Down the Well, page 5
Her mother huffed. “Yes, but really quite an inconvenience, if you ask me.”
“Sorry picking me up was such an inconvenience,” Lore muttered.
“Oh, Lorette, stop that. You know what I meant.” Her mother pointed a hand to the windshield. “I mean, just look at this weather. Utterly terrible.”
As if on cue, thunder rumbled above them as if it were shaking the trees and not the high winds.
“You know,” Lore started picking at her fingertips, “if I had a cell phone, dad could have just called me.”
Her mother laughed. “Oh, darling, you know how that is.”
Lore said nothing, just looked out the window, currently being pelted with large water droplets. She didn’t expect a different answer this time, nor the next time she would ask. It was always easier bringing up these kinds of topics with her mother. If she even attempted to talk to her father about it, she’d get a long, drawn-out explanation about money and responsibility. She sighed.
They were out of Hazel Borough now, just rolling fields and trees of the countryside. The brittle tree branches were blowing around, resembling flexible bamboo bending. Then, as if the radio had read her thoughts, an abrupt alert ran across the radio followed by a robotic voice.
“This is your national weather center. The following areas have a severe thunderstorm warning, and we urge residents to seek shelter imm—”
Her mother cut the radio off, and the truck slowed down as her mom put on the blinker.
“Mom, maybe you should stay with Mamó and me.” Lore’s voice was shakier than she would have liked.
Her mom threw the truck into park as the rain continued to assault the top of the old truck. “Nonsense, it’s just a bit of rain. Besides, I don’t think your dad would be very happy if I left him stranded at the factory.”
Lore pursed her lips but opened the door. “Okay, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow after work.” She then pushed the door open and ran to take cover on the porch.
Her mom rolled down the window. “Love you!” she yelled over the grumbling sky.
Lore waved a hand as she jogged up the slick wood steps. “Love you,” she silently echoed as she watched her mom go down the gravel drive from the safety of the covered porch.
SIX
Lore opened the screen door with a creek. The smell of apple cinnamon filled her nose. “Mamó!” she called, sliding her shoes off. She made her way to the kitchen and started wringing out her green flannel in the sink.
“In the bathroom, Moon Drop.” Her honeyed voice carried down the hall. A few moments later, her grandma appeared, scooting along with the walker. “That bad out, eh?” She plopped on the couch. “Where’s your dad?”
“There was a weather alert on our way over.” Lore sighed, leaving Maccon’s gift where it was to get out two plates and two forks. “And from what mom said,” she began as she opened the oven, letting the ridicule heat warm her damp skin, “dad ended up having to work overtime. She is on her way to go get him now.” She scooped out the warm apple crumble, the satisfying sound of the cooked crumble crunching as she did so.
Mamó rolled her eyes and flipped on the TV. “Only your mother would be in denial so deep that even when bad weather pelts the windshield, she chooses to not see it.”
Lore came in and gave her a plate of the sweet and cinnamon-sticky dessert. Lore laughed. “I mean, you aren’t wrong.” Her jaw tightened as the weather reporter on the TV talked about how long this storm is going to last. I do hope they make it home okay.
Her grandmother took a bite, and she did the same. The first bite sent a subtle woody flavor of nutmeg dancing along her tongue. It sent a warmth through her soul. “It’s really good, Mamó. Thank you.”
“Well, I know it’s a favorite of yours.” Her grandma mused as she fidgeted with the remote. “This dang thing,” she muttered.
“Here.” Lore reached for the remote. “What’d ya wanna watch?”
“Let’s watch that trivia show. On channel seven, I think.” Mamó handed the remote over to Lore with shaking hands. “You know, I think the pills just make it worse.”
“Why do you think that?”
Every wrinkle in her grandmother’s face scrunched. “I didn’t take them until after I made the apple crumble. And now look.” She held her hand up.
They both watched it as it trembled.
“Well, it’s s’posed to be better than that hip of yours worsening,” Lore offered, then promptly took another bite.
