The Mother-in-Law

by Modglin, Kiersten

  She nodded slowly. “I’d kept an eye on you all your life, making sure you never sold the house, or God forbid, died and passed it on to someone else—”

  “Yeah, that really would’ve been the worst thing about that scenario,” I said sarcastically.

  “But I couldn’t figure out how I’d get back in there. After all, you never knew me. I was out of the house, away from that family, years before your mother had you. I couldn’t just show up on your doorstep and hope you’d let me in. Then, I read a book about a family that moved into a house, it was only supposed to be for a few weeks, but they extended their stay. The owner of the house struggled so hard to get them out, and I thought…well, reality can be stranger than fiction, can’t it?” She smiled. “And you and Jack were similar ages, both single, attractive. I just needed to get the two of you to meet and…when you did, I could see my plan would fall nicely into place.”

  “So, I guess you got what you wanted then, huh? A house over a son?” Jack asked, the pain evident in his voice. I moved toward him instinctually, wrapping my arm through his. He smiled at my touch, though it was sad, small.

  “Oh, Jack,” she whispered, “I never meant to hurt you. I realized not so long ago how fickle family can be. I love you, my dear, but I could never count on you not to leave me eventually. And you did, just as I suspected. You chose her over me. The house could never do that. The house and all its memories…secrets.” She drew the word out like a snake. “They’ll always be there for me.”

  “What secrets?” I demanded. My stomach was tight with knots, anger radiating through my body. None of it felt real, like it was a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.

  “You know what they say, don’t you? Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead,” she parroted, winking at me.

  “What is this? Some sort of game to you?” I asked.

  “Of course it is,” she said. “It’s all been a game, and I’m winning.”

  “What do you want to do?” Jack asked, looking down at me. “I’ll fight her every step of the way if that’s what you want.”

  I hung my shoulders, watching Coralee’s face light up. Something told me she would’ve enjoyed the fight. It was keeping her alive, giving her a reason to keep going, but I didn’t have it in me. To fight for a house when my daughter needed me to fight for her instead seemed selfish. Rynlee deserved better. She deserved a mother who was all in, ready to burn down everything if it meant protecting our family.

  “I guess you were right about one thing, Coralee. Family is what you make it, and I’m choosing to make my family far away from anything to do with you.” I nodded, trying to convince myself. “I’ll sign the papers. You can have it all. But the house won’t make you happy. It can’t love you back.” I took Jack’s hand. I had no idea what came next or what we were going to do, but I knew we’d figure it out together, far away from the shadow Coralee had cast over our lives.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Coralee

  I walked into the house—my house, mine—with a fresh new set of eyes. The ink was still drying on the documents, but they all knew what it said. The house was mine. The land was mine. The secrets were mine.

  The sky had grown dark, there was a storm blowing in, and it had my body pulsing with electricity. So much of my life was spent on the front porch with Grandfather, watching the storms blow in on the horizon. I walked to the kitchen, stepping over the mess I’d have cleaned up soon enough, and poured myself a glass of red wine. I swirled it around, laughing to myself as I thought of what my grandfather would say if he learned I’d turned into a wine drinker. He used to say whiskey was the only alcohol worth drinking.

  Of course, he didn’t know how much quicker the whiskey brought back my demons.

  I walked to the record player I’d removed from the attic, pulling out a record from my childhood. I blew the dust off, watching the specks float around in the dim light, before placing the record under the needle.

  I heard the crackles and pops as it came to life, a sense of calm immediately settling in me. As it played, I danced around the living room and into the foyer, closing my eyes and imagining I was fifty years younger, spinning circles while the adults played their cards and smoked their cigars in a nearby room. I could nearly smell the smoke, the illusion was so real.

  The memories in the house surrounded me, almost enough to cause me to choke on my tears because they came so quickly. I laughed with a full belly laugh, one that echoed my mother’s—God I loved her so. I bounded up the stairs, still dancing with each step as I listened to the echoes of the music below. There was a time when this house was always filled with the music of Louis Armstrong, Bill Monroe, and Buddy Rich, and now that I had my way, I’d make sure it went out that way. My life would end surrounded by the memories of the happiest times of my life.

  I could feel it creeping up on me—the end, I mean. I caught myself making the same mistakes my mother did before her sickness took over. Minor things I’d forget, tiny memories would slip away, I’d have to search deep inside my mind to remember what I’d planned to do when I entered a room. I wasn’t bad, not yet. I’d put on, played it up to carry out my plan with Loren. I’d watched it so dutifully when it happened to Mother, I knew the steps and the stages. I knew how to fake it. But I wouldn’t need to for much longer. I had a few more years, perhaps. Now, I could make the most of them. I wouldn’t be a burden to anyone. I’d lock myself in the house, use the life insurance and money from Malcolm’s house to keep me set up for the rest of my days, and cozy up with the memories. They were all I had left.

  When Mother died, she always dreamed of being in this house again—oh, how she’d cry and she’d beg—but her family was nowhere to be found. Except me. Grandfather and Grandmother were too ill and her sister, sad excuse for one, at least, was always too busy. Too busy to let her sister die in peace in a place that was familiar to her as her mind slowly slipped away.

