husband died?
He’d drowned.

Izzy nodded.

Funny
. Audra hadn’t known Aggie’s husband. Just that he was dead.

We were nine then. Now we are twelve
.

What about
—Audra hadn’t been able to remember the name of the new woman. She hadn’t been with them for very long after that.

She tried now to remember what had become of her. What the woman’s name had been.

Izzy had shaken her head.
She’s not been made one of us. She’s being cultivated
.

The word, said like that, sounded like metal, tasted like copper. Cultivated.

We’ll have to do something now
Izzy had said. She reached out to Audra, patted her arm.
We can kill two birds with one stone
.

Then the Rileys ordered their new roof and Izzy called Audra and invited them to watch.

Three weeks earlier, Walter had started drinking again. She knew now that it was supposed to have been Walter that day in the Rileys’ backyard.

Walter had become a sacrifice anyway, not long after David died. They had grieved together, she and Izzy, over their losses. But Izzy felt that losing a husband was not like losing a son. She talked crazily. She said she had brought Marla into the fold, and that made it thirteen. With thirteen it would be all right for awhile. Izzy hadn’t been herself those days. Who could blame her? Her son was dead. But then she began speaking of Paula. That one day they would have to

(
cultivate)

bring Paula in. So Audra sent Paula away and never let her come back.

She stayed in Haven Woods, though, because she didn’t know how not to. Chick had been stronger. When she wanted to break away, she had confided in Audra. They were both going to do it.

What had been the first thing Audra said when they talked about getting away?
We can go to Paula’s
.

It was Audra who had set this in motion. Her fault. She had to conserve her energy, gather her strength. One last thing to do. She was a mother. And a grandmother.

Izzy had dropped into the big chair in the living room when she arrived home and just sat there. She had napped a little, she thought. But now she was smoking a cigarette. Of course it was a vile habit, but sometimes she just did it. It was the least of her sins.

She flicked her ashes into a saucer. There hadn’t been an ashtray in the house since Roger died. He had smoked cigars. She’d liked the smell.

She was still wearing her soiled suit. She kept telling herself she would get up and change, but not yet. The skirt was ruined. She drew smoke into her lungs and contemplated it. It was garbage. What a shame, it was a good suit. She’d spent a lot on it, but she had others. She had lots of clothes. Lots of things.

She’d been thinking about Audra. Beside her on the little occasional table that she’d had for nearly twenty years, that had survived when so many other things hadn’t, was her phone. It blinked with unheard messages:
green, black, green, black
. She’d scrolled through the calls—the usual roster. Esme, Marla, Tula, Bella, Bridget, the superstar-in-waiting Joanna Shaw, Glory. Even Ursula had called, and that was almost unheard of. They were terrified of her. She had only to look askance at Glory and she would wet her pants. Ugh, but fun. And funny.

She pressed Play, half listening.

Esme had got her boy-thing back into her house. She was trying to snap him out of it. Wasn’t working. She was panicking. For Esme, that involved screeching and demanding that Izzy
do
something.

Bridget was crying, and Izzy could hardly understand what she was saying. She couldn’t work, had a project, blah blah …

Tula’s arthritis was very bad. That didn’t surprise Izzy. Arthritis was how Izzy had brought her in. Sad story: the poor thing couldn’t get a twist tie around a bag of peaches at the supermarket. Izzy had said,
How would you like to be free of that pain forever?
Such good intentions.

With Bella it was her eyes. Her degenerative eye disease was back. She couldn’t find the glasses she hadn’t worn in seven years. She too was crying. Could Izzy help?

Sharie, the new girl, the one who hoped to be a professional dancer, had not called. She had asked Glory to call for her. Glory sounded stoned, or maybe drunk. Her voice tilted in and out of the receiver, far away, then close. She giggled at intervals, and Izzy could hear her chewing.
Sharie can’t reach Marla. She says her leg is the size of an elephant’s
.

Bella had called twice. The second time was about Aggie. Poor Aggie, who was aging rapidly. Izzy wondered how old the woman really was. She had been an old, old woman when she found her, at her grandmother’s suggestion. Was she 110
?
Older even? Aggie, of all of them, had known best what she was getting into.

