A minute late and she wouldn’t forgive herself. Barbara hurried to the patio, teapot in one hand. Wayward leaves drifted softly from the oaks beyond the yard, adding to the shin-high blanket which had gathered over the past weeks— a fact which stoked a vexing headache. A child should take care of her mother, she thought. But she didn’t need Annie if Annie didn’t need her. When the last leaf falls, one big cleaning. Things will be right again. Her eyes turned to the sun, just over the yellow hills encircling this spoiled suburbia.
Deliberate and detailed, she made sure everyone’s plate was set. Though they never ate— and who could blame them, for when conversation is good, who can eat— it’s best to be prepared. In their usual places around the patio table were Donnie Fitzstevens in his dashing straw hat, Bearel Brownfur with his dapper golf attire, Mr. and Mrs. Hunchenbauer, stout in lederhosen and dirndl, Mrs. Pinkerton proud in her top hat and monocle, and stern old Job. If she had one more wish, it would be that things never change.
The napkins were folded, finger sandwiches set in even rows, and dairy-free creamer pots brimming. The table smelled of earl gray, fresh ham, and baked biscuits. Satisfied, Barbara took her seat with a groan and looked over her home— a slim two-story Victorian like all the others on the block. The flan-colored paint was blanched and chipping. As she watched the sun’s nightly bow, her mind turned back to the fantastic man— or creature— which had given her life again. Two years ago, she thought in disbelief. How in this very spot she——shivered in the winter winds. Alone. The funeral, the words, the tears, they felt distant but inescapable. She looked at the empty chair across from her, the last place she’d seen Jollen— beyond the coffin. The ‘C’ word… she couldn’t even think the name anymore. Her pain was like an echo down an endless cave, always coming back. It felt like just yesterday this space had been filled with flowers, children, and friends. Who’s hands are these, she thought, staring at the paper thin skin over her trembling fingers. The black outlines of bats flutter from the trees and into the night. She realized something. Jerry, Glorieta, Jollen, their only connections to this life hinged upon her decaying brain. The cold wind whispered,
“I haven’t seen an angel cry since Calvary,” the stranger said.
Barbara gasped at the gray-suited gentleman and his extended handkerchief. She thought to scream, but something in his clean-shaven face and smooth grin brought about an otherworldly tranquility. Tall, slender, and dignified, he reminded her of someone. For a moment, her father, another, Jerry, the next, what she imagined her miscarried son would’ve looked like.
“Please,” he said, insisting with the handkerchief.
By the time she’d dried her cheeks, he was in the seat across from her. His eyes held an unearthly tenderness, as if he could see everything withering inside her and truly felt the weight.
“It’s hard getting old, Barbara,” he said.
She nodded— hardly caring that she hadn’t given her name. In all likelihood, this was death. She folded the handkerchief, just like her mom taught her, and handed it back. Manners were important. Something the youth had forgotten.
“I’m sorry, Sir, I don’t think I got your name?” she asked.
“The pronunciation is an ordeal. Call me Jay.”
Some animal shrieked from somewhere up the street.
“A pleasure, Jay.”
He smiled earnestly. “Likewise.”
It was hard to tell how long she spent in that pleasant and hypnotic silence, watching a sea of vivid memories and futures in his dilated pupils. Eventually he said, “Barbara, I’ve made it my business over the years to help people like you. Those who’ve lost everything.”
“That’s very kind of you, Sir,” she sniffled. His gaze reflected a false yet lovely vision of her and Jerry on a Bermuda beach somewhere in their golden years.
“It’s an obligation,” he said.
“Why?”
“Everyone’s obliged to something, I figure this is the best I could do.”
What a fine man, she thought.
“Tell me, if you had one wish, what would it be?” he asked. Barbara laughed merrily, but he pressed, “I’m serious.”
Given this question most would inanely answer with money, superpowers, or immortality, but Barbara had grown past trivialities. Crushed under the surf of this budding generation, Barbara had learned the hard way the agony of fighting over things long established. Expectations, conduct, the nature of being. She didn’t see where the confusion arose. Why her daughter had chosen it over her. Why teenagers angered and terrified her.
“If I could wish for anything,” Barbara said, “It would just be to have people who understand me. Who have some common sense.”
“Your common sense?” Jay asked.
“Common sense is common.”
He laughed. “I guess so.”
Jay straightened his jacket and went around the yard collecting figurines. A scarecrow from near the fence, two ceramic gnomes by the sliding door, the top-hatted flamingo in the flowerpot, a wooden bear statue in golf attire near the barbeque, and the small tiki-faced boulder Jerry got from Annie long ago for Father’s day. He arranged them in the chairs around the table.
“They won’t go anywhere, but if you say the words, from sundown to sunup, you’ll have exactly what you want.”
A great many questions arose in her head, but the first, “What words—”
— Barbara looked to the setting sun, an ambient amber crown over rounded crests. It was time. “Flee from daylight, return in night, with this tired sun, these souls ignite.”
A strong gust tossed the leaves like white-capped waves as shimmering streaks of rainbow light danced around the figurines. In a flash, they shot down their eyes and mouths. A chorus of life-giving breaths rang out. Hands cold and shaking with excitement, Barbara filled the cups with steaming black tea. Their— and of course her— favorite.
“Hello, everyone,” Barbara said, grinning. “Welcome back to the Supper Club.”
Donnie removed his hat and shook out his loose straw hair. Through wide button eyes, he noticed the puffy winter jacket covering his overalls.
“What’s this?” he asked.
Barbara took a proud sip. “You said you were cold.”
“My dear, you’re sweeter than marmalade,” Donnie said. She knew he’d like it.
“And vat about us?” Mr. Hunchenbauer said, his gnomish eyeline— like his wife’s— just barely over the table. “Are ve just chopped currywurst? Vhere’s our jackets?”
