Skeptic

by Denise Mathew

  "Because jerks, could never do anything that felt that good."

  He shot me a provocative look, and I felt my face go hot. I licked my lips, and my heart seemed to travel up to my throat. I wanted to kiss him, so much that it ached, but I forced myself to stay firmly planted in my seat, because once I got started, I didn't know if I would be able to stop, or even if I would want to.

  I dropped my hands to my lap, and flicked my thumbnails together, trying to imagine how my grandmother would react to me after all the years. Would she still be as overbearing as she had been when I was growing up, or would she have finally mellowed and actually treat me like an adult?

  "I haven't spoken to Nanny Flo in a long while," I said, gazing out the window at the bright green trees, and scarred power lines, that bordered the road. "And I'm going to have to tell her about being the Skeptic, that's if she doesn't already know."

  Dakota nodded, and was silent. He focused on the highway ahead, and I wondered how horrible he thought I was, to abandon my family so easily.

  "From what you've told me Elise, she loves you, and at the end of the day, that's all that matters. If it makes you feel better, you can call yourself the prodigal granddaughter," he said, and quirked a smile.

  "Okay, not helping."

  I gave his arm a light punch, and he reacted as if I had mortally injured him, then he turned to me, his expression serious.

  "It'll be fine Elise," he said, and gave me a reassuring grin. When he said it like that, I wanted to believe him.

  An hour later, we turned off the i95 highway, and made our way south to the Cape, and my heart beat a nervous tempo at the thought that I would be seeing Nanny Flo in less than an hour. Once off the main highway, tangles of trees gave way to houses, buildings, and stores that marked the twenty-first century, and had little of the appeal of the old world antebellum mansions, and colonial buildings, that had been so familiar to me in my childhood. I rolled down my window and let the fresh air blow in my face, hoping it might clear my head a little.

  I directed Dakota to the downtown section, where mossy oaks shaded the streets, and the soft sea breezes filled the air with a salty scent. After we drove through the town, we neared the mile long bridge that connected the main part of the town to the more rural areas where my old house was. The sun was just beginning to set, the clouds becoming dappled with various shades of gold and pink, as we passed over the truss bridge. And I couldn't remember the last time I had actually watched the sun set.

  When we reached the other side of the bridge, we entered a densely forested area, where single lane roads, were the only connections between the well-spaced houses, that were a mix of both heritage homes and newer infrastructure. We passed a few marshy swamps, that probably had alligators in their depths, and I hoped the reptiles were already hibernating for the winter.

  "We're almost there," I said, more to myself than Dakota, and I felt his warm hand cover mine.

  "It's nice here," he said, glancing at me, before bringing his eyes back to the road.

  I nodded, and just as I did, I glimpsed the cut off that led to my childhood home.

  "Turn here," I said, motioning to the road. As we pulled onto the dirt road, tiny pebbles cracked lightly on the cars exterior. We passed several houses, before we reached an old abandoned colonial style house with large yellowed pillars that framed an inset alcove. The once elegant home, was a shadow of its former splendor, with tall shattered windows, gaping like jagged mouths, and an overgrowth of foliage that was years in the making. Everybody in the town always claimed the house was haunted, but I knew they were wrong, since I had explored it when I was a teenager, and I hadn't seen even one ghost.

  A little further in, the forest grew even thicker, and if someone hadn’t known where Nanny Flo's house was, they might have thought they had come to the end of the line. When I saw the rusty red tern metal roof of Nanny's house, almost hidden amidst the towering Cypress and Oak trees, my stomach went from butterflies fluttering, to a cat thrashing around inside.

  "That's the place," I said, pointing.

  Dakota squinted, trying to see what I had already spotted, then nodded before accelerating. The car jostled and bumped on the potholes that marred the road, and I wrapped my arms around my body, trying to guard my injured ribs from the impact.

  We both locked eyes on the house, neither of us saying a word. Being home again, after so many years, shuttled me back in time, to when I was an uncertain girl searching for a better life. And it seemed odd that the house looked exactly as I had remembered; yet I had changed so much.