Her grandma sat there, holding her breath and, by doing so, holding onto a secret. She let out a sigh. “You’re a smart kid,” she finally managed.
Lore smiled. “I’m glad someone thinks so.”
The rest of the evening went rather normally. Almost as if it were a summer night that had long since passed. Lore was a child again as they watched hours of game shows. Mamó seemed to know all the answers.
They laughed, and Lore cleaned up the kitchen a bit.
Then the old grandfather clock struck eight, and her grandmother had a cup of tea before bed.
“Lemon balm and mint?” Lore asked as the wrinkled crone stirred in a spoonful of honey.
“Wouldn’t have anything else.” Mamó winked a tired gray eye as her thin lips took a sip from the milky white glass that had pink flowers ‘round the rim.
Lore helped her grandmother back to her room. It was clean as usual, and a vanilla candle burned on her nightstand beside her black jewelry box.
“You know,” Mamó croaked out as she fluffed her pillow, “there’s so much I’d like to tell you before I go.”
Lore furrowed her brow. “Mamó you’ve just busted a hip.” Lore closed the pink linen curtains, her fingers gripping the fabric tightly. “You’ll get better, you’ll see.” Her voice sounded more of a plea than one of certainty.
There was a thud, and she turned, her eyes wide. She didn’t see her grandmother on the floor, which was a relief. Instead, Mamó rummaged through silver chains and charms. The top of the jewelry box rested against the pale yellow wall.
“I may not have enough time tonight. I’d like to give you something.”
Lore sat at the foot of the bed, watching her grandma’s back as the woman continued pulling out necklaces, bracelets, and earrings.
With jittery hands, Mamó set them to the side. “It’s been a while since I last wore it,” she admitted. “A bit of a family heirloom, really.”
Her voice carried a certain sort of tenderness to it.
Family heirloom.
“I didn’t know families like ours had heirlooms,” Lore joked.
Her grandma hobbled to the bedside table and reached for Lore’s hand, rubbing her thumb over the knuckles.
It had been a long time since she’d held her Mamó’s hand. They were colder than she remembered, and a few more wrinkles and spots had appeared on them.
“Families like ours have deep roots that are often forgotten about. But I want you to have this.” She released Lore’s hand and reached into her nightgown pocket. From it, she pulled out a chunky silver chain. A single charm that caught the candlelight just right. “My grandmother gave this to me, and she got it from her grandmother before that.” She looped the chain around Lore’s wrist. “Now, I give this to you, Lore Deoradán.”
It was lighter than it looked.
“Thank you, Mamó. I won’t let anything happen to it.”
Her grandmother’s tired gray eyes softened, and she nodded as she climbed into bed. “That was my hope.”
Lore shut the thin door quietly behind her as she admired the bracelet. She lay on the couch like a caterpillar in the cocoon of blue patchwork squares, her feet just hanging over the side, and pulled down the quilt that always sat on the back of the couch. She pulled her wrist out and fiddled with the circular charm. Her fingertips met warm, embossed metal. The design was a single antler and two daffodils wrapped around it.
Thunder shook the tiny cabin. Lightning flashed through the white curtains of the living room. The colors from the mosaic lampshade flittered against the faded living room wall panels.
Lore smiled, and her mind drifted back to a warmer summer day when she was around twelve.
She had been dipping her paintbrush in the bucket when her grandma gingerly picked it back up to pour some of the liquid sunshine into a pan for her paint roller. Lore remembered the sound of her voice. Like a songbird singing as she worked. Coating the brown faux wood with bright paint.
“Sing me a song of a time undone, Sing me a song of a place forgotten, sing me a song cause the world’s got me downtrodden, sing me a song that calls me home…”
Lore reached behind her, flipped off the lamp, and burrowed herself more in the cozy quilt.
The rain hammering away on the cabin roof was enough to lull Lore into a welcome sleep.
* * *
A thud woke her up. Lore’s eyes shoot open. Another sound quickly followed the first. Then Mamó let out a shrill scream, jolting the last remnants of sleepy from her mind and propelled her into action.
