Blood and Bone: A Smattering of Unease (16 page)

“Hello, Mother.”

“Julie,” Geraldine acknowledged.

“I was just checking up to see how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine.”

“Oh, because we had heard something about break-ins or vandalism out around where you live, and we were kind of worried.”

“Really?” Geraldine tried to sound surprised. “Well, I’m perfectly fine, and I haven’t heard a thing.”

“Okay. I just want you to know that we’re here if you ever need us.”

“Wonderful, Julie, thank you.”

They engaged in brief small talk . . . how are you doing, etc.; then Geraldine bid her daughter goodbye and hung up.

As if she was ever going to allow Julie’s husband back on her property.

Her mouth set in a thin, grim line, Geraldine dialed her attorney’s number. It was about time she changed her will. If she had any say in it, Scott would never have a piece of this house or property.

Her attorney wasn’t available; he was with a client, so she just left a message.

* * *

Geraldine sat up in bed. She had definitely heard a noise through the light rain that tapped on the roof.

She grabbed her robe, and instead of her slippers, she pulled on her rubber gardening boots in the mud room. She stepped out the back door.

The flood lights came on, illuminating the back lawn, sparkling wet with rain. She heard a moan, a familiar female voice. She scanned the yard.

There.
The floodlights glowed against a halo of blonde hair. Someone was lying on the ground at the corner of the house.

Geraldine gasped. “Julie?” She ran down the steps and along the back of the house. “Oh my God, he sent you to do this!”

She reached the inert form.

Julie was dressed in black jeans, boots, and dark brown rain coat. She lay on the ground, moaning. In her fist, she clutched a handful of stems. Amazonian Dart stems. Bright red blossoms lay scattered on the ground.

“
Julie!
” She dropped to the ground and gathered her daughter into her arms, pulled her onto her lap, oblivious to the lethal plant just beside her.

“M-m-m-mother, it wasn’t Scott . . . it was me . . .  h-h-hurts . . .”

“Where did it hit you?” Geraldine leaned back to look at Julie. The front of her rain coat was littered with protruding darts. “Oh, no . . . oh no . . .” She pulled one out with her bare fingers. The tip was red with blood. She pulled another and another. They had all pierced Julie’s rain coat and the light sweater she had worn beneath. There were at least ten. The plant had released all of its darts.

Geraldine’s eyes stung with tears. She shook her daughter, whose head lolled limply. “Julie! Julie! Do you have your cell phone? Where is your cell phone?”

“P-p-po . . . p-p-pock . . .”

Geraldine rifled through Julie’s coat pocket and pulled the phone out. She dialed nine-one-one with dripping fingers.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

“Julie, Julie’s going to die, she’s poisoned, help us!”

“Okay, try to be calm ma’am. Who is Julie?”

“Julie’s my daughter.” Geraldine’s breath was coming raggedly, and pain was spreading across her back.

“Okay, what is your name?”

“Geraldine.” More pain.

“And what is your address?”

Geraldine collapsed on top of Julie, the cell phone falling from her hand.

“Hello? Geraldine? Geraldine?”

* * *

Scott stood in Geraldine’s backyard and surveyed the gardens that had been so precious to her. He held Susie in one arm and an umbrella in the opposite hand. The rain fell down in fat, sloppy drops. He sighed. The listing papers had been signed; the “For Sale” sign was firmly planted next to the front walk.

He had never cared about Geraldine’s property, but it had driven Julie crazy that her mother “hoarded” it – or so, Julie had thought. She felt she deserved the house and the 15 acres that came with it. Scott was just as satisfied with their apartment. It was a nice apartment, spacious, clean, well-maintained, close to stores and the community playground. He never thought they needed more. And if they had, he would have wanted them to buy a new place, one that they could make their own. But Julie kept trying to get her mother put away so that they could move in here.

Now, he wanted no part of it. Because of his wife’s greed, his mother-in-law’s stubbornness, and both of their vindictiveness, he had lost his wife. Susie had lost her mother and grandmother.

He had already purchased a new home for himself and Susie with the funds he had inherited from the mess. He was taking his little girl home to upstate New York, where he had grown up and still had family.