She laughed so hard she nearly dropped her cup.
“Too soft,” Job said, in a slow, baritone she figured was innate to all talking boulders.
“You igneous bastard,” Donnie said. “You’re poking fun. I might be soft, but you’ll find out the hard way what follows thunder.”
“How about you show some class,” Mrs. Pinkerton said, peering through her monocle.
“You know what, I think y’all are just jealous. Y’all can’t stand the fact that I’m Barbara’s favorite!” Donnie said, slamming his fist onto his armrest with a soft pat.
The gang gasped.
“Her favorite!” Mrs. Hunchenbauer said.
“Why else would she get me such a nice coat while you all got horse doo.”
“Because you’re a baby,” Bearel said.
His cheeks didn’t need to change color for Barbara to tell he was about to lose it. “Please, everybody calm down,” Barbara said. “You’re all my favorite.”
“Favorite is one,” Job said.
“There’s only one first place,” Bearel said, pointing with his small wooden club.
“This isn’t sport. It’s friendship,” Barbara said. “Now, I didn’t put all this together to listen to nonsense. I wanted civil discussion with— who I thought were— civilized folk.”
Their faces lowered in shame. Hard as it was hurting them, the depth in which they received her words gave her strength.
Finally, Mrs. Pinkerton spoke up, “The sandwiches look sublime.”
“Oh hush, they’re the same as ever,” Barbara said, masking her smile behind the cup.
“People just don’t make them like they used to,” Mrs. Hunchenbauer said, the bell on her hat jingling as she shook her head.
“It’s not just sandwiches,” Donnie said, snorting some imaginary mucus.
“Clubs,” Bearel said.
“Cars,” Mrs. Pinkerton said.
“Kids,” Job said.
“This country went down the drain as soon as they took the lead out of gas,” Mr. Hunchenbauer said.
Mrs. Hunchenbauer said, “Remember last night? Those kids speeding down the back street, blasting music. Common decency is dead. It’s a new era of dinosaurs.”
Of course Barbara had done the same for a time, cruising in Chadwick Stepheno’s convertible, hair in the wind and living to The Beatles and all the real artists which had become myths. But it was different then. There was common sensibility, even in senselessness. People were good and the world understandable.
“I just don’t think they care about anything but themselves,” Barbara said, taking a biscuit.
Each hummed in agreement.
“It’s the parents,” Bearel said.
“Too soft,” Job thrummed, with narrowed eyes.
“Our parents voudn’t have let us get avay with an extra lick of gravy, let alone driving around with our privates out,” Mr. Hunchenbauer said, his stout arms crossed tightly. “If grandma had seen me acting like that, she’d throw me into hell herself.”
Barbara thought of her own father, a relentlessly firm individual, at times wrathful, but all class. Principles are principal, as he used to say.
“Hell’s got to be overflowing by now,” Mrs. Hunchenbauer said.
“I think the problem is that men and women were just that when we were young,” Mrs. Pinkerton said, jabbing the tip of her wing onto the table. “No confusion. No pampering. By twenty-four my father fought in World War II, graduated from Stanford, and had two children. Most twenty-four-year-olds now haven’t been to the bathroom alone.”
Laughter rolled over the table.
“Too soft,” Job said.
“Exactly! Vell put, Job, vell put!” Mr. Hunchenbauer said, slapping his stomach.
It pained Barbara to ponder the acidic effect of this new generation. Post modernists had ruined the world and the only thing which had survived were opinions. She recognized that she didn’t actually know many youths— which she was glad for— but she saw them on TV, the internet, and in the streets, protesting every little injustice they could concoct and dying their hair colors which could make a peacock blush.
“What do you think, Barbara?” Donnie asked.
They waited for her answer, but the truth was rarely comforting.
“I got you all a little something.” Barbara said. The six of them stared curiously.
“Vat?” Mrs. Hunchenbauer asked.
“A surprise,” Barbara said, with a mischievous smile.
Perplexed silence filled the space. Donnie asked, “For what?”
“Your birthdays!” Barbara said, before wincing to a sharp pain in her right shoulder.
“Is that tomorrow?” Mrs. Pinkerton asked.
Wonderful as they were, they often came up dry in terms of sense and memory. It was the same last year.
“I suppose ve didn’t think of it,” Mrs. Hunchenbauer said.
“Well, I did,” Barbara said. “Can you believe, two years? Where’s the time gone?”
The wind blew the dying steam from the cups.
“Is there anything you’d like?” Barbara asked. “Games? Balloons? Ice-cream?”
“Too soft,” Job said.
“I should’ve known,” Barbara said.
They stared with an indifference she couldn’t comprehend.
“You know, Barbara,” Donnie said. “If you have plans one of these evenings, it’s okay. We don’t want to keep you to ourselves.”
It was as if her lungs had been stabbed. “Are you suggesting I miss your birthday?” They tried to refute but she continued. “I would never! Not for the world!”
“Ve aren’t saying you have to,” Mr. Hunchenbauer said. “Just that—”
“You’ve got my heart racing now, and you know how much I hate when my heart races,” she said, feeling the beads of sweat on her forehead with the back of her hand.
Mrs. Pinkerton said, “We just feel…”
Whatever they were thinking was left there. Hot in the temples, Barbara said, “You only turn two once!”
The group’s solemn expression slowly turned into half-hearted smiles.
“Your tea’s cold,” Barbara said. “I’ll get some more.” Arthritic pain shot through her knees as she pushed to her feet and went about emptying the cups into the dirt. With each subsequent moment of silence, the burden of the next word became all the greater. Light gray clouds drifted softly through the western sky. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been annoyed by them.
“What about some music?” she asked.
“It’s time,” Donnie said, with a sigh.
Under the weight of the violet sky, Barbara surrendered to the inevitable. How nice it would be to share them with the world, she thought. She imagined Paris, Rome, and London together. Like something from an old cartoon, she and her merry friends perusing the streets. She could just as easily share pictures of those places here in the yard.