  I watched as my mother’s mind reverted to that of her fourteen-year-old self right before my eyes, searching for a hint of familiarity in the house she’d grown up in. But, locked away in a hospital, she wasn’t given the courtesy.

  I’d learned from her sad end.

  I wouldn’t wait for what I needed.

  I wouldn’t ask for peace.

  I demanded it.

  I’d taken it with my bare hands.

  I wouldn’t lose my mind in some hospital. I’d lose it surrounded by the ghosts and memories of my family, in the same walls where I was brought into the world. I walked into the bedroom, the one that Loren’s child had used, but that I’d been converting back to my own since they moved out. The music was faint from up there, and I only caught little notes here and there, but none of it mattered. I took another drink of my wine, setting it down on the windowsill and making my way into the closet.

  I shoved all of the child’s clothes to the side, clearing off the built-in bookcase. If Loren had just looked close enough, appreciated the house for all of its fine details, there was always a chance she would’ve discovered my secret, but she wasn’t that type. Grandfather and I would spend hours taking in every tiny crack in the wall, every blemish, every intricate piece of what made this house our home.

  Then again, it was a lucky thing she hadn’t, or else my story might’ve ended differently. Jail was no place for an ailing woman.

  I grabbed hold of the built-in, jerking it back with all my strength. I’d only allowed myself to come back to the secret room once, when I needed to hide her and I’d gotten them out of the house to the cabin for the week. I couldn’t risk it any other time. I’d tried to scare the little girl, to keep her out of the room so I could come down whenever I felt like I needed to be there. I’d hold my hand on the wall, breathe in the scent, and know I was just a few feet away from my darkest secrets. I’d lived for years, nearly my whole life, with the fear that each knock on the door would be the police, there to tell me I’d been caught.

  But no, here I was. E
verything had worked out. I no longer had to fear being caught. No one would know my secrets until I chose to share them. My heart raced with pride rather than fear. I pulled the bookshelf away from the wall, my heart thudding loud enough to drown out any hint of music below. I grabbed the hammer from the floor, lifting it to the white walls. Before I made the first hit, I ran my hands across the plaster. When I’d entered the last time, I’d made the smallest hole possible. For the most part, the plaster was still intact from all those years ago. Grandfather’s hands had been the last to touch it. It pained me to destroy his masterpiece, but I needed to this time. I would never close the room off again.

  I held my breath, lifting the hammer in the air and slamming it down on the plaster. I heaved, hitting and hitting, pounding and pounding, screaming and crying as the wall began to give way. When it was finally done, the plaster shattered at my feet, I pulled away the stray pieces. The smell was the same, musty and old. I’d been able to reach parts of the hidden room from the space Loren had given me upstairs. There were other entrances to the servants’ quarters, so I’d been able to sit just feet from my darkest secret, but unable to reach it from that direction. This was the only entrance to the concrete room Grandfather had built. There was no other way to access it. We’d made it that way for a reason.

  I smiled as I stepped into the room, breathing in the stale air.

  “Hello, my darlings,” I whispered, glancing over them. There, in the center of the room, lay the bodies—one wrapped in a bedsheet, the other in a black garbage bag.

  I’d done it.

  No one would ever be at risk of discovering the house’s secrets again.

  My secrets.

  My skeletons in the closet…was that too on the nose?

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Coralee

  Before

  “Grandfather,” I said, approaching him in his study with my head hung in shame.

  “What is it?” he asked, setting down his cigar and whiskey. He laid the newspaper on his desk and stood, moving toward me.

  I shook my head, unable to confess my sins. When he reached me, I collapsed in his arms, my body trembling with the weight of what I’d done. He patted my head, but stopped short.

  “Coralee, you’re covered in blood!” He jerked me back, holding my shoulders as he looked me over. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

  I began to shake my head, but stopped. “It’s…it’s Don.” I held out my arms then, revealing the bruises I’d always done my best to keep hidden. My grandfather looked them over, his forehead wrinkling with concern.

  “By God, what’s he done to you?” He moved my hair off of my neck, where I knew he’d see the fresh, purple fingerprints. He made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a grunt. “I’ll kill him.”

  I covered my eyes, letting the sobs overtake me once again. “Come here, now,” he said. “I didn’t mean that. Let’s get you in to see your mother and let the men take care of this, okay?”

  I shook my head, a cool eel snaking up my intestines. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “What do you—” His eyes filled with understanding then and he took a step back. “The blood is—”

  I nodded, looking down at the floor, a confirmation of his half-question. “I have to turn myself in to the police. It was an accident, Grandfather. I didn’t mean to. I got so scared and I just…I grabbed the nearest thing, and it was over just like that.”

  “Calm down, calm down,” he whispered, pacing the room. He rubbed a hand over the balding place on his scalp. “Okay, where’s the body?”

  “At our house,” I told him.

  “Does anyone else know? Did you tell anyone at all?”

  I shook my head stiffly. “No one.”

  He took hold of my shoulder, lowering himself so he could look me directly in the eye. “We’re going to take care of this, Coralee. No one’s going to know. You just trust me and do as I say, you hear?”

