Mother (44 page)

“My pleasure, dear. I’ll be back later for the tray.”

“No hurry, I’m going to work while I eat.”

Mother raised an eyebrow. “Don’t work too hard. You need your rest.”

Claire nodded. Mother left her in peace.

She took the dishes off the tray so she could pull the computer back into position and was soon reading email and eating the tasteless sandwich. Mother favored Wonder Bread and American cheese slices.
Same as when I was a kid.
It was all right, but her son would get real cheese on seed bread and something tastier than Campbell’s.
 

She quickly looked over her email - there were two new client queries and that made her happy. Then she opened Facebook and accepted Stephanie Banks’ friend request.
 

Steffie had only about thirty friends, which made Claire feel special to be asked. She had lots of photos of the Arizona high desert, especially Brimstone, the town where she lived and worked.
Where Tim intended to bring me to after he and Steffie got settled.
It was a weirdly attractive place that mostly clung to the side of a hill. A historical monument, there was very little growth allowed there, and Claire thought it would be fun to visit someday, maybe take a road trip with Jason and the baby.
A family road trip
. She smiled at the thought. Maybe Steffie would show them around.

She clicked through Steffie’s profile pictures and recognized her face from childhood. Her rich auburn hair was long now, pulled back in a ponytail in half the photos. It looked good. She’d matured into a beautiful woman, her tall lanky frame softened with curves now.
 

Claire browsed Steffie’s timeline photos, then clicked the albums and stopped at one, titled “Throwbacks.”

And there was the Steffie Banks that Claire remembered: the perm, the glasses, the braces. Underneath it all, she could see that Stephanie would grow into her beauty, but at a glance, it wasn’t an easy thing to spot. She hadn’t been homely by any means, just plain, most of her features concealed by the large glasses and bad perm.
 

Claire clicked through the pictures and her heart swelled when she saw one of Timothy. He had his cast on - it must have been taken right after the accident. There were several more of him. Her vision blurred by tears, she scrolled through images of Tim and Steffie at an amusement park, hiking a trail, and on Halloween as Bonnie and Clyde. There were even a few photos that featured Claire herself, always smiling, always with one of Tim’s arms around her. Tears spilled over; she missed him fiercely.
I wish you were still alive, big brother!
 

And then the memory of the terrible IM shattered her.

I’m not dead.

I’m not dead. And I’m coming back.

Her skin crawled.
Who would do such a thing?
Anger swelled and she wished she hadn’t remembered. Work had done a fine job pushing it out of her mind, but now it roared back with such vicious determination she felt dizzy.
Who would do that?

She moved her cursor to log out and paused. An idea struck her; an idea she wasn’t sure she liked at all. But it gnawed.

I’m not dead.

I’m not dead. And I’m coming back.
 

She moved to Facebook’s search box, her cursor hovering there as the memory replayed.

Who is this?
she’d asked.

Timothy Martin.

Claire shuddered.
 

Before she had time to overthink, she found herself typing
Timothy Martin
into the search.

There were dozens of them, and as she scrolled past unfamiliar faces, Claire began to feel at ease. And then one stopped her cold. She leaned in close, blood thrumming in her ears, the dizziness returning.
Holy shit. It’s him! It’s Tim!
She clicked the photo, her hands quaking as she searched his page. He only had one photo up - it was taken a year before he’d died, on Christmas. She moved to the “About” section.

Graduated from Snapdragon High
 

Worked at Snapdragon Power and Light

Studied art in Brimstone, Arizona

“Oh, my God.” Claire clicked to “Details about You.”
It was blank. She went to “Family
.
”
Blank. There was no contact information. “It can’t be.” She glanced back up at the profile photo. It was definitely her brother. She clicked on “Relationship Status.”
It’s complicated, with Ashley Perkins
“What the hell?”

She went to Ashley Perkins’ page. It was private, so she saw no information except that she lived in Michigan and had Tim listed as a love interest.

It was as if a hole had opened and Claire had tumbled down, down, into a cold and alien place. Blood hummed and buzzed, sweat dampened her brow and upper lip, and she was shaking.
This is too much. It isn’t real. It isn’t real. I’m losing my mind.
She went back to Tim’s page. Nothing had changed. “It can’t be.” Her mind was a stripped gearshift, grinding, unable to catch. She slammed her laptop shut and sat, unable to move, barely breathing.