“Get some rest,” Mrs. Pinkerton said.
“You know I can’t,” Barbara said. “That old pillow kinks my neck.”
“Too soft,” Job said.
“Exactly,” she said, massaging the soreness in her lower back. Given the extended hours out here, a more comfortable chair would be much appreciated, but she feared that change, even a slight one, might take their magic. “Jerry’s soft pillows have been the death of me,” she said, sipping the last bit of tea. “Did I ever tell you all how I once stuffed his pillowcase with bricks after I caught him passed out at McConnell’s downtown? Oh, he didn’t talk to me for a week!”
There was no laughter, just a flaccid scarecrow sliding down his chair, a pair of impassive gnomes, a still flamingo, frozen bear, and puckered boulder. Slim shards of dawn’s light pierced the sky from over the house. Hope lingered in these moments that somehow they might break their cast and really be. She held a deep breath, and when it burned too much, sighed.
With the table clean, she spared one last glance, locked the sliding door, and started down the beaten carpet path towards what used to be the guest room. Adorning the beige walls were a plethora of photos. Shots of her and Jerry when the world was ready to bear life. The last one before her room was a professional portrait of Jerry and her holding a swaddled new-born Annie. Most of that time was blurry, the memories more painted in feeling than image. What she did remember was that Annie had diarrhea that day, at least she thought it was that day.
Into her nightgown, pill by pill, out of her makeup, and into her bed, Barbara sank deep into the left side and turned from dawn’s light at the rims of the drawn curtains. She thought about her real bed on the second floor, her and Jerry’s indents in the mattress and that indescribable smell she’d forgotten. Some days she wanted to die. It was only the pain that scared her.
One of the few things Barbara enjoyed about her age was that she didn’t need much sleep. One of the worst was that her stomach didn’t tolerate dairy. Deep in her plush recliner, she ate small spoonfuls of granola and soy milk, which even after a good soak, was still rough on her teeth. The cat clock on the wall tick, tick, ticked. 12:39PM.
At the forceful rumble in her stomach, she placed the bowl on the side table, closed her eyes, and turned up the TV’s volume in order to lose herself in channel 205’s debate. Those on the panel— as well as those from surrounding news programs— were almost as good of friends as the Supper Club. In a semi-circle around the glass desk sat three dapper gentlemen and one woman with more class than all of Green Valley put together. Today, shoved onto the rightmost end of the table, was a guest. A flabby jellyfish of a man in a horizontally striped suit, bawling and pulling his springy hair.
From the center seat, Jennifer said, “Immigrants are stealing babies. It’s a fact.”
Barbara perked up and massaged her feet.
“Not just stealing them,” the feathered Adonis, Harry said. “But selling them! Stem cell research, cosmetic companies, dog food conglomerates, I’ve seen the documents, dammit! Pupchow allows up to seven percent infant remains.”
Conroy shook his head and smoothed his pencil mustache. Barbara had never been too attracted to anyone of dark complexion, but Conroy, was undeniably handsome.
Laird narrowed his baby blues— a look made all the more intimidating by his high and tight haircut. “The problem isn’t even that immigrants are killing them, selling them, or turning them into playdough, it’s that they’re here in the first place. Should you be mad at a coven of mambas for killing your family if you let them in your home?”
The flabby, spring-head wailed, “They’re people!” before covering his face and shooting— what Barbara thought was impossible— projectile tears.
All three except Conroy— who seemed to be nursing a headache— rolled their eyes.
“Jesus Christ, Jefferson,” Laird said. “Why do we keep inviting this guy on?”
Barbara wasn’t ignorant to the fact that Channel 205 brought on dramatic caricatures from the left to illustrate their points, just like 206 brought on slow-witted bulls from the right to paint a resentful picture of sensible folk. But caricatures stemmed from truth— most of the time.
“You alone might be responsible for keeping Kleenex in the black,” Harry said.
“Do you at least want to contribute something today, Jefferson?” Jennifer asked.
“I just want you to speak with some respect!” Jefferson said. “How could you ever understand? You’ve never struggled a day in your life!”
Conroy massaged his shining bald temples.
“You presumptive son a— beep,” Laird said, pounding the desk. “I served this country for ten years. I grew up in Rosedale, Mississippi eating gruel out of a sock! I had a block of wood for a pillow for the first ten years of my life. What do you know about struggle?”
“Don’t shame me!” Jefferson said.
“This is what you get when you have nothing but scarecrows and Care Bears in office,” Harry said. “Spineless jellyfish.”
Barbara howled with laughter.
“Your parents should’ve beat you,” Jennifer said.
“Why?” Jefferson sniffled, “So I can be like you? I’d rather be dead. Unlike everyone here, my parents loved me.”
“Telling someone you love them is easier than raising them right,” Jennifer said.
Barbara felt herself floating into the screen, devoid of physical pain.
“I wish you’d drown in quicksand!” Jefferson said.
“I’d rather drown in quicksand than listen to you!” Laird said.
Just like her parents, Barbara believed that what made the United States of America special was hardworking and honest people. Honest with each other and themselves.
“The only reason people are desperate is because we’ve made them that way,” Jefferson said. “They’ve been rejected.”
“And they should be! If you can’t pull your weight, what good are you?” Laird asked.
Conroy sighed and stood. The group’s bickering came to a hush.
“Everything alright, Conroy?” Laird asked, a perplexed wrinkle in his brow.
“I can’t do it anymore,” Conroy said, pulling the mike out of his jacket.
“What?” Harry asked.
“I’m done,” Conroy said.
“With what?” Jennifer asked.
“Everything. I can’t argue anymore.”
“But… that’s what we do,” Laird said, with a smirk.
