Pocket Full of Teeth, page 10
Anyway, we’ll get to all that later. Let’s keep readin’.
April 21st, 1999
Today was not one of the best days.
Yesterday, two boys walked into a school and started shooting at the other kids. So many of them died. And why? Why?
It doesn’t make sense.
So much death.
And for what reason?
I can’t wrap my head around it, and they were Cat’s age.
Today, my aunt visited with her five-year-old daughter, and we put flowers on Mother’s grave. I kept thinking about Mama’s last words to me, about how I was a disappointment, having Cat so young, not getting married, getting the house back even though she told me time and again that the house was cursed.
But the house isn’t cursed. It’s just an old house that has held tragedy, like so many houses in America, but any house can be cleaned.
I remember Mama telling me about a pair of twins living here. My great-grandmother or great-great-grandmother, I’m not really sure which; she was a twin. Her own mother died of heartbreak, and all they had was each other. Both of their stories ended in tragedy, but what life isn’t met with death at the end?4
And, no, I’m not married, but that’s just because I don’t believe in marriage. I couldn’t — and would NEVER — marry Cat’s real dad. I couldn’t. I know Mother wanted me to be happy and feel love and be loved in return, but that wasn’t love. Not at all.
Love is what I have with Ray, and he hates the idea of marriage too. We don’t need a piece of paper or rings to show that we belong together. Our love is much deeper than that. And Cat’s the biggest blessing that I could have ever imagine.
I just wish Mother could have held Cat before she died. That would have changed her mind about everything. I just know it.
Cat was so small when she was born, just over six pounds, and she was perfect. Auntie Bea was there, so I was excited about her visit, but as the days got closer, Ray seemed to get agitated.
It was like a dark cloud moved in and the air inside the house got thick. It was like that feeling you get before a storm where everything is so still, so electric like we were all waiting for lightning to strike. But it didn’t.
Ray disappeared the night before Auntie Bea came. He’d been doing that more and more — going out, not coming home until morning, disappearing when I need him the most. He works hard. I know he does. And I know that he needs to blow off some steam every once in a while, but it’s hard. I want him home. I just miss him so much. And money is already tight. I barely make enough money as it is to cover the utilities, and the roof needs replaced.
Anyway, Auntie Bee came, and her daughter was so cute — this teeny, tiny mouse of a girl. I remember when Cat was that little. It made me ache just to be around her. And maybe a little sad, if I’m being honest. It made me miss how much Cat needed me, how she would lay her head in my lap, how I would tuck her in at night. It’s like she doesn’t need me anymore.
And with Ray staying out, I feel so cut off, even with my shifts at the diner because at the end of the night, everyone goes home to their families, and I go home to a dark house. I came home the other night after a long shift and picked up Cat from the library after school. I guess she was working on a project or something.
That girl is so smart. She’s set to graduate in December — a whole year and a half ahead of schedule. She should be driving already, but she doesn’t seem interested in cars. Her head is always in a book, and she is so sharp — her head is filled with all kinds of facts and stories and things I’ve never even thought about.
I remember that night so clearly, though, because we made hamburgers and had the windows open so the spring breeze could air out the smell. Ray wasn’t home yet, and I didn’t know when to expect him, so we ate at the kitchen table, and I mentioned that she should go to the spring formal. She laughed and shook her head and said she didn’t even know how to dance, so I told her that I could teach her. So, we danced in the kitchen with me counting the steps and her mostly following but sometimes stumbling, then Ray came home.
He stood at the door watching us, and I could tell he had already had a few drinks after work, but I was happy to see him standing there. I loved when his attention was on me. But then he shook his head and said that Cat would never learn how to dance like that. He said how could she learn how to follow without a man to lead her and cut right in.
Then, he proceeded to dance with her. I could see her stiffen in his arms, but she avoided my eyes and concentrated on her steps. I couldn’t help but feel jealous with his arms around her and not me.
Isn’t that crazy?!
He hadn’t even said hello, just waltzed in and took Cat.
Is that what the world will do? Have her graduate early and then step in? Sweep her away? Have her not even look at me again?
I guess I’ve been fearing that since the day she was born — that her father, some boy, the world — would just come in and take her away. I just couldn’t articulate it until then. Needless to say, I couldn’t sleep that night. I stayed up and made tea and sat at the kitchen table, watching the spot where Ray danced with her, unable to stop my mind from spinning. What is wrong with me?
TRANSCRIPT
Interview with Eddy Sparrow
4:44 p.m. April 27th, 2021
Case No. HI30823
That’s interesting. I thought that too. She has all the signs of a codependent. We might think these feelings are irrational, but they’re common in someone with codependency. Living with Mom and trying to get her attention so much as a child, I often felt some of these same things growing up. And even after. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
First, we need to talk about Stephen.
Yes, he’s my ex-husband, and as I said earlier, Mom had this big dinner about the young guy that was publishing a “groundbreaking” novel — her words, not mine — and was the youngest something-or-other to do some important thing. Sorry, I sort of tuned out all the details.