  “Of course, Grandfather. Thank you.” I couldn’t smile, my body still filled with ice cold fear, but a small part of me felt better knowing I’d handed over a bit of my worry.

  “Let’s go. We have to move with haste.”

  * * *

  A few hours later, we’d wrapped my husband’s dead body in a bedsheet and taken him to a part of the hidden room—the old servant’s quarters—that no one was allowed to enter.

  I was hyperventilating, crying and shaking as we worked. I woke up a normal person, but I’ll go to bed tonight a murderer. I am a murderer. I’ve killed my husband. I am a widow. He is dead. The thoughts ran through my head with a vengeance. We patched up the wall in silence, working diligently side by side. Neither of us wanted to speak of what we’d done. It was too much. No one could ever know our secret.

  Grandfather had come up with a solution, the best one there was. We’d say Don left me, ran off with another woman. I’d move back in with them—my old room was still vacant, and it happened to be the only entrance to the room we were currently plastering over. We would concrete it in from the outside. No one would be able to get in anymore, and if they asked, Grandfather would explain it away with mice and mold, which was nothing close to a stretch.

  He assured me that everything would be okay, but I couldn’t believe it. I’d never killed anyone before that day, never watched a man’s light leave his eyes. I’d always believed that was some melodramatic thing authors used to make their books seem smarter than they were, but I’d been wrong.

  There was no other way to describe the phenomenon that had occurred as he slipped away from me. A dim light faded out of his dark eyes and I’d known, without checking his pulse, that he was gone.

  Now, all that was left to do was to clean up our mess and move on with our lives. I was worried, my hands shaking so hard I could barely do the job I’d been tasked with.

  Grandfather placed his hand on my shoulder, his soft eyes looking down at me without judgment for all I’d done.

  “You’ve got to toughen up,” he said, his words harsh despite his soft tone. “It’s done. Falling apart won’t change it. If we go out there and anyone sees you looking like this, they’ll suspect something’s happened. Go into the restroom and clean your face. I’ll finish up.”

  I nodded. I couldn’t tell if he was scolding me or trying to offer comfort. Either way, I walked across the hardwood floors of my bedroom and into the restroom across the hall.

  When I glanced in the mirror, the woman looking back at me was unrecognizable. Blood was speckled across my straw-colored hair and porcelain skin.

  I stuck my hands into the sink, watching the water run red. He was right, of course. I had to pull myself together.

  This day had never happened. My husband left me. If anyone asked, I would tell them just that.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Jack

  Present Day

  Three Years Later

  “I want to go home,” Mom whined for about the fiftieth time. It was hard, listening to her wither away and knowing there was nothing I could do about it. She’d called me several times over the last few months, her mind in and out each time. I knew it was bad; we were nearing the end.

  I’d tried to call the doctors for her. For my childhood, I owed her that, but she refused. She wouldn’t leave the house. So, we’d settled on a private nurse checking in on her daily. The nurse came in, prepared her meals, and made sure she ate. Coralee was horrible to her. I’d had to double her salary to keep her, knowing it wouldn’t be for long. According to her, Coralee didn’t let her step foot outside of the kitchen or living room. She was never allowed anywhere else in the house.

  I heard Coralee suck in a haggard breath. For goodbyes, it was now or never.

  “You are home, Coralee,” I told her, keeping my distance. “You’re home.”

  “Why? Why? Why? Why? I want to see him. I need to see him. My Malcolm, my Malcolm. I want to go home to Malcolm,” she whined, tossing and turning in her bed.

  “Malc
olm is dead. You don’t live with him anymore,” I told her. It would do no good, what I was saying to her wasn’t going to click, but it was the truth nonetheless.

  “I want to go home, Jack,” she said again, this time using my name. It sent shockwaves through me. I was convinced she didn’t know who I was anymore.

  I sat down in the seat next to the bed in our room, staring at Loren. “Do you know me, Coralee? Do you know who I am?” I hadn’t forgiven her. I’m not sure I ever would, but that didn’t erase the memories I did have of her. Loren understood that. It’s why she insisted we talk when all I wanted to do was hire a nurse.

  “You’re Jack,” she said with a childlike lilt to her voice. “You’re always Jack.” I smiled at her, feeling relief.

  “That’s right, I’m Jack.”

  Her tone grew serious, deep. “Jack…I…I have something for you. Can you come to me? Can you come?” She was whispering now.

  “You have something for me?” I asked, putting a finger over my other ear to make sure I was hearing her correctly.

  “That’s right,” she whispered. “A secret. I have a secret.”

  I shook my head, sure she was just rambling. “Tell me, then, Coralee. What is it?” I rubbed my forehead, trying to relieve the stress.

  “The house. It’s yours,” she said. “It should…it should stay in the family.”

  She seemed strangely lucid all of a sudden, but I didn’t dare be fooled by her tricks again. I swallowed, unsure of what to make of the offer. “What are you talking about, Coralee?”

  “I just want to say goodbye.”

  “Er, goodbye then,” I mumbled. Our conversations were always strange, but I couldn’t help feeling like it might be my last time to say that.