As he turned to leave, he noticed the large patch of soil where he had mowed down Geraldine’s flowerbed. Several new green shoots protruded from the otherwise bare patch of dirt.

“I don’t see why she made a big deal,” he said to his daughter. “Looks like those flowers I cut down are growing back, anyway.” At the same time, looking out over the colorful blooms and ornamental grasses, he kind of understood Geraldine’s reaction to what he had done – even though it had been an honest mistake.

He shook his head. It didn’t matter to him, now. “Well, this is it, Susie-Q. Let’s go.” He bounced the baby in the crook of his arm as he walked away.

Lauren drove down Blackberry Lane, slowing to steer her car carefully around the big moving van parked on the right side of the street in front of the dilapidated house that stood opposite of her own residence. She edged forward, her view of the sidewalk obstructed by the van. She saw the ball first: a big yellow beach ball adorned with a single red stripe and the cartoon face of a dark-skinned girl sporting a pageboy haircut and a backpack. Lauren stepped on the brake as the ball bounced slowly into the street, and she waited patiently for the ball’s owner, a little girl in a dirt-streaked pink sundress, to retrieve it. The girl looked fearfully at Lauren, who smiled and waved at her.

“
Lainie
!” A high-pitched voice screeched. Lauren winced as the unpleasant sound reached through her open car windows. The voice was followed by a bony, hatchet-faced woman, who glared at Lauren as she grabbed the little girl’s arm and yanked her roughly to the curb. Lauren waited for a few seconds after the two had disappeared behind the van before she proceeded the last few feet to her driveway on the left.

Pulling in, Lauren noticed her neighbor, Rita Williams, standing on her front porch. Her red-lipsticked mouth wearing a thin grimace, Rita jerked her head toward the house across the street, then shook her head, rolling her eyes. She had apparently seen the brief incident.
Actually, she’s probably been watching the new neighbors move in all day long
, Lauren thought.

She smiled as she exited the car. “Hey, Rita, what’s happening?” she called over.

Rita returned her smile, her plump face crinkling up in a pleasant web of lines and wrinkles. “Why don’t you come over for a glass of iced tea when you get settled? I’ll give you the gossip.” She winked at Lauren, who laughed.

“Sure,” she said. “Let me get Mop settled, and I’ll be over.”

At the door, she could see her daughter’s English shepherd jumping up and down on the other side of the window. She unlocked her door and pushed it open. “Down, down!” She shouted, laughing. When Mop was excited to see her, he jumped up to face level, licking her face at the crest of his jump.

Lauren kicked off her pumps, roughed up Mop’s fur, and hugged his sturdy, warm, wriggling body. She ran down the hall to the kitchen in her stocking feet; Mop chased her joyfully. Knowing the drill, he launched himself through the back door when Lauren held it open for him. She propped the screen door so that Mop could come in through his doggie door when he was done with his run around the fenced-in back yard.

Meanwhile, Lauren ran upstairs to change out of her skirt and blouse into a comfortable pair of jeans and a t-shirt. She stopped to blow a kiss to the photograph of Michael and Allie, then grabbed Rita’s plate from her dish drainer and headed next door.

“Here’s your plate back! Thanks so much for the cookies, they were awesome!”

The older woman took the plate. “You’re so welcome, dear! Have a seat, I’ve poured you a glass of iced tea.”

“Thanks!” Lauren dropped into one of Rita’s porch chairs and stretched her legs, propping her sneakered feet up on the porch railing. She turned her head to check on Mop in her back yard; he was on his back, squirming and wriggling on the lush green grass. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, inhaling the fresh autumn air. It was good to be out of work, sitting outside in the warmth of the September day. The porch roof provided relief from the bright sunshine.

Hearing the sound of an approaching vehicle, Lauren looked down the road. The posted speed limit on that part of Blackberry Lane was 30 mph, but the dark blue car moving toward her was going substantially faster. It zoomed past, swerving around the white moving van.

“Jeez,” Lauren said, shaking her head.

“What’s that?” The screen door slammed as Rita returned from taking the plate inside.

“The traffic on this road is stupid. They completely ignore the speed zone. Someday, someone’s really going to get hurt.”