“Do you guys realize we started this segment out with a poll on hotdogs and hamburgers? What the hell is even going on right now? You know, Jefferson, you’re right. It’s all hard heads and broken hearts, a world of rejects who can’t figure out how to cope.”
“I’m right?” Jefferson asked, with a sniffle.
“Definitely not,” Conroy said, tossing the mike onto the desk. The camera tracked him through the set and crew before turning back to the perplexed panel. After some time, and with off-screen prompting, Jennifer cleared her throat. “We’ll be back.”
A SportsPiker commercial blared in place of her friends. Poor Conrad, Barbara thought. He must have an upset stomach. The cat clock tick, tick, ticked. Meow! Time to get to work.
Slowly she gathered the cake’s ingredients, a box of Betty Crocker Strawberry Mix, a bottle of vegetable oil, and the necessary eggs— which smelled a little off, but it might have been the refrigerator. A few years back, she might have made it from scratch, but for one reason or another, something always turned out wrong nowadays. With the tray in the oven, she laid out a baby blue blouse, matching skirt, white flats, her favorite pearl earrings, and a solid gold bracelet. After a seated shower, she dressed herself, and for a small time, there was no stiffness in her knees or back. Anticipation welled within her heart over the inevitable gratitude which would be poured out— though through her reveries, she couldn’t help but think of Conroy. It was like seeing a mountain crack.
The last step was her makeup, a relatively difficult process with the shakes, but like everything in her life, she managed. After three spritzes of perfume, four, she looked in the mirror, and though she couldn’t say she was ‘happy’ with how she looked, she knew it was the best she could do.
In the oven awaited a fluffy pink delicacy she was proud to call her work. Once more battling her shaky hands, she fought the frosting pipette and laid the cake’s border. To round out the spread, she assembled a selection of ham and turkey sandwiches, wafers, dessert biscuits, hard candies, and black tea. Only one thing left, she grabbed the green wrapped gift and placed it carefully at the table’s center. With everything set, she took her seat and wondered why she’d ever need anyone else. Still, there was something strikingly melancholy about seeing the club inanimate. Maybe it was knowing what lay trapped within them. Maybe it was how she only felt whole twelve hours a day. Maybe it was the lingering fear that one day they wouldn’t wake.
Ding-dong!
Her first thought, Annie? Of course not. A salesman? The mailman? A teenager playing a prank? As a child the doorbell brought joy, but now, with all the charlatans and delinquents, that bell was the sound of someone coming to take advantage.
Again, Ding-dong!
She jumped. Less than a third of the sun showed over the hill. Not enough time. Whoever they were, they’d go away.
Ding-dong!
Her fists shook.
Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Ding-dong!
Barbara grit her teeth and, with reckless abandon, stormed the front door. Cane in hand, she moved as fast as she could, and nearly screamed— though fright stole her voice— as the tip of her toe snagged on the lip of the step. With a quick hand to the door frame, she caught herself just before toppling.
What had been frustration mutated to rage. Though there was no peep-hole, Barbara felt no fear. She ripped open the four locks, raised her cane to jab into the chest of this intruder, and— Half expecting some suited con-man or runaway inmate she instead found Mrs. Tessa Davis from down the street, smiling in a white lambs-wool sweater and loose blue jeans. The light bleached afro, gave the mother of three a late twenty-something appearance.
“What do you want?” Barbara growled.
“Hey Barb,” Tessa said. “I wanted to see if you could go for a walk, but it looks like you’re going out. By the way, you look beautiful.”
As pleasant as the woman seemed, she was a loud busybody, always coming around and trying to get Barbara to do things she didn’t want to do, constantly hosting get-togethers, book-clubs, and advertising ‘causes’ on her front lawn.
Barbara grumbled to herself before saying, “I’m having friends over.”
“Oh, that’s great. I haven’t seen you leave the house in a while—”
“Are you watching me?” Barbara asked, jabbing the air with her cane.
Tessa backed away a step. “No, I just noticed your car’s been in the same spot. I was worried you might be getting a little stir crazy, or… I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m fine, thank you,” Barbara said, closing the door.
“Wait!” Tessa said, grasping it with herculean strength. “Would you be interested in coming to dinner this weekend?”
Barbara’s eyes narrowed.
“Juan went hunting a few days ago and brought back some great venison.”
“My doctor says I can’t eat red meat,” Barbara said.
“That’s fine, we can make anything you want.”
The shadows stretched long in the street. Barbara wasn’t usually one for swearing, but in that moment, she came damn close.
“I’m sorry to keep you… I just want to make sure you’re alright. My mom lived alone for a long time. I know how tough it can be.”
“I told you, I’m fine,” Barbara said. Tessa’s arm was like an industrial clamp.
“The Stevensons have been telling me about how your conversations in the yard—”
“I knew they were snooping! That’s exactly why I put the block on the fence.”
Why’s she looking at me like that, Barbara thought, her right eye twitching.
“It can be hard to ask for help, but you’ve got friends.” Tessa said.
“… I know.”
“Maybe we can talk one of these nights,” Tessa continued on, but Barbara saw only the lavender sky and ticking of her watch. Panic sealed her throat. Anything to make her go.
“Fine! I’ll-have-dinner-this-weekend,” she said, so quickly the words blended together.
“Really? That’s great!”
“I’ll have to be home before five thirty,” she said, spittle on her lips.
“Oh… okay. That shouldn’t be a problem. Saturday then?”
“Yes,” Barbara said. “Now please, I have to go.”
Finally, Tessa released. Damn her! she thought, her heart pounding in violent offense. Does that woman have any decency! Shuffling at a demon’s pace down the hall, she checked her watch, and her heart sank. 5:50PM. Maybe there’s time…
Since that first night, she’d never missed a sundown— outside of the last day she’d seen Annie; but that was another story altogether. She came down the single patio step in a sideways shuffle, her gaze on the hills. No orange was left. Just encroaching darkness. Frantically, she said the words. “Flee from daylight, return in night, with a tired sun, these souls ignite.”