It was that point in the semester where exams are over and your brain is toast, and I was questioning my decision to study History, and sure, I admit I’d had a little too much wine that night, but hey, I was bored and young and admittedly dumb, so I swiped a bottle of wine and headed to the den Mom converted into a library.
I remember opening the book Rebecca and trying to figure out who was who and if that man really killed his wife or not when I heard a voice behind me.
A man whispered something like, Afraid of ghosts?
Yeah, I know. Cheesy, right?
Then, he asked about who this mysterious young guy was. He even questioned why everyone was so excited about him, but I knew exactly who he was. He was the guest of honor.
Outside the library, we heard people toast to him, and he blushed, like a for real blush that ran across his cheeks and down his neck even.
I smiled and held up my bottle of wine and mimicked the others and said, To Stephen, before I took a swig.
And then he smiled and said that great minds must think alike because he’d also swiped a bottle of wine to disappear in the library.
Well, for one, he was gorgeous. He was tall with dark hair and a perpetual five o’clock shadow, but there was something magnetic about him. If you were in a room full of people, you’d somehow find your way to him because that’s just the pull he had.
We stayed in there the rest of the night talking about stories and playing chess. I know, it sounds lame, but it was the most fun I’d had at one of Mom’s parties since I fell asleep with my head in her lap as a child. I felt like I could finally connect with someone, like I had ideas that were fresh and interesting, like I had found someone who was also interesting. He made me feel like I was special.
I know. I remember reading this for the first time and being so creeped out. I’d only read it during the day, but it still gave me the creeps.
Matter of fact, I got scared one particular night after reading about Cat’s house. I guess I’d falled asleep while reading at the table here and was woken up by the phone.
I jumped up to get it, still half asleep, but no one answered. There was this crackling at the other end of the line, and I could hear what sounded like breathing.
Freaked out, I hung up the phone and tried to smooth down all the goosebumps that’d popped up on my arms, and the phone rang again.
More silence. More creepy breathing. So I hung up again. More ringing, so I left the phone off the hook.
No, I never found out who it was, but it still gives me the creeps.
Anyway, let’s get back to Cat.
MAY 2001
Mama’s favorite month was always May, and it was the first month that I was able to put a dent in some of the house’s debt. I was able to buy groceries — real groceries and not simply leftovers at the cafe — and I should have enough money by the end of the month to pay some of last year’s property taxes. I was still getting bills from the hospital and the funeral home, but those would have to wait. Therapy was still going well. It hurt to talk about Mama sometimes, but my therapist seemed happy to talk about Liz and the cafe, taking it as a sign that I was moving on… which I was.
Liz opened the cafe on the first day of May with a surprise. I got there just after sunrise and was met with dozens of flowers crowding every surface of the cafe: periwinkle cornflowers, jade ferns, buttery daffodils, tangerine daylilies, pink peonies, burgundy roses.1
“What do you think?” Liz asked over the top of a vase of crooked orchids.
“It’s…” I trailed off, trying to find the words. “Wow.”
“Wow?” she said with eyebrows raised. “That’s all you got?”
“Where did you find all these?”
“Mrs. Maisey,” she shrugged as she loaded a tray of muffins into the oven behind her. “She loaned these on consignment. Mother’s Day and all. I talked her into displaying them here so customers could pick up their Mother’s Day treats and some flowers in one stop. Smart, right?”
I had to give it to her, she was always willing to go outside the box and take a chance.
“Wanna give me a hand with these cakes? You get the boxes ready, and I’ll ice.”
I nodded, got to work, and packaged ten cakes before our doors opened at seven. Because of Liz’s big flower idea, we were busy all morning filling coffee and selling flowers. Our usual morning coffee crew camped out between the flowers while other customers stopped by to pick up bakery orders and peek in to see what was going on with all the flowers in the front window.
As foot traffic died down, I heard a familiar voice from the door.
“Look at this,” a honey-sweet voice crooned, and I didn’t need to turn around to know that it was Marianne. “Just gorgeous,” she gasped. I couldn’t help but think about birthdays, Mama lighting candles and Marianne flashing her black Kodak camera, whispering Just gorgeous.
“Morning, Mrs. Marianne,” I said, turning with a smile. “What can I getcha?”
“Cat, how wonderful to see you!” She gaped, although she must have known I would be there.
“You, too,” I returned. “Need a cake for church?”
“You know me.” She smiled. I glanced across the room at Liz who was busy prepping sandwiches for our lunch crowd and led Marianne over to the cash register. She pointed to an off-white cake decorated in cream-colored roses. “We’re having an art show for the kids at church, and my Davis is going to be in it,” she offered in an attempt to make conversation. I smiled in response, nodding as I rang up her cake and coffee, while a vague image of her colic baby came to mind. “And Owen’s going to prom. I just can’t believe how big they’re getting.”
I nodded and gave her the total, and she dug in her wallet for the exact change. I reached out to give her the receipt, and she grabbed my hand.
“Also,” she hesitated, glancing over her shoulder and leaning in close, “I’d love to buy some flowers for your mother, but I wouldn’t want to over-step.”
