by Celia Roman
Riley was sitting on the end of my bed when I come out, waiting for me. He glanced up, eyed the towel wrapped around my middle, and sighed.
I grinned real cheerful like. He wanted to see me nekkid again, he was gonna have to work for it.
“Ain’t it about time for you to go to work?” I asked.
“Called in and took a personal day.”
I opened a dresser drawer, rummaged for a t-shirt, and shut the drawer with my hip. “Missy and them is just up the hill if I need help.”
“I want to be here.” He slapped his palms to his thighs, rubbed ‘em good. Got up and paced around, then plopped back onto the end of the bed. “Missy thinks you won’t see a doctor unless I make you go.”
She was right about one thing. I weren’t gonna go see no doctor. Riley carrying me there had not a blessed thing to do with it.
“What’s with the cage?” he asked.
I fished out panties and slid ‘em on under the towel. “Old Aunt Sadie caught that critter and give it to me to figure out. Thought it might be eating her pumpkin patch.”
He twisted around, eyed my legs real subtle like under lowered eyelids. “She’s still alive?”
“And kicking.” I waited patient as a saint ‘til he took the hint and turned back around, then dropped the towel and shimmied into a t-shirt and jeans faster’n greased lightning. “I gotta figure out what that critter is.”
“You don’t know?”
“Nobody knows ever thing.” I grabbed a pair of socks and Daddy’s hunting knife, and flopped onto the bed next to him. “Gotta lot of studying to do today.”
“I saw the stack of books.”
“Got more coming soon, so I need to get cracking with them what’s out there.”
“Good week for bed rest.”
I smacked him with the socks, gentle so as to do no harm. “A body can’t spend all her time laying about.”
“This body can. You’ve got an appointment in a couple of hours.”
“What for?”
“To have your heart checked.”
I bit back my first reply. It weren’t fit for his ears a’tall and I done spent my monthly allowance of curse words into the pillow. “Ain’t nothing wrong with me.”
“Then there’s no harm in having it checked.” He looped a casual arm around my shoulders and tucked me against his side. “Humor me, baby.”
Well, if he put it like that, how could I not? So I let him fix me breakfast whilst I counted quarters into the cussing jar, then he carried me to the doctor, a young Asian feller what weren’t much older’n me. As I suspected, I got a clean bill of health. Well, mostly. Seems the good doctor found an anomaly in my heartbeat. Told me to rest up real good and come back in a week, and I fumed and huffed while Riley stood there looking satisfied as a cat eating a canary.
That afternoon, after Riley treated me to a hot lunch in town, we sat side by side on the couch and divvied up reading between us, me searching for anything what might shed light on the growing painter problem, Riley trying to identify my newest houseguest.
I started with the issue of Foxfire Magazine devoted to local legends and tall tales. I read this same issue cover to cover some few weeks back when Riley come to me on Belinda’s half, so it was somewhat fresh in my memory. Now, I slowed down and studied the blips handed down from one generation to the next, or made up on the spot to satisfy a young’un’s bedtime scare.
Several mentioned painters direct. In the frontier days, when houses was far apart and neighbors couldn’t spit into each other’s yards, folks relied on themselves and the kin living with ‘em for protection. They was well aware of the dangers lurking in the deep wood, beyond the boundaries of the living dug outta the land one stump at a time.
Still, if them tales could be believed, it weren’t unusual for a body to fall prey to wild animals. Painters seemed dangerous in a particular way to early settlers. Least, they was more tales told about ‘em than other feared creatures. Mighta had something to do with the way they attacked, at dusk when folks was tired from a long day of hard labor. Mighta had something to do with the eerie nature of their cry, like a woman screaming, some said.
Memory stirred. I thought on it and finally come up with the cause. BobbiJean heard screaming the first night the chickens was got. Was it a painter she heard, and if it was, was there any connection between it and the livestock’s disappearance?