“Oh, I know. We need a yellow blinking light at each end to help slow people down. Whew, it’s a lovely day, isn’t it? It is just a little hot for me, though.” Rita lowered her powder-green polyester-clad behind into the other chair and fanned herself with that day’s newspaper. She held her foggy glass of iced tea against her forehead, then took a swig from it, leaving a red lip-print behind. “How’s Lauren today?”

Lauren shrugged. “Eh. You know. You been over yet?” She nodded at the ramshackle brown house across the street.

“No, I’m waiting a day or two. Let them get settled in a little, first. Though from what I’ve seen, my visit may not be appreciated.”

“No?”

“That woman is a terror. I’m almost afraid to go over.”

“Oh, the hell you are!”

“You know me well. That old skinflint doesn’t bother me.”

Two more cars, the second one close on the first one’s tail, raced down the road, swerving around the moving van. The two women fell silent. A slight breeze touched their hair and carried the sound of voices to them from across the street.

“Mack! Git yer ass out here and help me carry this dresser! Don’t be slobberin’ before dinner, you lazy slob! I ain’t havin’ a meal wasted cuz you already gorged!”

A huge, unkempt man emerged from the house, wearing a filthy pair of jeans and a stained white t-shirt. “Keep yer panties on, you ugly old bitch!”

“Aunt Rosie, Brandon took my doll and yanked her head off!”

“Yer doll looks better now! She was damned ugly!”

“You kids are worthless, shut yer stupid yaps and grab yer stuff out of the damned truck before I whip both yer asses!”

Lauren’s jaw dropped and she looked at Rita, who nodded affirmation. “Yep. You are hearing what you think you’re hearing.”

“Where did these people even come from?”

“Beats me. But I can’t wait to find out.”

“Wow. I wouldn’t go over there. I wouldn’t want to have to squeal like a pig.”

Rita and Lauren looked at one another and, in unison, burst out into hearty laughter. The noise stopped from the brown house across the street as the new family paused and looked over. The hatchet-faced woman searched until she and Lauren made eye contact; then the newcomer’s eyes narrowed.

“Oops, we’ve attracted attention,” Lauren said, thinking,
here we go
. She smiled and waggled her fingers. The other woman sniffed and turned away, carrying a box into her house.

“Pay them no mind. I think we’re going to have to adopt that attitude, dear. Those poor children, though,” Rita said.

“I know.” Hearing barking, Lauren checked her own back yard again. Mop had found her. He stood just behind the fence, smiling and panting. “I’ll have to go.” She chugged more of her iced tea, then stood and sighed. “You know, I’ll have to have a talk with that daughter of mine about spending more time with her dog.”

Rita offered a sympathetic smile and grabbed Lauren’s hand in her soft plump one and squeezed. “You hang in there, dear. Me, I have to take Bertram over to the sleep clinic in a little while. He’s having his testing done tonight.”

“Oh? Well, I hope they can find a way to help him.”

“Me too, believe me. I’m getting a bit tired of being up all night every night with his restlessness.”

“Thanks for the drink, Rita. I’ll talk with you later. Let me know what happens when you go over!”

“Oh, you bet I will. Take care!”

Lauren looked over her shoulder and waved.

In her back yard, she spent fifteen or twenty minutes throwing a stick for Mop; then she called him and they went inside. It was time for the evening meal.

Though Mike and Allison had been gone for seven months, Lauren was just now getting the hang of cooking for one. All of her dinner tonight came from the freezer. She tossed one pre-made hamburger patty unceremoniously in the frying pan and an individual vegetable cup in the microwave along with a plate of tater tots, setting the timer but not yet pushing “Start”. Junk, Lauren knew, but she had nothing thawed and didn’t feel like spending a lot of time on food. And, she thought to herself,
Allie might be gone and I might be getting used to cooking for one, but I’m still eating from my kid’s personal menu
.

In the living room Lauren tried to read a few pages of her current romance novel while she waited for her burger to cook. She set the book aside after reading the same paragraphs several times but absorbing nothing. She attributed her lack of concentration to the new neighbors’ noise, which she could still hear. She knew she wouldn’t finish reading the book, anyway; she found it boring and formulaic, just like all of the other romances she had read. It was time to switch to a deeper, more meaningful genre.