She couldn’t get to her feet fast enough, sliding in her socks across the kitchen linoleum to reach the bedroom. She flung the door open to see her grandma and dresser drawers on the floor. The jewelry Mamó had so carefully placed on her nightstand was strewn across the carpet.
On the other side of her bed was a smaller shadow. It had large, pointed ears that made up half its size and gleaming golden eyes that cut right through her.
The sight of the figure held Lore frozen. What was that? And what was it doing here?
“Lore,” Mamó’s voice was strained as she clawed at her chest. “Moon Drop…” Her pleas were almost a whisper now.
What did it do?
Lore’s knees hit the carpet as she tried to help her up onto the bed. Under her hand, her grandmother’s skin was cold yet covered in sweat.
Mamó’s breathing was short and uneven.
Thunder shook the house once more.
The figure slunk out the open window and disappeared into the forest.
She watched, the feeling of icy water settling in her veins. Her heart was racing.
Mamó groaned in pain, drawing her attention back to the problem at hand.
Lore’s hands trembled as she bolted to the kitchen to get the landline phone. She hated to leave Mamó behind but she needed to do the only thing she could—dial 911.
She just hoped help would get there fast enough.
SEVEN
Lore bounced her leg as she sat in the world’s coldest chair. The cushion was as soft as a river stone. The hospital walls were as hollow as her heart, sitting there in the waiting room with a heaviness that weighed on her chest. Alone. She couldn’t say how long she had been there, either. She stopped looking at the clock hours ago.
The ride over was so nerve-wracking, her arms still felt like they were being pricked by thousands of needles. She had called her parents upon arriving at the hospital, her fingertips pressing the sticky buttons replayed in her mind. They had rushed over, and—for once—pressed no questions. When she watched them leave to go see Mamó’s condition, it was like seeing them fight gravity as they pushed past the door. Their limbs swung slowly, their tense faces still and unmoving.
Her eyes stung as she looked out the large windows. The thunderstorm had finally dwindled down to a light mist paired with low-rolling fog. The clear sky had millions of glittering stars that looked intentionally placed around the luminous glow of the moon’s crisp edges. Lore wipes her nose with her sleeve as she gave a sniffle. It had been a while since she last saw the moon’s waning crescent smile.
What do I tell them? It all happened so quickly.
She blinked back to tears welling in the corners of her eyes. Was it even real, or was it just my imagination? Was the shadow just something to blame for what happened to Mamó? No, no—that can’t be it. Mamó wouldn’t have pulled out her drawers and scattered her jewelry. Lore played again with the cool metal charm of the bracelet Mamó had given her.
It had to be real.
Just before bed.
I need it to be real.
Before it happened.
She felt a hand gently rest on her shoulder, and she jerked her head to see it was her mother. The streams of tears from her bloodshot eyes told Lore whatever it was, it wasn’t good.
“What?” Lore mouthed, barely able to muster her voice.
“Baby,” her mom started and knelt beside her, taking Lore’s hands in hers. “Your grandma has died.”
No. She can’t be dead. I told her she was gonna be on the mend. We were going to have another summer together. Lore’s lip trembled as her eyes became clouded with tears. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.
She sat there stunned by sadness and her blood surging with rage all at the same time.
I didn’t get to say goodbye.
She took a ragged breath and looked past her mother to the tranquil night on the other side of the glass. I’ll never share a plate of apple crumble and watch game shows with her again.
“It’s alright, Lorette.” Her mom attempted a hug, but her daughter wasn’t there.
Lore was too busy thinking about the way Mamó smiled, the way her voice sounded—frantically recounting every precious detail she was so afraid of forgetting.
EIGHT
Lore’s reflection in the mirror looked like swarms of dust bunnies had attacked it. It had been a little over a week. And still, somehow, none of it felt real.
She examined the black dress she wore. Terrible thing, really. Could hear her grandma’s voice teasing, “Dark colors don’t suit you, Moon Drop.”