No Donnie or Bearel. She said them again. No Mrs. Pinkerton or Job. No Hunchenbauers. Just lifeless figurines. Barbara clenched her teeth, rage and sorrow pounding in her temples. She looked upon her spread. The futility of it all. Tears pressed at the back of her eyes. Shock ran up her arm as she bashed her cane into her metal chair again and again. Each time yielded an uneasy mix of pain and catharsis.
A few more strikes and her energy was gone. Heated breaths pained her lungs. Small divots marred the shaft of the cane. Thoughts of vengeance rose from the carrion of the evening, to march down the street and beat Tessa with this cane. But in her withered and tired state, she hadn’t the strength to even hold onto that fantasy. Outside of the fact that she’d been raised better, she wouldn’t be able to stomach the sight of her right now.
Barbara took her seat and for a long time watched her friends, praying for a miracle like she’d experienced in this very spot two years back. It took a good hour and a half of cold and bitter indignation before Barbara finally collected the trays and plates. The tea and cake— now with a thin layer of wax below the stub candles. The gift.
Once the patio and kitchen were cleared, she sat down before the television and watched the debate ensue. That night their anger only further stoked her own. There’d be no rest. From her bed, she stared at the popcorn ceiling and imagined fire.
The next morning was the same as before— though a bit earlier than she was used to— though after yesterday’s events and a poor night’s sleep, everything was more irksome. Her aches screamed louder, her hair misbehaved, the cake was stale, and the news drove a headache. To be sure there were no disturbances, she placed a strip of tape over the doorbell and closed the blinds. Eventually the cat’s tick turned to a meow and she readied once more. She realized, painful as it was to miss the Supper Club’s real birthday, they’d forgive her.
Same as before, sandwiches, biscuits, tea, cake, and a gift. Like nothing changed. Pleased with her work, she groaned into her seat, and waited. She tried to enjoy the bird’s songs and faint warmth, but something felt off, many things. Maybe it was that Conroy didn’t return to the table and, according to the team, wouldn’t for some time. Maybe it was that when routines break, so do their practitioners.
Out towards the south she noticed a gray cloudfront. Fear left a tangled cramp in the back of her throat. The weather hadn’t called for a storm. She checked her watch once again and lit the candles. Will they remember the present like I do? she wondered.
A light buzz shook her handbag. The suddenness caused her to flinch. She wasn’t used to getting calls, and in general, hated her phone. She had a half mind to throw it over the fence, but with a deep discontented breath and the remembrance of why she was supposed to keep it, she figured it best to simply shut it off.
The screen read, ‘Annie’.
Ice dripped down her spine and tensed her hand into a claw.
“Not now…” she said.
How long had it been since they last spoke? A year and a half? Her initial reaction was to ignore it, but guilt struck sharp between the ribs. Fights be damned, this was her baby.
“Sweetie?” Barbara answered. “… Is that you?”
Barbara’s heartbeat played against the line’s silence.
“Hey, Mom,” Annie said, her voice dry and uninflected.
Like a cold northern wave, her words crashed and rented the breath from her lungs. Barbara stood, guided by an instinctive need to move.
“I…” Barbara said, not knowing how to continue. “… How are you?”
“I’m fine. Look, I’ve been giving this a lot of thought—”
The sea of dead leaves crunched beneath her feet and cane. Is she ready to let me back in? she asked herself.
Annie continued, “I think it’s best to just tell you… I’m moving east. To New York.”
Betrayal stopped her in her tracks. She grasped her chest. Was this a heart attack?
“Oh…” Barbara said.
“Danny got a job out there. And I think it might be best for us to get some separation.”
Danny? Who’s Danny? Barbara asked herself, but there were more pressing concerns. Barbara cleared her throat, hoping to articulate at least one of her questions, but before she could speak, Annie said, “I read an article about cutting negative energies out of your life and how it can lead to spiritual balance. I think that’s what I need. What we need.”
“You and Danny?” Barbara asked, in a small voice.
“… And Light.”
“Light?” Barbara asked, wrapping her arms around herself.
“… Our daughter.”
A reflexive gasp almost knocked her back. She gritted her teeth and, with a shaking arm, laid more of her weight on the cane.
“… You have a daughter? I have a granddaughter?”
“Sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m just not ready for you to be a part of her life yet. You might ruin her.”
Her hands went cold and eyes filled with saline tears. Barbara had never been shot, but she was certain this was the pain. “I… I don’t think so dear… I’d only bring love. She’s my granddaughter. I have to meet her. She needs me.”
“Maybe with enough time I can forgive you. But for now, it wouldn’t be good for her to know there are people like you in the world.”
Unable to hold back any longer, Barbara asked, “Why do you hate me? All I believe in is common sense! I don’t hurt anyone. I just don’t understand you. Please! I need to meet her. I need to see you…”
“… That’s not going to happen. I’m just letting you know.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Barbara said, pacing faster and sensing the end. “I’ll change. Whatever it takes, whatever you need me to do—”
“I’ll reach out when I’m ready,” Annie said.
“Wait! Sweetie! Talk to me!”
“…Take care of yourself.”
“Annie!” Barbara cried.
“…”
For a long while, she stood there feeling the phone’s warmth on her cheek before she gathered the strength to look and see the call was over. With quivering breaths, she sat and stared at the cold sun. It rested at the magic point. Turning to their inanimate faces, she thought, I don’t want to see them. They aren’t her. They’re not Light.
This is what it meant to be crushed by gravity. Ruined by a force beyond understanding. She’d die without reconciliation, never knowing her grandchild and filled with unrequited love. The horror of that solitude spurred her to say the words as fast as she could.
They gasped, sat up in cheer, and looked over the spread.