She went back to the kitchen, flipped her burger, and hit “Start” on the microwave. A few moments later, she carried her plate and a glass of Pepsi into the living room. There was no point in sitting at the kitchen table to eat. The kitchen was where families gathered. Lauren no longer had a family.

She sat through
Wheel of Fortune
and
Jeopardy
, then switched over to Netflix and tried to lose herself in a mindless horror flick. She was still unable to focus, however, so she put on reruns from a 90s sitcom.

She left her plate in the kitchen sink and sat on the back steps, watching while Mop did his last run and bathroom break of the evening. The sun had dropped well below the horizon line, and a dewy dusk had fallen. It would be chilly in the wee hours.

“Come on in, Mop!” She closed and locked the back door behind them, and, shutting lights off as she went, made her way through the first floor, closing windows and checking locks. She secured the front door last and climbed the stairs to the second floor. She brushed her teeth and changed for bed; then found herself in her daughter Allison’s room.

She picked up the framed photograph from Allie’s dresser, then lay back against the pillows on Allie’s neatly made bed, Mop stretched out beside her. This was the same photograph that sat on the shelf in the living room.

She examined their faces, Michael’s and Allie’s, tracing the edges with her finger. They looked so much alike: dark brown eyes with matching hair, fair skin.

“Allie,” she said firmly, “You have
got
to spend more time with Mop. And Michael, I fell in the toilet again because you left the toilet seat up. No, I know I left it up when I was cleaning; it wasn’t really you, but . . .” Her voice broke and rose in pitch. “You both need to learn to be more responsible, do you hear?” She held the picture frame against her chest as her body started shaking. “I miss you so much,” she sobbed. “I just want you back!”

She cried until she couldn’t anymore, and fell asleep on Allie’s bed.

* * *

In the dream, she was back at Parkhurst Middle School. She and Michael were late dropping Allie off that morning. Lauren stayed in the car while Mike walked Allie into the school to sign her in. They hadn’t yet reached the double doors when the shooting began.

“
POP, POP, POP
!”

“What the?” Lauren looked in her rearview, then the side mirrors. She saw the boy with the gun run past Mike and Allie, who lay on the cement walk. He ran into the school.

“Oh, my God.” She gripped the door handle. “
Oh my God!
” she screamed, and pushed the car door open. Leaving it yawning wide, she ran, her heartbeat echoing in her ears.

Michael lay still, his eyes closed. Dark red blood pooled around his head on the sidewalk; there was a bloody hole in his forehead. Allie was moving and groaning. A bright patch of red spread across the material that covered her small chest, staining her pretty dress; her white dress with the frilly bib and apron, printed everywhere with the colored outlines of baby giraffes: dark blue, bright red, yellow, green. Lauren dropped to the ground beside Allison, fear pulling her heart from her chest into her throat.

“Allie?”

“Mommy! I feel . . . weird . . .” She coughed a little, and blood overflowed from the corner of her mouth and ran down her cheek, dripping onto the white cement sidewalk.

Lauren grabbed her daughter’s hand and moved so that Allie’s head lay on her lap. “Mommy’s here, Allie, Mommy’s here, and you’re going to be just fine.” Allison was going to die, though. Hot tears ran in stinging streams from Lauren’s eyes and bathed her cheeks.

She offered her little girl a watery smile. “It feels weird right now, but you’ll be just fine.”

“Mommy?”

“Mommy’s here, honey.”

“Mommy . . .”

“I’m here, baby, I’m here.”

But her baby had drawn her final breath. She closed her eyes for the last time on the first day of spring, beneath the clear blue sunlit sky.

There was no closure. The boy with the gun had shot himself after killing five and wounding thirteen. Two of the dead were Lauren’s husband and daughter. The three others included two students and a teacher. Of the wounded, ten were children, two were teachers, and one was a custodian.

The nightmare never ended.

It repeated itself through Lauren’s dreams and remained with her throughout each day. It seemed that nothing could erase the images of the blood from her memory, the blood that spread across her daughter’s frilly bib and on the white cement beneath her husband’s head.