She didn’t listen to every message. They would all be the same, a litany of trauma and fear. They should have thought things through, and they hadn’t. Now they were suffering. She was doing her best for them, as if they were her children. She supposed they were her children. Without Izzy they would not be who they were now. Because of her sacrifices. She had, after all, given up her

(only begotten)

son for them. For this—for the cigarette, the twenty-year-old table, the high ceilings in her living room, the silver, the china, the good and comfortable life she led.

(she was not a stupid woman)

Why did she feel so defeated? All the crackerjack work she’d done to put things to rights, the night she’d had, and she was feeling defeated. It was unconscionable.

Izzy butted out the cigarette and leaned her head back against the chair. It was still light out.

She had given a son to Him—her only begotten—and a daughter too. If she didn’t keep things as they were, it had all been for naught.

She had given her daughter. Audra, for her sins, could give hers.

The night David was killed, Izzy had woken up, even though the doctor had given her pills that promised relief—however temporary—from her grief. She’d sat there in the dark, smoking cigarettes as she was doing now, but then it was in the dark bedroom. Roger was sleeping beside her, dead to the world. If only. He’d been given a shot by their family doctor at the time, Dr. Deedes. Funny the things you remember. Deedes. Dark Deedes.

She’d asked him for pills so she could minister to herself. She wanted to control her oblivion. She had said,
I don’t like needles. Please, Dr. Deedes, give me some pills. I promise I’ll
—Of course he hadn’t wanted to do that. Mothers who lose children should not be given enough sedatives to kill themselves, especially not in the first hours after, when reason and logic are subjugated by pain and emotion. But in the end he did.

You’re a strong woman
he told her.

She was. And she wasn’t stupid. That had been proven.

But then—

She’d been awake in the dark and it had been time to go. She’d put her robe on. What time had was it? It had been after midnight by then, surely. Hours after the ambulance had left, hours since the house had emptied of people. Audra had stayed, but she’d sent that worthless-bastard-drunk-waste-of-space home to drink on his own.

It should have been his turn.

On bare feet she slipped through the house, out the back door and into the yard, where the blood of her son had soaked into the earth. She relished the cool, sticky feel of it

(him)

on her soles. Of course she wept. Maybe through all of it.

And because it was required, she fell to her knees. To give thanks. For her life, the one she had asked for and received. And paid for that afternoon. She fell and prayed.

Laus aliis qui audiunt meam causam

(praise be to others who hear my plea)

(praise be)

As it had been told to her when she received His mark, she prayed.
Laus aliis qui audiunt meam causam

there will be a reckoning

I will require flesh

this is my mark

She’d fallen on her knees and, in the great abyss of grief and pain, she did what was expected of her, she gave praise to her Maker, to Him. She pulled off her robe and, naked to the moon, swayed in the grip of an ecstatic pain so deep she did not hear anything until—

Mom?

The timing, she suspected in retrospect, had been bad. She was mourning her son, and was presented with her daughter had appeared. She’d jerked her head around, to see saw the girl’s stricken face. At that moment,
daughter
was a sound and a word that felt like spit in her mouth. Like a hag, a harridan, she’d leapt to her feet with a shriek and a wail. She’d gone to the girl and had yanked her forward, pressing her to her knees.

On your knees
—She pushed her with great force to the soiled grass, still wet with her brother’s blood.
On your knees you will thank the Father for your life. Say it!

Marla sobbed, as much with fear and surprise—Izzy had never been physical with them—as natural grief for her brother.
Mom! What are you doing? Why are you acting like this?

Izzy had reached out and, with a single jerk, pulled her daughter’s night gown from her body. The girl had knelt before her, naked except for cotton underpants, her breasts white against the night.

Marla was a woman. Izzy needed thirteen.

Izzy knocked the back of her head hard, pushing it forward until her chin touched her chest.
Bow your head and give thanks for your life—

Mom!

Do it!

The girl tried to do as Izzy asked, said through heartrending sobs,
Thank you, God, for—

Izzy forced her head up.

Marla looked into her mother’s grieving, fierce, reddened eyes.