When I was done with the magazine, I dropped it into the pile stacked between me and Riley and stretched good. Whilst I was absorbed in my study, he’d perched himself on the edge of the couch, knees widespread, forearms on his thighs, and held a thick encyclopedia of fairies in his hands. Ever once in a while, he glanced over at the critter sitting in its cage atop my desk and muttered under his breath.
After a minute watching him and trying not to laugh at his studiousness, I said, “Any luck?”
“I’ve learned more than I ever wanted to know about fairies.” He flipped a page, scanned it, and eyed the critter good. “Brownie?”
“Naw,” I said right off. “Brownies is helpful critters. Not a speck of mischief in ‘em.”
“How do you know this one is mischievous?”
“I don’t. I just know it ain’t no brownie.” He looked over at me, one eyebrow arched, and I shrugged. “Plus, I seen a couple, enough to know what they look like.”
“Back to the drawing board,” he muttered, and I bit my cheek, containing a laugh.
If I’da knowed getting his help’d be so entertaining, I woulda roped him into it a long time ago.
Riley leaned back, slumping into the couch’s worn cushions. “What about you? You find anything?”
“Tall tales, legends. Nothing to explain why them painters is acting the way they is.”
I pursed my lips together, hesitant to tell him about the human eyes of the painter me and David found. Letting Riley read an encyclopedia about fairies weren’t nothing a’tall. He couldn’t get hurt sitting on my couch a-reading, but the more I told him, the deeper he’d sink into this dark, dangerous world I lived in. Did I really want him to see that side of me? Did I really wanna throw him in harm’s way without proper cause?
Riley tucked a finger in the book, holding his place, and slid his free hand up and down my thigh, up and down, soothing me. “What’s wrong, baby?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. It’s just…”
“It’s just what?” he asked gentle like, and the wealth of patience in his voice sparked something in me, something lonely and small and in need of the friendship he offered.
“That painter me and David found?”
“What about it?”
“It had human eyes.”
His hand paused and them hazel eyes of his widened. “What?”
“Human eyes,” I repeated. “Like mine or yourn. You know. Round of pupil? Not like a cat’s a’tall.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I shrugged. “Didn’t seem important.”
He sat there a long time just looking at me, his expression dead and flat and somehow bleak. At last, he said, “What kind of animal has human eyes?”
I don’t know why, but his answer lifted a weight off my shoulders I weren’t aware bore down on ‘em. “Shifters and such. Transmogrifiers.”
“Like werewolves?”
“Them’s the most common.” Or the most talked about anyhow, but that didn’t seem pertinent, and I weren’t sure I wanted him to know more about them sorts of critters nohow.
“You ever hear of panthers in this area turning into humans?” His shoulders shifted impatient like under his t-shirt. “Or humans into panthers.”
“No, but that don’t mean they ain’t none.”
“Maybe that’s what you should be looking for, then. It might explain the panthers singling you out.”
I narrowed my eyes on him. I hadn’t told him word one about my suspicions along them lines, so how’d he know? “Who you been talking to?”
“Miss
y told me about the panther you saw on the trail between here and Fame’s. And then the one at the wedding?” He shrugged, this’un looser and casual. “Seems logical.”
I clucked my tongue at him. “Riley, honey, ain’t nothing logical about monsters.”
“Sure there is.” He held up the book he was a-reading and waggled it at me. “Every creature in here operates by rules of some sort, biological or societal or whatever. You just have to figure out what rules govern the panther-humans.”
“If they is human.”
“You’ll figure it out.” He flopped over on me and planted a big smooch on my mouth, and sorta laid there for a minute, looking at me all serious. “Don’t ever hide anything from me again, Sunny. Not anything.”
I couldn’t quite agree to that, but lucky for me, he drawed his own conclusions and went back to his studies. Me, I picked up the Foxfire book like he hadn’t rattled me good, and pretended to search for answers ‘til the butterflies in my stomach settled down and I didn’t have to pretend no more.