“Barbara,” Donnie said, “It’s beautiful!”
Only then did they notice her, hunched forward and weeping.
“Vat happened?” Mrs. Hunchenbauer asked, with glittering eyes.
Barbara heaved small insubstantial breaths. “Annie’s gone.”
Glances shot around the table, and just like her, none could speak.
“… What do you mean?” Mrs. Pinkerton finally asked.
“She’s abandoning me.”
Donnie’s button eyes pursed in thought. “I thought she already did?”
Globules of sweat formed and fell— regardless of the autumn cold. “She’s moving east.”
“Why?” Bearel asked, his round ears drooping somberly.
“She wants separation… she doesn’t want me to see my grandchild.” Wrathful embers stoked within her veins. “That ungrateful brat! That busybody! I gave her everything! The best years of my life. All the love I had. She’s a disgrace. A bitch!”
A strong breeze blew out the candles.
“Where did I go wrong?” she said, eyes trembling so that she saw three gifts in the table’s center. “How did she turn out so different?”
Their heads fell. Just like her, they knew no words for this tragedy, like her they were ashamed, and like her—
“Maybe it’s not all her fault,” Donnie said.
The small twitches in her eye flared once more. “What?” she asked.
A hush came over the Supper Club.
“… She’s your daughter, Barbara. From everything you’ve told us, outside some ideas, she’s like you.”
Never had she heard such slander.
“What are you saying, Donnie?” she asked.
The others hunched like pill bugs.
“Now you can’t speak?” Barbara growled. “Go on, explain!”
“It’s just—”
She interrupted, “I taught her how to love!”
“… You taught her how you love,” Donnie said. “Which is deep and passionate, but it’s also…”
“What!” she asked.
“Firm.”
“Firm?”
“Maybe a bit rigid.”
“Rigid!” she shouted. Violent thoughts flashed through the periphery of her disbelief.
“Children don’t pick up habits from nowhere—”
Bearel cleared his throat and said meekly, “I think Donnie’s rural vernacular might not do his intention justice.”
“Perhaps, willful,” Mrs. Pinkerton said, circling her wings as if rounding a ball.
“Hard,” Job said.
“You’re saying I’m stubborn?” Barbara said, breathing through her teeth.
“Sometimes it’s good to be stubborn,” Donnie said. “When you believe in something, you won’t let go without reason.”
“I told her I wanted to talk! That I could change. She was the one who wouldn’t listen.”
“Give her time,” Donnie said. “You can’t blame her for drifting.”
“When Don said she’s like you, he meant it as a good thing,” Mrs. Pinkerton said. “If you’re ready to change for her, she’ll do the same… eventually.”
“Be strong,” Job said.
Treachery, she said to herself. This club was made for her, to be what she wanted, and this is how they treated her? They were like everyone else.
“Barbara,” Mr. Hunchenbaur said, “Breath. We just vant to help.”
“I don’t need you! You’re all make believe! Toys. You don’t know love. You don’t know what it means to have your heart torn out. I thought we were friends.”
“Maybe it wasn’t the best time to share all this,” Donnie said, massaging his painted nose. “You’re a woman of truth, we figured… If I could stand, I’d hug you.”
She shook her head, “I couldn’t think of anything more repugnant.” Unable to stomach this conversation another moment, she stood. With each hurried step, she pounded the butt of her cane. How could she be headstrong when she’d given birth to a child that she hadn’t wanted? Barbara turned to expound the truth, but as she did, her sole pivoted too swiftly on a dry patch of leaves and stole her balance. Panic surged. She squeezed tight to her phone and cane. Sharp spots of anguish flared from her shoulder, hip, and palm. The crack of glass rang as her phone slammed and head snapped.
“Barbara!” they shouted, sitting up as much as their existence allowed.
“Someone help!” Mrs. Pinkerton called, flapping her wings wildly.
“She’s down!” Bearel said.
Their voices drowned into white noise. She tried rolling up from her side but the throbbing pain was too great. In the distance, there swept the low roar of thunder. A dry, earth rich aroma filled her nostrils from the leaves around.
“Barbara!” they shouted.
Venom flew as spittle, “Leave me alone! I don’t need you. I don’t want you.”
The pain in her shoulder was unyielding, but nothing compared to that in her heart. “Annie…” she cried.
How long she lay there, moaning under the gale’s roar and waning stars, she couldn’t be sure. No joy’s worth this, she said to herself.
“Is anyone there?” Barbara cried weakly. “I need help.”
There was a time when the world would open its doors to a knock or run to the cries of one in need, but just like Jerry and her friends, those days only existed in her decaying memory.
“Donnie,” she said, in a whimper. There was no reply. “Bearel? Can any of you help?”
Flaccid around the table, the lot of them, stoic and lifeless. Barbara had always thought hollowness equated to emptiness, but at that moment, she found the hole which bored her was in fact brimming with heartache.
“Please, don’t leave me,” she said.
A strong gust carried Donnie’s hat towards the fence. Alone as ever. Maybe she was stubborn, but only because nothing could stop her. She tossed her shattered phone, and hand by hand, pulled herself through the leaves and towards Job’s chair. With the combined support of her cane and armrest, she pushed herself up. Pain shot through her hip with each step towards her room where, without changing, she laid gingerly atop the covers. Crimped and weeping under the exhale of thunder, Barbara imagined the face of the grandchild she’d never meet.
Psheww!
Barbara jolted up from an uneasy sleep— wincing immediately from the pain. Thunder’s reverberations trembled through the walls. She sat up— as much as she could— and listened to the howling winds, contemplating whether to open the curtains. Strangely, there was no rain.
She exhaled her concerns and laid back to old ones. New York, she said to herself. Light. I’m not stubborn. Regrets sealed her lips tightly. How could she say what she had to the club?