Not that god
she said, and held her daughter’s gaze until there was a stillness. Then Izzy bowed her head again, and Marla did too, without being asked.

They prayed.

Izzy had given a son and a daughter. Audra could give her share.

It was late. She butted out her cigarette and went to have a shower.

SEVENTEEN

O
NE TIME WHEN
R
OWAN
was at school, she’d had a terrible feeling in the morning, as if she’d forgotten something. It had started when she woke up and had kept hanging on through her first class. It was like forgetting something important, such as the house key or her backpack. She couldn’t shake it.

Then, in second period social studies, Sister Aurelia gave them a surprise quiz. The minute the paper landed on her desk, she felt relief inside, a complete
Ah, that’s what it was
. She’d guessed it. That night she’d told her mom about guessing. Her mom had said that kind of guess was called “women’s intuition.” Men get it too, but women tend to put more stock in feelings than men do.

Rowan had a woman’s intuition now. She had a strong feeling that this place was the creeps.

She’d woken in the night to go to the bathroom. Old Tex had followed her as always, but this time when she was done, he wasn’t outside the bathroom door. She guessed he’d just gone back to bed on the floor in her grandma’s room, but when she left the bathroom, she heard him growling. She’d found him at the front window, up on his hind legs, front paws resting on the sill, growling at something outside. Rowan hadn’t wanted to look, but she did. On the porch railing were, like, a hundred cats. Well, six really. There were six cats outside, staring into the house. What was it made of, tuna? It was too weird.

She had a feeling that if she googled Haven Woods she would get “World’s Creepiest Place,” and the images would be of spiders crawling up your pant leg, things under your bed and … cats.

Her blazer was still hanging by the front door where her mom had put it when they’d come home. Rowan put it on. She felt as if she could smell the river clinging to it, and for a second she thought she could hear

cool cool soothing

the sound of water, lapping against the shore rocks

clop clop

She didn’t know what to make of her trip into the river. At first she’d wanted to rescue Tex, but then it was something else. It was as if she was making herself go into the water; there had been a feeling that she wanted to
be
water. Just thinking about it creeped her out

(everything here creeped her out)

and she stuck her hand into her pocket. Her fingers closed around the crucifix and the piece of newspaper with Mr. Keyes’s phone number. She wished she could phone Mr. Keyes. But what could she say?
Um, Mr. Keyes, I know you like my mom. Would you come and get us and TAKE US HOME?

Her mom was in the laundry room. Rowan could hear the water pouring into the washer drum. Earlier her mom had been humming. She thought she knew why.

She sure would like a string or a chain to hang the little crucifix on.

She listened. Her mom still humming. While she was doing laundry. When she did laundry at home, she was cranky all day.

There was a desk at the far end of the living room. She knew she shouldn’t snoop, but she told herself she wasn’t snooping—she was looking for something to hang her cross from. She pulled the top drawer open. Blank paper, pens, a pencil. A notebook. She picked it up and flipped through it. It looked like recipes. She put it back.

There were four drawers along the right side of the desk. The top one wouldn’t open.
Aha
. She knew how to fix that, because the sisters’ desks at school were exactly the same. You had to open the bottom drawer first and then the top one would open. She quietly pulled open the bottom drawer, taking it slowly, listening for sounds from the laundry room. All she heard was the beep of the dryer, a load finishing.

The drawer at the bottom was messy, a jumble of things. She dug around a little and her fingers brushed against something rough and thin. She pulled it out. It was a length of brown twine, the kind you use on a package. There was quite a lot of it.

“Bingo,” she whispered. It was thin enough to slip through the small hole at the top of her crucifix. Now she could wear it like a necklace.

She started to paw through the mess to see if there was anything really interesting. A small envelope was jammed against the side of the drawer. She grabbed it and opened it up. There were photos. She flipped through them. Her grandma with the ever-weird Mrs. Riley, her grandma with the creepy nurse from the hospital, except that she wasn’t a nurse in the photos, just a chubby old lady with a death grip on her grandma’s waist. They were smiling. In the pile of photos she found one with Joanna Shaw and Marla. Why would her grandma be friends with a woman her daughter’s age? But it looked like she was.