Not long after, I set the book down having learnt not much more’n what the magazine told me. I coulda turned to some of the books tucked into my book cases, but Mooney’s tome on the Cherokee was right at hand, so I curled my knees up on the couch and let it fall open in my lap to a random page. I flipped back to the beginning of that section, “The Eastern Band,” and began reading from there, refreshing my memory on the early history of them Cherokee what managed to escape removal from the remnants of their traditional lands during the Trail of Tears.
I don’t know how long I read, but it musta been long enough for the words to knock me out. Riley woke me late in the afternoon, informed me kinda sad like that he hadn’t figured out what the critter was, and fixed me some supper. I put on one of The Police’s albums and we spent a pleasant evening flirting and laughing and having a high ol’ time together.
The rest of the week passed much the same. I spent the bulk of my forced vacation either reading up on Cherokee history and lore or fairies and other critters.
If the runt’d just talk to us, it’d be so much easier to figure out what it was, but no. The dadgum thing sulled up when Riley weren’t around and wouldn’t so much as blink at me.
‘Course, that mighta been ‘cause Riley treated it about like a new pup, trying different foods on it, refilling its water bottle, and talking to it in a singsong voice like it was a newborn babe.
Come to think on it, it mighta been. It was kindly a runty little critter.
Riley claimed the fairy book for himself. Said he’d be the one to finish it, thank you very much, and I should stick to the other books on the subject, which I had in plenty. Not a one shed an inch of light on what the critter might be, but that didn’t stop me nor him from trying.
Meantime, the downtime was driving me batty. Well, battier anyhow. Three days after Doc told me to take it easy, I sat down and writ a long letter to Mama, describing ever blasted thing what’d happened since my last visit in September.
Woulda gone to visit, but Riley hid my car keys, dang his ever loving hide.
I ended the letter with a plea for information on Daddy’s side of the family, stuck it in the mailbox down the drive in a rare moment when nobody was hovering over me, and snuck back into the trailer feeling guiltier than a cat burglar climbing out a window with a sack of loot thrown over his shoulder.
And weren’t that a fine how-de-do?
That night, Riley dropped by right after he got off work, still dressed in his DNR polo and trousers, minus the ball cap usually covering his noggin. He come in, carry bag in hand, and plopped down beside me on the couch. “Hey, baby. How was your day?”
The question rankled, not least because he knowed I was stuck here doing not a blasted thing. “Why you got that bag?”
“Change of clothes.” He slumped lower on the couch and rested his head against the back, eyes closed. “Thought we’d go to the movies in Franklin.”
“You ever think on asking me before you go making plans?”
He sighed and rubbed both hands over his face. “Christ, Sunny. Give me a minute before you light into me.”
I sucked in my restless anger, spilt it out on a long exhale. He was right. Weren’t his fault Old Mother’d knocked me out cold, and he deserved better’n receiving the blunt end of my frustration, ‘specially after a hard day drudging in the coal mines.
So to speak.
I mustered up a contrite tone. “Long day?”
“Long enough.”
“Want me to rub your shoulders or something?”
A sly grin stretched his mouth wide and he peeked at me outta the corners of his eyes. “Or something.”
I snickered and smacked the backs of my fingers against his arm, playful like. “Oh, go on with you, Riley Treadwell.”
“You offered.” He rolled his head along the back of the couch, relaxing into it, then went still as a predator spotting prey. “What the hell, Sunny? You’re supposed to be resting, not doing home repairs.”
“I been resting,” I said, indignant like. “So hard, I about wore a hole in this ol’ couch.”
“Then what is that.”
He pointed straight up. I followed his arm toward the ceiling and blinked at the sparkling white section where a water stain once lived.
“Are you saying you didn’t fix that?” he asked, and I fumed under the accusatory tone.
“You didn’t believe me the first time I said so, and I ain’t saying it again.”