  The one story, rectangular shaped old farmhouse, still had its original white clapboard siding, and was peeling and in need of paint. The tarnished copper rooster weather vane, on the roof capped cupola, spun in the soft breeze, just like it always had. When I clapped eyes on the turquoise porch swing, still suspended on the screened in veranda, I remembered the many nights I had spent rocking back and forth, staring at the stars, and planning my future.

  As well as the familiar, like the wind chimes that tinkled melodically in the breeze, an item we had always had since, not only did they produce a beautiful sound, but they were also supposed to keep evil spirits away, there were new additions. And gauging from all the other wards in place, like the bundles of periwinkle, hanging above each window, the large clear blown glass witch balls suspended from the eaves, and the fresh lines of salt on every window sill and crossing every entrance, Nanny Flo no longer believed that the chimes were enough protection.

  Dakota parked his car next to my grandmother's red 1982 Ford pickup, that still looked like it was in working order. Stiff from the hours of driving, I stepped out of the car and stretched, then gazed at the white-latticed spring latch screen door that was still closed. Dakota came around to my side of the car, and reached for my hand. I willingly took it, as we walked toward the house.

  "I've been expecting you."

  I heard her distinctive voice, with its low southern drawl before I saw her, and a mix of relief and apprehension surged through me. I released Dakota's hand, ran up the steps, pushed open the screen door, and that's when I saw her.

  The years had changed her, but not in the ways that I would have expected. She had always been small in stature, but now she seemed to have collapsed even more with age. Instead of a voluminous housedress, she was dressed in beige slacks, a short-sleeved white cotton blouse, and camel colored tender tootsie shoes, and seeing her dressed in clothes so unlike what I remembered, threw me. But when she stretched out her arms to me, and grinned her gaped-tooth smile, I forgot everything else.

  "Nanny Flo," I said in a breath, and threw myself into her open embrace.

  She was a head shorter than me, but in her arms I felt small, and more importantly, safe. Nothing could hurt me when she was there. Tears filled my eyes, and I swallowed the sobs that slipped into my throat, as I clung to her bony frame, breathing in her familiar scent of eucalyptus oil and orange peels. She slanted her face to mine, and met my gaze for a moment, before shifting her stare to somewhere behind me, and I remembered Dakota. I spun to face him, and noticed that his usually confident demeanor had slipped, and he appeared nervous. I almost laughed, because Nanny Flo, no more than eighty-five pounds soaking wet, could make anyone cower with just a look. Obviously Dakota wasn't immune to her death stare.

  "Nanny Flo, this is my...ah friend, Dakota," I said, struggling to find the appropriate words to describe our relationship. From the wounded expression on his face, I had said the wrong thing, and I flushed with regret.

  "Pleasure to meet you," Nanny said, extending her arthritic hand to him. Her words were friendly, but her glare was piercing, as she sized him up.

  "The pleasure is mine," he said, clasping her hand in his for a few quick pumps before he released it.

  The wind picked up a little, and a curl of her ebony hair slipped from her bun, it bounced quietly against her sunken cheek, and had the effect of softening the sharp lines of her face.
Dakota must have seen it too, because his shoulders relaxed, and the tension in his jaw eased. I pressed my palm to the small of his back, and he leaned slightly into my touch.

  Nanny Flo turned smoothly toward the dark cherry inner door, that had a sun and moon stained-glass transom, and sidelights, with sparkling crystal ornaments hanging from suction cups mounted on the glass.

  "I've made some sweet tea, biscuits, fried chicken, and potato salad for a start, then we'll have a proper dinner later," Nanny Flo said, stepping back into the house.

  The aroma of fresh baked goods, and incense, drifted out and I grinned. I hadn't realized until right then how much I had missed my grandmother's home cooking, and my stomach growled in anticipation. I threw a glance back at Dakota.

  "You okay?" I asked, in a low whisper.

  He gave me a nervous grin. "Sure," he said, in an equally low tone.

  I squeezed his hand and it felt warm and sticky. I glanced down, noticing a smear of blood on my hand. I turned his palm up, and spotted blood on his skin too.

  "Is that you, or me?" I asked.

  Dakota stared down at his palm, seemingly as surprised as I was to find it bloodied. I retrieved a tissue from my pocket, and wiped my hand clean, but when I saw no evidence of an injury, I knew the blood was Dakota's. I passed him another tissue, and he cleaned away the blood. There was a half-inch shallow cut on the rounded part of his thumb, and it oozed a little.