She rubbed her hand over her lower belly and made a face. It was still achy, though it felt more like a bathroom thing today than it had before. It felt … full.

At the bottom of the pile of photos was a really old one. The three women in it were young. She recognized her grandmother and Mrs. Riley, but not the other one. They were holding up drinks as if they were toasting. There were other people in the background not looking at the camera. A full house. A party. Two girls, younger than Ro, were playing with Barbie dolls. The one looking up at the camera was surely her mom.

They all looked so happy. That was how her mom had grown up, she guessed, with a crowd of laughing people and a bunch of food on the table. One of those Barbie dolls was a special edition, the kind they make once a year. Barbie as a fairy princess.

The table was the one in the room behind her, so the photo had been taken here, at her grandmother’s house. She turned around and looked. She could not imagine happy, laughing faces in this room, not now.

A younger Rowan had sometimes wanted a Barbie just like that, or something else special. The answer was always the same: they couldn’t afford it.

(maybe sometimes she wanted a smiling, laughing life with lots of people around too)

Everything was always too expensive. Or
where would we put it?
Like the time Rowan wanted a trampoline, a bike. Envy screeched inside her head.
No fair! No fair!

(her mom was a loser stripper who worked in a bar)

As soon as the ugly thought materialized, Rowan felt instantly bad. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. Her mom could say the same thing

(no fair no fair)

because her friends here had husbands and dogs and cats and family, and they didn’t. Her mom had spent her time taking care of Rowan instead of getting those other things.

Sometimes a girl in the higher grades at Rowan’s school got pregnant, and it was always a big fat deal. Everyone talked trash about her for awhile and then no one thought about her at all, except a little slut talk came up.
Remember that girl? OMG
.

Her mom had gone to the same school, which was why Rowan was there at all. Her grandmother must have thought it was a pretty good school, because she’d paid for both of them to go there. Or maybe she just wanted them both to stay far away. Maybe now her grandmother wanted them back.

Rowan suddenly felt like crying. She tossed the pictures into the drawer without putting them back in the envelope and shut the drawer with her foot. She sat down on the floor with a thump. Old Tex, lounging by the TV, put his head up when he heard her hit the deck and shambled to his feet and came over. He stuck his nose under her hand. ’S
okay
.

She slipped the string through the crucifix loop and tied the ends together. Then she put it in her pocket, feeling a little guilty that she’d snooped, feeling as if the string would give her away.

Her mom probably really missed those parties and friends. She buried her face in the dog’s neck fur. And her dog. Now there was Mr. Keyes. Everything her mom probably wanted was right here. The house was a nice house, she had to admit that. It was big and there was a yard. You could walk to the park without passing hoodlums and garbage. Everything looked nice.

In Creepyville. Obviously it was only Rowan who saw it that way.

Paula had dumped a basket of laundry on the bed and was folding. She was thinking about the unsatisfying conversation with her mother’s doctor. She’d done her bit and not visited, but now she thought she should go in. The tests would be done and maybe her mother would be feeling better. Maybe she would be ready to come back to the house; maybe she would want Paula and Rowan to stay awhile and help out. Maybe she would say,
Oh, Paula, I’ve been so confused. I’m so glad you’re here. Please stay
.

Maybe pigs would fly.

Part of her was ready to get out of the place on Saturday, as she’d said, but if she was honest, her heart ached at the thought not just of leaving Haven Woods but of returning to what, exactly? Another crappy job, another crummy apartment, probably a new school for Rowan to adapt to—

And then Rowan walked in.

“Mom?” She had her blazer on.

Paula frowned. “Honey, do you really have to wear that jacket?”

The girl obstinately put her hands in the pockets. Paula shrugged.

Their bags were side by side on the floor. Rowan sat on the bed next to the piles of folded towels and sheets, then pointed to the bags. “Are we going home?”

“I guess we are,” Paula said.

“To where?”

“Why don’t you let me worry about that, Ro.”

“Does Grandma hate you because you had me?”

Paula grabbed her by the shoulders so she could look right into her daughter’s eyes. “Don’t ever say such a thing. Grandma loves you.
I
love you.” She pulled her into her belly and held her fiercely close.