Immediately, I felt heat on my cheeks.
“For Mother’s Day. I think it’d be nice,” she added. “I know when my parents passed away, I —”
“She was cremated,” I said, cutting her off. “I don’t think flowers would…”
As I trail off, Marianne squeezed my hand, which was still trapped in hers. “Or maybe I can make a few meals? Have you stop by and have a girl’s day. Remember? Like we used to do?”
I thought about the movie nights and shopping sprees, the lake days and sunny picnics with her and Mama leading the way, talking and laughing — but that was before Ray. It seemed like everything stopped when Ray entered the picture.
“S-sure,” I stuttered, and Marianne smiled, releasing my hand. Liz’s voice cut between us.
“Cat, can you give me a hand?” she called over her shoulder.
“Sorry,” I mumbled and left Marianne with her cake and coffee. As I walked over to Liz, I could see a smirk on her face.
“I saw you needed help,” she whispered.
“Thanks,” I whispered back and nudged her. “I was about to get roped into dinner at her house.”
“With Owen?”
“And his snotty little brother,” I added and wrinkled my nose.
“Sounds like I saved the day.” She smirked. “You might owe me.”
“Oh yeah? And what do I owe you?”
“Since you don’t have dinner plans with Marianne, maybe you can come to my house on Friday?” I thought about her house, her many decorations, and the way the sun caught in her kitchen window. “Maybe we can have lasagna?”
“That’d be nice,” I nodded, and before I could say more, the lunch crowd began to pour in, grabbing their sandwiches and even a few more flower arrangements. By the end of the day, Liz’s grand flower scheme had worked. We sold most of the flowers and doubled our typical sales. As we left, she tucked half the tips from the overflowing tip jar into my hand. Maybe, just maybe, I could make it all work.
When I got home, Ray was gone. He had been helping out one of his friends on a job in the next town over and had been staying late to help “clean up,” which was nice since it meant we’d have extra money coming in, but I knew it also meant that half his paycheck would be spent at the local bar on the outskirts of town. It didn’t bother me too much, though. I was happy to have the house to myself, and at least some money coming in was better than no money.
I made myself a sandwich and sat on the back porch and watched the sun go down over the tangled rose garden that had started to bloom a few weeks ago. I thought of Mama and her bedtime story about the princess.
As the years passed and the girl grew, the monster never left her side, and as they both got bigger, the girl’s flowers were not enough for the monster. It roiled with pain, hunger, and greed. It wanted the girl. It slipped into the girl’s shadow and grew as the sun passed its pinnacle in the sky.
The girl had lived with the shadow for so long that she didn’t even notice — notice the lengthening, the widening, the darkening until it was too late.
One day, the girl looked around. She looked around and could not see anything except for her shadow. She would chase the lightning bugs to drive away the shadow, but as the year went on, the lightning bugs became less and less. The days grew shorter. The air turned cold.
The nights stretched as long as the darkness that followed her. With nothing to keep her warm, the monster wrapped its arms around her. It whispered to her in the dark and sang her lullabies until she went to sleep.
I could almost smell the princess’s garden, the musk of blooms as I finished my last bite of dinner, and I heard a knock at the door. Puzzled, I made my way to the front of the house, wondering why I hadn’t heard someone pull up the dirt drive.
I peered out of the front door’s window but didn’t see anyone in the dim light, so I switched on the porch light and opened the door. No one was there.
I stepped out onto the porch, craned my neck to peer down the driveway, looking for receding tail lights, something, but I found nothing but trees and darkness. Wondering if I was going crazy, I turned around to go inside and stopped short.
Flowers.
A beautiful bouquet of small white flowers, miniature stars, refracted at the ends. Did I step over those when I walked out? Was someone else there?
I looked around again, shivering, but the porch was empty. I scooped up the bouquet and went inside, scanning the ground floor for intruders, knowing full well that no one would have been able to come inside with me standing there on the porch. I would have seen them or heard them.
I smelled the flowers but only got the scent of the dying day. Strange. A flower with no smell.
I entered the library, my free hand searched the shelves until I found Mama’s flower book. She had been obsessed at one point with flowers and their Victorian meanings. She had researched the roses in the backyard, convinced by an old family story that they had magically changed from white to pink and finally to a deep burgundy red the color of dried blood. I scanned the printed watercolor images of flowers until I found the one that matched the bouquet.
White Catchfly.
I read, my finger trailed the words across the page. Perennial, although some gardeners grow it as an annual. Typically flowers from May to June or in late summer. Bright full shade. The small white flowers traditionally symbolize young love and gentleness.
My brows furrowed. Young love? Who would send these? I shook my head and scanned the page until I found more.
The small flowers can also trap pollen and even small insects on their sticky calyces, which contributes to its other meaning: betrayal.
I felt goosebumps making their way up my arm and closed the book, returning it to the shelf and heard a sound above me on the upper floor. I checked both the front and back doors, making sure they were locked before heading upstairs, but it was empty, as usual.
White Catchfly, I thought again and pulled out Mama’s journal. What are you trying to tell me, Mama?