I’m not dead.

I’m not dead. And I’m coming back.
 

Jason in the Middle

“I’m so worried about our little Carlene,” Prissy said as she fed Frederick tomato soup. He seemed famished, his eyes traveling to the bowl, urging her to spoon faster.
The poor man.
“Did I forget to give you your Ensure this morning? I’ll just bet I did. Shame on me! I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

He moaned something around the spoon.

“Oops, you’re dribbling again. Let me just get that.” She wiped his face with a paper towel. “As I was saying, Carlene isn’t herself. Not
at all
. It’s probably just pregnancy hormones. That’s what her doctor says, anyway. Did I tell you that, against my medical advice, she left Dr. Hopper to go back to that young female physician who was kicked off the staff at Snapdragon General for a while? I don’t think she’s a very good doctor. What do you think?”

Frederick just looked at her, then shifted his eyes to the soup.

She began spooning again. “Jason and I are both worried about her. She’s become paranoid. Just like Timothy did, remember? I wonder if paranoia or schizophrenia runs in your family, Frederick. Do you know?”

Frederick shook his head.

“You’re sure? Because there are no mental problems in
my
family.” She chuckled. “The Bakers have always been so sane they’re downright boring! They rarely even develop a neurosis. It
must
be from your side.” She ladled the last of the soup into his mouth.
 

His hand clamped on her wrist and the spoon clattered to the floor. His eyes on hers, he worked his mouth. “Ooh,” was all that came out.
 

“Well! It’s nice to see you responding, Frederick!” She smiled. “You can let go now.”

“Ooh!” His hand tightened, but she continued smiling until he finally sighed and released his bony grip.

“That’s my good little patient.” She took the tray and moved to the door, hoping he wasn’t on the verge of a minor stroke. “I’ll come right back with your medication so you can relax and have a nice long afternoon nap.”

He didn’t try to reply, but his hard gaze stayed on her until she shut the door. It disturbed her, that stare, and she hoped he wasn’t developing any new problems. Worried, she carried the tray downstairs. Poor Timothy had shown some signs of paranoia as a teen, but she’d only really seen them when he was in his early twenties and she’d brought him home from Arizona after his accident. The accusations, the furtiveness. She’d attributed it to his alcoholism, but now Carlene - who certainly wasn’t drinking - exhibited similar symptoms. Perhaps it was something both had inherited from the Martin twins, their fathers. The twins’ mother had certainly been a high-strung woman - perhaps it went deeper than Prissy had ever realized. The way Frederick had grabbed her wrist told her she might be treading too close to a family secret.
The poor man is probably ashamed.
She’d have to get on her computer again and see if she could ferret out anything about the Martin family.

Jason had been thinking of working late, but Paul insisted he get home to his pregnant wife since he’d be in Denver the following night. As much as Jason dreaded the stress waiting for him at home, he knew Paul was right.
 

He’d thought about it all day and still didn’t know how he might convince Claire to give up her brother’s journals. He didn’t want to upset her. If he brought up the health of the baby, she’d listen. Probably.

He thought it was likely the journals were the primary reason Claire had been so anxious lately. He hoped Stephanie Banks could help her.

He turned onto Morning Glory Circle. The houses appeared neat and perfect. Windows glowed with golden light: It was dinnertime and families had gathered. The lights were on at Prissy’s, too, including Claire’s, and as he pulled into the driveway, he saw Hank and Crystal Lowell standing on their front porch. They waved and smiled.
 

As he locked the car, the Lowells appeared at the edge of the driveway. “Hey, Jason, how are you?” Hank called.

“Okay.” Jason, happy for a reprieve, joined the couple. “How are you guys?”

“We’re great,” said Hank.

Crys giggled and waved an envelope. “Somebody’s trying to blackmail us.”
 

Hank chuckled. “They sure are.”

“Blackmail? How is that funny?” Jason asked.

“Come under the porch light and you can read the note for yourself. It’s pretty pathetic.”