He sat there stone faced and silent. After a minute, his muscles relaxed and he clapped a hand over my knee. “Ok. I know you didn’t hire somebody to do it.”
Not if I could fix it myself, and I probably could, if I put my mind to it.
“So what happened to the ceiling?” he continued. “Water stains don’t disappear overnight.”
“No idea,” I said, and immediately regretted the snap in my voice. I let the last of my temper go and tried again. “Maybe Teus decided to finish the decorating job.”
Riley glanced at me again, a wry smile sparkling in them hazel eyes. “Naw, baby. He would’ve painted it blue, maybe glued some starfish up there or something.”
I laughed like he intended me to, and spent the rest of the evening making sure not another crosswise word passed between us.
Chapter Fourteen
Having so much down time weren’t all bad. For one, I caught up on a lotta reading otherwise neglected thanks to an innate need to do. For another, Riley was a near constant presence, even more’n he was after that catfish near about et me. We had fun, me and him, and I enjoyed dang near ever second we spent together, ‘specially the smooching. Lordy, did that boy know how to kiss.
But he weren’t around all the time and a body could only stand so much of the written word. In between, my mind settled on the oddest notions. Couldn’t get Libby Squirrel’s words outta my head. Over and over again, I heard her saying as how maybe it weren’t a pooka what killed my boy. She implied it, leastwise, and weren’t that the same thing?
Did she have a-hold of some fact I weren’t privy to? Didn’t I owe it to Henry, God rest him, to find out?
I wanted to sit down across from her and asked her to spell it out, beg her, threaten if I had to, and I woulda if I coulda found where Riley hid my keys.
Monday morning when I woke, I stumbled into the kitchen searching for coffee and nigh on fell right into the table. The legs was straight as sticks, the top was a geometric mosaic matching the carpet, and the whole was shiny as new.
I snagged my phone and called Riley.
“Sunny?” he mumbled.
I glanced at the time on my phone and winced. Six a.m. Riley didn’t crawl outta bed for another hour on work mornings, and danged if a little niggle of guilt didn’t worm its way into my gut, deflating my early bird curiosity.
I gritted my teeth and plowed ahead. Some things needed to be sorted, and since he was on the phone, now was as good a time as any. “What’d you do to my
table?”
“Huh, what?” he slurred, and my guilt sank bone deep. Poor feller. I shoulda checked the dadgum time before calling him.
“The kitchen table,” I said, enunciating ever syllable. “You have it fixed or something?”
He groaned and something thumped against his pillow, sounded like. “You woke me up because of a table?”
“Well, it’s all blue and green like the carpet.”
“Teus,” Riley said. “Go back to bed.”
“But what about my table?” I asked.
Nothing.
“Riley? You there?”
Still nothing.
I lifted the phone away from my ear and checked the screen, and scowled at the red call ended strip running across the lower third. Why, that no good hound dog’d hung up on me.
Never mind that I woke him up an hour before he needed to rise and shine. What kinda boyfriend hung up on his woman?
I pulled out a kitchen chair and flopped into it, and glared at the critter sitting all innocent like in his cage across the room on my desk. “Well?” I asked it. “What would you’ve done?”
He didn’t say nothing neither. ‘Course, he didn’t have to. I shoulda called Teus right off when I seen that color scheme. Don’t know why I bothered Riley instead.
I ignored the pure plumb golly whopper that was and scrolled through my phone contacts. Before I could punch a single one in, the world went kindly wonky and colorful, like I was inside a kaleidoscope.
Next thing I knowed, I was surrounded by an ocean of aqua sheets and gawking at the glass wall in front of me. A school of fish swam by, skimming the swaying tops of lake weed, barely visible in the murky water.
Holy Moses. I was inside an underwater house.
A warm hand stroked down my back and a slightly accented male voice said, “You called?”
My eyelids drifted closed. Teus. Lordy, but that boy was gonna be the death of me.