“Would it have been better if you’d never had me?”

“Oh, Rowan! Of course not! You’re my daughter, and my life would be
awful
without you. Why would you say such a thing?” Paula squeezed her as if she could transfer her feelings to her daughter.

“If you want to live here, I will,” Rowan said, and the sincerity nearly broke Paula’s heart. She let her go and the two of them sat down on the bed.

“I don’t think we could afford to live here unless we stayed with Grandma. And I don’t know if that’s really what she wants. She’s lived alone a long time, you know. It would be hard to have two new people in your house.”

“But do you
wish
you lived here?”

Paula laughed. “I wish I could give you a neighbourhood to live in just like this one. I wish I could give you the kind of childhood I had. We were always safe and warm and loved—” She put her hand on Rowan’s head. “You’re loved, Rowan. Very much.”

Rowan looked away from her mother. For a minute she debated inside her head whether she should tell her what she really thought and risk hurting her feelings. She couldn’t imagine that Haven Woods had ever been a good place. Ever since Old Tex had nearly drowned them both at the river, Rowan had noticed that even the air here had a strange feel to it. Or smell. Like when Darcy Peak peed on the floor at school—Darcy had taken the short bus, the kids would say—and the janitor cleaned it up with bleach. You could still smell pee under the bleach. It was like that.

There were too many cats and hardly any dogs. That wasn’t normal. And the hospital was empty. Even if everyone here was really healthy, where were the old people? People who had to get tests? Broken arms, sprained ankles, heart attacks?

But she couldn’t say these things to her mother, couldn’t even put them into words that wouldn’t sound like she was complaining. She couldn’t say,
this place is weird, Mom. WTF?
And mostly she couldn’t hurt her mother’s feelings. Paula wanted Rowan to like Haven Woods, although it went deeper than that, she knew. And it was more confused, as if she wanted Rowan to
want
to like Haven Woods. It was all making her brain freeze.

Very thoughtfully she said, “I guess this place is different now from when you were a kid.” It seemed the perfect compromise, and Rowan, had she felt better, would have felt proud of the remark.

“What do you mean?” Paula said, ruining it.

A wave of cramping hit Rowan and she groaned a little. She lay back on the bed and clutched her stomach. “I don’t know.”

“Your stomach still sore?

She nodded.

“I think there’s been too much change for you. I think it’s stress.” She got up just as the phone started to ring. “I’ll grab you a Tums, honey. You chew them, okay?”

Rowan nodded and Paula went to answer the phone.

It was Sanderson. Paula carried the phone back into the bedroom with her, grinning. She said to Rowan, “What do you want on your pizza?”

The girl gamely got up from the bed and yelled, “Pepperoni!”

Paula relayed this, minus the volume, and hung up. “He’s taking Gusto out for a walk and then he’s going to come and get us.”

Mother and daughter were both happy in their own ways.

“Been a while since we’ve had pizza, huh?”

“I like his house,” Rowan said simply.

When they got there, Sanderson hung Gusto’s leash on a hook by the door and kicked his sandals off. The dogs ran to the water dish and began lapping. Rowan rushed into the living room and threw herself on the sofa, calling out that she was going to watch
real
TV for a change. Paula and Sanderson had to laugh as they headed for the kitchen.

“Now that you’ve had a few weeks back in Haven Woods, how do you think you’re settling in?”

“Getting there,” he said, “and I love the house itself. Though something weird happened the other night. It sounds stupid—”

“Then I can’t wait to hear.”

He held up a finger. “Let me get supper started first.” He went to the stove and turned the oven dial. A huge bread maker sat on the opposite counter. He peered in.

“Forty-five minutes to pizza dough—gotta love home cooking.”

Paula laughed. “So what happened?”

“I think I had peeping Tom.” He laughed. “Or a peeping tomcat, anyway. Actually, I think it was a female.”

Paula looked at him, a question in her eyes, as he pulled a beer out of the fridge and offered it to her. She took it, he grabbed one for himself and the two of them went into the backyard. Though the chairs from the other night were still on the lawn, they stood and looked out over the fence at the roofs of the other houses.