Lore fought the pooling tears at the corner of her eyes as she fussed over the itchy lace. I look so stupid in this. She splashed some cool water over her face, then tied Maccon’s green flannel around her waist. Already better.
Her mom’s voice carried through the screen door of Mamó’s tiny cabin as she yelled for Lore’s father. “Darling, your sister is about here. Then we can spread the ashes.”
Lore’s stomach dropped. She had forgotten about her aunt. She could picture her dad’s annoyed expression. His brows pulled tight, his sharp gray eyes boring into anyone who dared look at him, and the single line that wrinkled across his forehead.
She looked back in the dusted mirror where her soft, unpolished gray eyes stared back at her. Her mother had often called them her father’s eyes, making her hate them. But maybe I have Mamó’s eyes. She adjusted the chained charm bracelet, stood up as tall as she could, and held her head as high as a sunflower, searching for the sun. She needed that right now. A bright side. Her heart ached for her friends that she left just a little over a week ago.
The worn screen door creaked open.
“I’m comin’!” Lore insisted as she pulled the bathroom door closed behind her. As she turned to face who she thought to be her mother, her jaw slackened and her eyes grew. No, it can’t be.
“I told you we should have asked my mom if you could’ve moved into our basement instead.” Maccon’s voice was like a sun’s ray after a rainy day.
She smiled, tears welling up again. She practically jumped to hug him. “It has felt a bit chaotic, and I’m sure chaos doesn’t live in your basement,” she muttered into his chest.
He rubbed her shoulders and laughed. “Chaos rides on your coattails, Fire Flower.”
Lore let out a breath. She had found the ray of sunshine she was missing. “How—I mean—why are you here?”
“Your mom called mine late the other night. My dad let me borrow the pickup, and now I’m here,” he said nonchalantly, then ran a hand through his inky unkempt hair. “My best friend needed me.”
She stepped back away from his warm hug and kind words, rubbed her arms, and looked out the window. Her father was sitting on one of Mamó’s wooden lawn chairs in front of the field of daffodils with a case of beer. Her mom was beside him and made a fuss over his shirt. The morning dew still clung to the grass.
“Maccon.” Her voice broke the silence, and his pale eyes stayed fixed on her.
“Hm?”
Lore chewed her lip for a moment. I know he’ll believe me. She met his gaze. “I saw something,” Lore said, almost whispering the words.
His thick, bushy brow raised. “What’d ya mean?”
Lore stepped closer like they both were in grade school again and she was about to share some big secret. And she was. “There was a shadowy figure when Mamó had her heart attack.”
Her friend stayed silent for a moment, then his eyes melted into a gentle stare. “Why are you whispering? We’re the only ones in the house.”
Lore’s heart thudded in her chest as she stormed past him to sit on the couch. I’m sharing a very vulnerable detail with him and he decides he wants to be funny? “Did you not hear what I just said?!” Her tone was an angry shade of red, and she wished she had a better ability at concealing her true feelings.
Maccon sat beside her. His frame made the couch appear two sizes smaller than it actually was. “Lore,” he started, his voice gentle with caution. “I think you’ve been through a lot. Moving away from your childhood home, your friends, and now this.”
She watched him rub his calloused hands on his jeans in a circular motion. “Not to mention or touch the steaming pile of shit your family dynamics have always been.” His voice was low, but all Lore saw was the same circular motion he used to soothe himself when confused or upset about something.
Lore felt a cool numbness rush to her fingertips, and she placed her hands in her lap. “You don’t believe me.” Defeat echoed in the tiny living room.
Her best friend chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I didn’t say I don’t believe you.” His jaw tightened a bit. “I said you’ve been through a lot and maybe we should focus on that and what you are feeling before we worry about hunting some shadow.”
Some shadow. His flippancy stung her skin. He was talking as if they were in middle school going to go to the woods on the outskirts of town and hunt down beasts from fairytales.