Hard throbs of agony pulsated from her joints. She needed help but her phone was cracked and still on the patio. She couldn’t believe she’d been tricked into getting rid of the landline. Why bother getting a new one, she wondered, who’s going to call? Visions of childhood flashed through her head, running with friends to the ice cream parlor and swimming in the river. They felt like memories of memories. She wondered if they were real or the story she’d told herself. A distant crack of thunder shook the house.
After maybe a half hour she realized, even if the club couldn’t hear— maybe it was better that way— she needed to speak to them. She grabbed her cane and, with great difficulty, forced herself down the hall. Beyond the wind, there was a strange, breathy crackling. A light orange glow shone within the family room. Perplexity stalled her thoughts and the pain became distant as she continued beyond the hallway and came face to face with the high wall of flames in the yard, a snapping inferno rising from the dead fall. Pillars of flame swayed in the harsh wind. Barbara screamed and looked around the room in a panicked search for a solution.
How did this happen? Within the flames she saw the blackening faces of her scorned friends succumbing to the flames. Her immediate impulse was to save them, but those heroic notions were quick lived as the flames licked the house. Loud bangs rocked the front door.
“Barbara!” a man shouted. “Wake up!”
Fear circled like a shark to blood, holding her still in black waters. Small distending heat bubbles showed within the wallpaper.
“Your yard’s on fire! Wake up!” the voice said.
She screamed at the hard smash. The door shook but stayed firm. On the third impact, splinters sprayed from the frame. A bulbous man toppled forward, wearing nothing but a white tank top and boxers. It took a moment to recognize her neighbor, but the round head and thick mustache were unmistakable.
“We have to save them!” Barbara said.
“Who?” Nick asked, pulling her arm with a manic expression.
Barbara pointed to the patio table. Nick looked to the flames with bulging eyes. “What the hell are you talking about? We’ve got to go!”
“But—”
“Now!” he said, yanking her arm.
She screamed at the jolt of pain in her shoulder. She screamed even louder as he scooped her over his shoulder and ran.
“Save them!” she said.
Upside down and bouncing over his back, she saw the growing crowd on the street, all those neighbors who’d ignored her cries now gathered to watch her life burn. Nick placed her down on the road, crumbled to his knees, and wheezed. Nina ran to her husband and wrapped her arms around his bowling-ball frame.
“Jesus, Nina,” he said, pushing her off. “Let me catch my breath!”
None of it seemed real. But if it wasn’t, how could she so acutely feel everything? The icy wind on her face, the rough stitching of her skirt, the tension in her feet through the flats, and acrid stench in her nostrils. Poisonous columns of black smoke carried from the devilish tongues which had claimed the roof. Whispers rang up the street and more lights flicked.
“Did you see the lightning?”
“Did it hit the house?”
“Nick got her out.”
Boards crumbled under their own weight and embers ignited the neighbors walls. Sirens wailed from the freeway. In those hundreds of glittering eyes around, Barbara saw the enemy. Some ever smiled. If only the flames could swallow everyone. Red and whites flashed over neighboring streets. Disreality continued with the hurried squad of Kevlar-clad firefighters. She felt like a ghost amongst the masses, a spectator of her own life. What do I have left, she wondered.
The bitter scent of charred wood and burning metal emanated from the rolling black clouds. Ambulances arrived, then police. Firefighters worked in tandem with them, supporting hoses, clearing houses, tending to the coughing and soot covered. She wondered if it was personal that they started with the neighbors’ houses and worked the flames back towards hers.
There were no words, not for busybodies or EMTs asking whether she needed assistance. They looked and sounded like aliens. Spiders in human forms. Come the dawn’s light, when the fire had been quelled and all that remained was smoke and ash, the last firefighters went about collecting statements.
“What do I do?” Barbara asked the burly red-haired man.
He closed his notebook and wiped the black sweat from his brow. “Do you have fire insurance?”
She shook her head.
“A lawyer?”
A cramp trembled in the base of her throat. He sighed and scratched his hair. Barbara knew he was contemplating how best to explain she was screwed. “You’re alive, that’s all that matters,” he said.
The home hissed, all the walls black and shriveled, but it stood. So not to scare away hope, Barbara whispered “Can it be repaired?”
He massaged the bridge of his nose. “It’s hard to say. We’ll need to have an inspector come out and they’ll be able to tell you what can be repaired and what needs to be replaced.”
“… I’m still allowed to stay here?”
“We technically can’t tell you whether you’re allowed to stay or not until the inspector writes up their assessment— which might not be for a few days— but, I suggest you find somewhere. Outside of the foundation, house fires kick up a lot of chemicals. Is there anywhere else you can go?”
“…”
“I’ll talk to my supervisor for you,” he said.
“That’s okay. I’ll figure something out,” Barbara said, extending her hand.
He stared at her like a dying puppy. “I’m glad you’re okay, Mrs. Stills. This could have been a lot worse.”
Unable to speak anymore, she turned away. He understood and solemnly started back to the engine. By the hour’s end, the crew made their leave and the remaining neighbors went back to their houses. A few provided condolences but soon she was alone, staring at the black shell of a home, wondering why God kept her alive.
Slow and silent, Barbara started around the house and passed through the shattered remnants of the side gate. Loose piles of ash and charred wood lay scattered across the patio. With no remaining fences, she saw the neighbors’ yards lay equally singed and empty. It surprised her how much it hurt to see. Hunched and empty, she stared into the exposed interior of her home. Scorch marks ran up the walls and holes showed in the ceiling. The cabinets were toppled, carpet seared, and plates scattered across the boiled linoleum.