  "What happened?" I asked.

  He shrugged, and dabbed at the slice a few times, then shoved the soiled tissue in his jacket pocket.

  "I have no idea, maybe a splinter from the handrail. Doesn't look like much to worry about though."

  "Come on," I said, looping my arm through his. He kissed the curve of my neck, and I shivered delightfully, then tugged him inside.

  Nanny Flo had already disappeared, presumably into the kitchen, that was near the backside of the house, and knowing that she didn't like what she called interlopers in her domain, I decided to give Dakota a tour of the place. Being back in the house seemed so natural, as if I had only been away a few days, and I found myself more relaxed than I had been in a long time. Here, I wasn't the Skeptic, or someone who supposedly had all the answers about the oddities of the Universe, I was just plain Elise. I curled my arm around Dakota's waist, once again comforted in knowing that nothing could touch me here.

  "You want to see the house?" I asked, glancing over my shoulder.

  "Sure," he said.

  I dragged him forward. I knew he was nervous, but he was so quiet it was a bit unsettling. I didn't bother to mention his unease, if the roles were reversed and I was meeting his parents for the first time, I knew I would be stressed too.

  We walked into the foyer, that led into the great room, where twin, orange, rust and brown, floral wingback chairs, and a matching sofa, whose dark wooden arms had always been so uncomfortable to lie against, stood.

  "Retro enough for you?" I asked, lifting my eyebrows.

  "It's homey," he said, with a quiet chuckle, and I practically beamed with satisfaction, because for some reason it really mattered what he thought of the place that I had grown up in.

  I spied the cabinet television that I was sure was the last of its kind. When I switched it on, I couldn't believe it still worked. I moved on to the old fashioned cabinet record player, with ornately carved clawed feet. In all the time I had lived in the house the only music I had ever heard coming from it, had been Elvis crooning his tunes.

  Piled on the cabinet surface, were framed pictures of me, the last one was taken the summer I had left home. The pictures seemed to peak Dakota's interest, and he strode over and picked up a school photo of me, when I was about nine-years-old. In the photo, I had been all missing teeth and freckles, and had pigtails that curled into ringlets. He chuckled.

  "Hey, don't laugh at me," I said, pinching the back of his arm, but he seemed unaffected, and grinned even wider.

  "I'm not laughing at you, more like admiring your cuteness," he said, lifting his gaze to mine. "You should see some of my horrific grade school pictures," he said, putting the picture back down.

  "Horrific?" I said, rolling my eyes. Dakota was so perfect, it was impossible to believe that he could ever have taken a bad photo.

  I slipped my arm through his, and moved him forward. We stepped across the oversized rectangular area rug, that was earth tone with beige lotus flowers decorating its surface, and moved to the far side of the room, where the ceiling high, sandy colored brick fireplace took up most of the wall. Before I could show him any more of the house, I heard Nanny Flo shout my name, and diverted our path to the dining area that preceded the kitchen.

  When we entered, I notice the same plain wooden table from my childhood. Two large pitchers of sweet tea with lemon slices and ice cubes floating lazily in the amber colored liquid sat next to tall, slim glasses, frosty from the freezer. In the center of the table, was a huge dinner plate, stacked with golden brown tea biscuits, with a glass container of honey, complete with a wooden honey dipper, and a slab of bright yellow butter at its side. The sight of all the food made me realize how hungry I was.

  As expected, Nanny had more than just tea and biscuits; there was salmon hued sweet potato pie, crispy fried chicken, collard greens, and creamy potato salad. It was without a doubt, enough food to feed at least twenty people.

  Dakota's eyes grew wide, and he whistled.

  "You expecting a crowd?" I asked, Nanny Flo who ambled toward us. I slipped onto the rosebud printed covered bench, at the side of the table. Nanny Flo's smile was deep and the corners of her eyes crinkled with amusement. She took a seat across from me on the opposite bench, and reached for my hands, squeezing them between her knobby fingers.

  "I guess I got carried away Lisey," she said. "Besides, you could use a little meat on those bones of yours, you're practically skeletal."