On the porch, Crys handed him the note. “Out loud, please.” She grinned.
 

“I know what you did last summer,”
Jason read. “Seriously?”

“Keep going,” Hank said. “It gets better.”

“I know all about you and your dirty secrets. Every single one of them. I know about the incident two years ago, and I know why you had to move here from San Diego.”
Jason looked up. “San Diego?”

“Our blackmailer has done his homework. We did move here from San Diego.” Crys grinned. “Totally true. Go on.”

“I know about your legal problems and your criminal past. Make no mistake: I can have your children taken away with one phone call to Social Services. I am watching you and your rude dogs and rude children and if you mention this letter to anyone, know that your terrible sins shall be revealed.”
 

Hank and Crystal burst into laughter.

“Why is this funny?” Jason asked again.

“Because, despite my motorcycle and beard and Crys’ choice of hair color and tattoo placement, neither of us has even had a parking ticket,” Hank said.

“We don’t even have bad credit,” Crys added. “And our boys are A students.”

“Hell, we’re not even members of the Communist party.” Hank guffawed.

Crys looked at Hank. “Is that even a thing anymore?”

“You got me.” He chuckled then looked at Jason. “There is absolutely nothing to dig up on us. We’re as clean as the driven.”

“So, what does this person want? I mean, blackmailers usually want something, right?”

“We have no idea,” Crys said.

“None,” Hank added. “And this isn’t the first letter we’ve had. We’ve gotten pretty much the same thing every year or so since we moved here.”

“It’s just … bizarre,” Crys said.

“It sure is,” Jason agreed. “Have you gone to the police?”

“I suppose we should since the guy doesn’t want us to,” Hank said. “But we haven’t bothered. It’s bullshit. If I had to say what he wants, it’s to rattle our cage.”

“Why?”
 

“Why not?” the Lowells said in unison and laughed again.

Then Crystal looked at Hank. “Maybe we should show it to Roddy sometime.”

Hank shrugged. “Not a bad idea.”

Crystal turned to Jason. “How’s Claire?”
 

“She’s hanging in there, looking forward to moving.” He told them a little about their new house, then bid them goodnight.
 

Entering Prissy’s kitchen, he smelled tuna casserole and heard that never-ending Andrews Sisters record. If he never heard that song again, it would be too soon. He walked softly to the stairs and went up, proud of himself for evading Priscilla and her constant questions. Claire wasn’t the only one looking forward to moving; Priscilla was okay, just a little too in his face.

Just as he knocked on Claire’s door, Prissy called up the stairwell, asking him to come back down.
 

“Jason? Come in!” Claire called in a no-nonsense voice.

He wished he’d worked late. “Hi sweetheart,” he said as he opened the door.

“Jason! Please come down here for just a jiffy, won’t you?” called Prissy.

Jason rolled his eyes. “I’d better go see what she wants before she comes up. She’s got a tuna casserole on. Do you want to suffer through that? I can run over to Wokamundo and be back in half an hour.”

“Whatever,” said Claire with no hint of interest.
 

He really looked at her. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, but her eyes were rimmed in red. “Just emotional,” she said.
 

“You can tell me-”

“Jason!” Prissy bellowed. “Please come see me!”

“Orange chicken?” he asked. “That always cheers you up.”

“Yeah, that’d be good. And some kung pao.”

“I’ll be right back with the food. Hang in there.”

He trotted downstairs and just as he arrived on the kitchen threshold, Prissy, her back to him, bellowed his name again.

“I’m right here.”

She turned and beamed at him, a snapdragon-printed yellow apron over her powder blue velour jogging suit. “You scared me, sneaking up on me like that.” She smiled, reached up, and pinched his cheek. “That’s a naughty boy.”

“What do you want?”

“I thought the three of us could have dinner together. I have TV trays and folding chairs I’d like you to take upstairs.”

“That’s nice, but I don’t think Claire’s in the mood tonight.”

“Nonsense. It’s just what she needs. She loves my tuna casserole. Olives are my secret ingredient. When she was little, she used to eat olives off her fingers while she watched me make it.” Prissy hesitated. “No, I think that was Timothy, but Claire loves olives too. Silly me, mixing them up. I must be getting old.”