It took a great deal of strength to turn and face what remained of the Supper Club. The metal table remained, but her friends… She figured Donnie and Bearel were amongst the ash, Mr. and Mrs. Hunchenbauer the shattered pieces of porcelain, and Mrs. Pinkerton the puddle of melted plastic. Only Job’s foundation remained intact, the ever unmovable— though now faceless— boulder. The spread was gone and plates were charred, and at the center of it all, where the present had been, nothing. The sweet vinyl she’d saved from her parents’ collection, an original copy of Frank Sinatra’s ‘You Make Me Feel So Young’. She tried to play the melody in her head but it was gone.
Her gaze drifted up to the clouds above. Would their souls rest? Did they have souls?
Stiff and aching, Barbara pulled out a chair. She let the tears fall as gravity directed them and crossed her arms over her lap in a dignified manner. Would her father have cried? With each burning inhale she liked to think she was taking in the past. She closed her eyes and pondered the memories around this table. It made her realize how little she’d accomplished in two years. Still, she felt the time wasn’t wasted.
Beyond the yard, blackened and shriveled, the last of the oak’s leaves crumbled. She closed her eyes and imagined their faces. If nothing else, she could dream of them.
Barbara gasped awake from the nightmare, though the image remained. Her at the center of a coliseum, the faces of which were all turned away in disgust. Orange shards of light gleamed over the western hills. In an act, not of hope, but tragic remembrance, she whispered “Flee from daylight, return in night, with a tired sun, these souls—”
“Barbara?” a voice called.
Footsteps crunched up the side yard. Tessa Davis craned her neck around the corner. The same venomous hate Barbara had felt for all the neighborhood rolled her tongue into a knot. But as quickly as the anger had arisen, it too faded. There was nothing left in her.
Tessa walked slowly. A reflective glitter played off her eyes as she looked over the remains. “I’m so sorry.”
Barbara nodded blankly.
“Can I sit?” Tessa asked.
“Why not?”
Nervously, Tessa took a seat. Her stare drilled deep into Barbara’s core— an easy task given the shell had burned away. She didn’t care.
“… Where will you go?” Tessa asked.
Barbara looked back to the house.
“Barbara, I can’t imagine how you’re feeling or what this home means to you, but it’s not safe. It could fall any moment.”
“Then it falls.”
So lost in delirium, Barbara didn’t notice until Tessa’s hand was on her. She recoiled at first, but in that moment, brought back to humanity, the first touch she’d felt in years, Barbara shattered. Face buried in her palms, Barbara wept shamelessly. Tessa jumped from her seat and blanketed her with a warm embrace.
“They’re gone…” Barbara said, words muffled by the heels of her hand.
“Who’s gone?” Tessa said, rubbing her back.
“… Everyone.”
Tessa’s brow raised curiously before she let the comment go. “I’m right here.”
The sharp contrast between the deep cold inside and the warm touch of a woman who had no need to comfort her left Barbara in limbo.
“I talked to Juan,” Tessa said, “I want you to stay with us until everything is figured out.”
Barbara bawled into the gray wool of Tessa’s shoulder. “I can’t…”
Tessa pulled away, a look of offense in her eyes. “Why not?”
I don’t want to ruin your life too, Barbara thought.
“Don’t let pride win,” Tessa said. It was eerily close to something her mom used to say. Same as her dad. Admit when you’re wrong, you stubborn brat.
Arm in arm, they walked to Tessa’s home, a similar Victorian— though a much lighter shade of baby blue. As they came up the walkway, Barbara was struck by a familiar melody.
“What’s that?” Barbara asked, with a tingle beneath her skin.
Tessa slid the key in the lock and said, “Juan’s been playing weekends at the piano bar downtown. They like the classics.”
The throbbing in her joints mellowed for a sweet moment as the melody of ‘You Make Me Feel So Young’ took her back to Loveland, Ohio and the days before she realized that her life’s happiness was rented, and in time would be owed twice over.
“The kids love them,” Tessa said with a smile.
Barbara followed inside, lost between eras and her misunderstanding of who occupied them. The place bore a golden glow, shining pine floors and soft white walls. Toys and stuffed animals lay strewn throughout the living room. Three beautiful children bounced atop the couches, shouting over the piano.
“Get down from there!” Tessa said, with a bite in her voice Barbara remembered from her own childhood. “What the hell, Juan? I leave for ten minutes, and you let them destroy the place. We haven’t even finished paying these couches off!”
“We’re just having a little fun,” Juan said. The trance continued even after he stopped playing. He stood, smoothed his tucked shirt, and pushed his round glasses up— a variety Barbara had always fancied.
“Fun doesn’t have to destroy the house—” Tessa cut off abruptly. She looked at Barbara with pursed lips and exhaled her frustrations. “Kids get over here and say hi to Mrs. Stills.”
Like trained soldiers, they formed a line. The boy was about ten and girls between five and seven. Juan came to his wife’s side and put his arm around her shoulder— which she begrudgingly accepted. His smile, all of theirs, were bright and welcoming. In the momentary silence, filled only with the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer, Barbara felt herself shrinking. Tears stung her eyes and throat as she said, “I’m so sorry.”
Juan and Tessa shared a confused look. “Why?” he asked.
“… I’ve never helped you…”
He shrugged. “What does that matter?”
All these years and I never saw you, she thought. What was I so afraid of? What is it about an unwrinkled face that makes me so bitter?
“Are you hungry?” Juan asked.
“… I am.”
“I was going to make steak tonight.”
Tessa interrupted, “I told you, she can’t eat red meat.”
Barbara wiped her tears. “That’s alright. It’s been a long time since I had steak.”
A sudden dunk sounded on the window.
“A bat,” Juan said, unperturbed. “I don’t know why they keep trying to get in. Marcus.”
The boy sighed and started out of the room with slumped shoulders. “I’ll get the Windex.”
Mark Manifesto is a writer, teacher, father, and lover of stories. He’s been writing fiction, essays, articles, and poetry the past seven years. He studied Environmental Science, Business Administration, Religious Studies, and Classic Literature at Saint Mary’s College of California.