  I laughed out loud, because I had at least thirty pounds on my grandmother's waif frame. Nanny let go of me, and snatched a biscuit off the pile, splitting and buttering it with expert precision. I felt Dakota slide in next to me.

  "Dig in young man," Nanny said, before popping a buttered piece of biscuit into her waiting mouth. She washed it down with a sip of tea, then set her gaze back on me.

  "So you've got some troubles?" she said, chewing. Her brown eyes were suddenly hard.

  My stomach turned, and I wished that she had let me eat something before she got into the thick of things, but my grandmother's direct manner didn't surprise me, in fact it was something I had come to love about her. I never worried about where I stood with her, since she was always willing to tell me.

  "It's a witch," I said, not bothering to ask how she had known I was in trouble. "And she's decided that she wants me dead."

  All the easiness I had felt moments before, evaporated, and thoughts of Tansy crowded my mind. I felt Dakota shift in his seat beside me.

  Nanny daintily bit off another piece of biscuit and chewed thoughtfully.

  "Why?" she said, simply. And with just one word the very subject I had dreaded, reared its unpleasant head, and I was flooded with apprehension.

  "Because of the Skeptic," I said.

  I brought my fingertips to my temples, and felt the blood rush to my face from the boundless shame that accompanied my words.

  She took another sip of her tea, swallowed, then her lips pulled in a tight line.

  "I knew that stupid show would blow up in your face someday," she said, as though we had had discussions about the Skeptic a hundred times over.

  "You know about the show?" I asked.

  She turned her wrinkled palms to the sky.

  "How could I miss a show where my granddaughter was the star?" She sighed. "Though I wished you'd thought a smidgen more about what you were doing, before you went out half-cocked callin' innocent people liars."

  I cringed from her words as if I had been physically hit. I knew she was only speaking the truth, and that I deserved whatever she d
ished out, but I would have been lying if I said it didn't hurt.

  Dakota's hand found my thigh, and I was grateful for his unspoken support.

  Nanny's face shifted, her black brows pinched together into a scowl and her eyes turned dark and hard.

  "I thought I'd taught you better than that, Elise," she snapped, wagging a finger at me. Then as fast as her anger flared, she went placid, and laid the flat of her palms on the table in front of her. The kitchen grew so quiet that I could actually hear the crickets chirp outside.

  "But that's no matter now, because you're in a heap load of trouble, real trouble and I'll be damned if anything's going to happen to my granddaughter."

  I let out a long breath, and leaned forward on my elbows, chewing my bottom lip. I couldn't bring my focus to her face, so I stared down at the half-eaten food on my plate. The Currier and Ives swag lamp suspended above us, buzzed like a fly hitting a light bulb, then flickered a few times. I had seen electrical things and lights short out around Nanny Flo before, but only a few times, and usually when she was really angry, which meant that beneath her seemingly calm demeanor, she was raging. I only hoped it was directed at Tansy, not me.

  Nanny Flo pushed her chair away from the table, and got to her feet. She winced, and rubbed her knees with her twisted fingers. And in that moment, I realized that age was taking a toll on her; she wasn't as invincible as I had always believed she was.

  "Well, since you're not eating, you may as well come with me, I have a few things to show you," she said.

  I cut my eyes to Dakota, who was gnawing lustily on a leg of fried chicken; obviously our discussion hadn't dulled his appetite. He stared back at me guiltily, and placed the chicken back on his plate, wiped his greasy lips with a paper napkin, and shrugged.

  "Sorry, it's just so damn good," he said, with a lopsided grin, and I couldn't help but smile back.

  "Don't worry, all this food will still be here later..."

  I twined my fingers with his, and pressed my lips against his cheek, then tugged him forward. We crossed into the kitchen just beyond the dining room and as usual, it was pristine. Original wooden beams crossed the ceiling, connecting wall to wall. Cast iron pots, hung on hooks, and also from the pot rack suspended over the stainless steel worktable, in the center of the space. The light blue ceramic tiles of the dining area, gave way to oak hardwood floors that were scuffed and dull from years of use, nonetheless spotlessly clean. I was shocked that after all these years the electric range was gone, and had been replaced by a gas stove. But I did notice that the double porcelain farmhouse sink, and butcher-block counters, hadn't been changed.