The Black Butterfly

by Shirley Reva Vernick

  I stepped into her room, which was larger and more stylish than George’s. A queen-size brass bed angled out from one corner, and a curio filled with colorful glass eggs stood between the bed and the wall. Under the window, there was a marble dressing table, on top of which sat a mother-and-baby photo of Bubbles and George. A small pink sofa stood on the far side of the room, and we installed ourselves on it now.

  “What’s on your mind, dear? Something’s troubling you, I think.”

  I was going to make the long story short, but I ended up spilling every detail I knew about Coyote and Rex and the ghost museum and leaving here tomorrow. It all came bursting out like a swarm of angry hornets. The facts, the feelings, the ranting.

  Bubbles didn’t say anything at first. She spent a minute fingering her chain necklace and using her toes to flip a slipper that had come loose. Finally she forced the edges of her mouth up and said, “My, my, isn’t that exciting? Idaho. I do hear it’s lovely out there. So Viv is really in love. That’s just…just splendid.” Her voice couldn’t have sounded less convincing.

  “Well, Mom thinks it’s splendid. I think it’s lunacy.”

  Bubbles put her arm around my shoulders. She smelled like the brandy Rita sometimes cooked with. “Come now, let’s try to think of this as a fresh start. It could turn out to be the best thing that’s ever happened to either one of you, for all you know.”

  “What I know is that this is a crazy decision, and the ten seconds she spent thinking it through didn’t take me into account. I hate her, Bubbles.” I felt foolish at my outburst, but not foolish enough to take any of it back.

  Now she was pushing my hair behind my ear and hushing me, telling me I didn’t mean that.

  “Wanna bet?” I asked. “I’ll die out there in Idaho.”

  “No, you won’t. You are well loved. No one will let you fall.”

  For some reason, this made me feel even worse. “Why are you so nice to me?” I asked.

  “What kind of question is that?”

  I sat up straighter and pulled a Kleenex out of my pants pocket. After a good long blow, I said, “With what happened between you and my mother—honestly, I don’t know why you ever agreed to take me in. I wouldn’t have. I’d still be raging.”

  Bubbles looked bewildered. “Penny, dear, what exactly did your mother tell you about us?”

  “My mother? You’re in the wrong universe, Bubbles. My mother doesn’t tell me anything. I found out through…” Had I promised Rita to keep this a secret? No. Would I get her in trouble if I confessed? Maybe.

  “Through who?” she asked earnestly.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  I looked away.

  “You’ve at least got to tell me what you know,” she said.

  “I know my mother thought there was a ghost here. That she made a huge deal of it. That George ended up getting hurt in the kitchen crawlspace. That in the end, she stormed off.”

  Bubbles had the strangest response to this dredging up of the awful past: she suppressed a smile.

  “What?” I demanded.

  She patted my hand, her sparkly bracelet tinkling coolly against my skin. “I need a drink,” she said, and then I saw that she had one already poured on her dressing table. She retrieved it and took a long swig as she sat back down. “Better. It’s probably rude not to offer you anything, but I don’t have anything soft up here.”

  “I’m all set.” But of course, I wasn’t all set and never would be.

  Bubbles set her glass on the floor and curled her legs under her. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do for you, Penny. I’m going to set you straight.”

  I folded my arms. “What does that mean?”

  “You’ve got it all wrong, my love.”

  “Are you trying to tell me she wasn’t nosing around? Because I know she was.”

  “No, that part is true. Viv thought there was a ghost, and I nixed the—what did she call it?—the investigation, and we had words after George got injured. But the reason she left the next day is that she was scheduled to leave then, not because we weren’t friends anymore.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “You mean, you weren’t mad at her?”

  “For a day. Then I blew my spout and was over it. I’m pretty sure Viv was over it too. We had some laughs her last night here, and I took her to the ferry the next day. We parted with the promise that I’d visit her in Chicago before the end of the year.”

  “Oh come on, Bubbles.” I felt overheated, so I took off my sweatshirt and wiped my face on it. “If everything was fine between you and Mom, then how come you two never spoke again until last week?”

  “But that’s not true. We did talk. I kept my promise about visiting. I left George with Rita—he was just a toddler—and I flew out over the Columbus holiday.” Her face tightened, and she closed her eyes for so long, I thought she was falling asleep. “That was quite a weekend.”

  “You mean, Mom did something rotten again?”

  Bubbles’ eyes dampened. With two fingers, she squeezed the bridge of her nose, as if it were an off-button for her tears. “No, Penny. I did something rotten.”

  “You? Miss Congeniality? What could you possibly do to offend anyone?”

  “I could do plenty. I’m just not sure it’s my place to tell you. If Viv didn’t tell you herself, then—”

  “Tell me,” I said so forcefully, she visibly flinched. “Sorry. Sorry for shouting. But I need you to tell me. Please.”

  She looked around for something to do with her hands. All she came up with was tidying her out-of-joint hair. “I’ve never told a living soul about this. Lord, just the thought of it makes me nervous.”

  “It’s only me. And I like you. I’m on your side. It’s fine.”

  She eyed me uncertainly, took another sip of her drink, and exhaled loudly. Then she started talking to her slippers. “Okay, all right, here goes. Viv and Justin—that’s your dad—were living together in this cute little apartment on Oak Street. It was my first time meeting him—it was my first time in Chicago—and your mom was all excited about it. She had a track record of dating men who were what you might call…” She bit her lip. “…inappropriate. She really wanted to show off Justin because she thought he was different from the others. Better. She’d been telling me how wonderful he was for months.”

  “What was he like?” I asked.

  “Viv was telling the truth, Penny. I was only there for a short time, but I got to know him. See, your mom got called in to work that Sunday at the Pizza Hut—she was rip-roaring mad about it, but what could she do?—so Justin and I spent the whole day walking the city. He was smart and ambitious, and what he lacked in good looks, he made up for in humor. He was funny as heck, but never at anyone’s expense. That’s a gentleman, unlike some of Viv’s previous boyfriends.”

  Bubbles seemed to be remembering something troublesome now. Her face constricted. Then she inhaled—a warning breath?—and asked, “Shall I continue?”

  I nodded, feeling my own muscles tense up too.

  “Viv’s boss took pity on her and let her out a couple of hours early, on account of it being a slower day than expected. Okay, so here’s the hard part…”

  Hard for who? Her, Mom, me? Could hearing it—whatever it was—be that much harder to take than the anxiety of waiting for her to spit it out? “I’m listening,” I urged.

  “All right.” She laughed anxiously, the air fluttering in her throat. “When Viv got back to the apartment, she found Justin and me in a…compromising position. That’s it. That’s the story. The dirty truth. Viv took one look at us and went straight to the closet to pack her things. That was the end of her relationship with Justin, and with me.”

  I couldn’t breathe. Sweet, generous Bubbles had cheated with my father! Mom didn’t cause the BFF breakup, after all. They hadn’t talked in sixteen-plus years because Bubbles screwed up. No wonder Bubbles consented when Mom called last week. No wonder Bubbl
es was being so nice to me. She felt guilty!

  “Oh, Lord,” she moaned. “Please say something.”

  “Which one of you made the first move?”

  “Who knows? No, that’s not true. It was me. We’d had this incredible day together—talking, drinking wine at lunch, laughing. He held my arm when we jaywalked. I lost myself. He was getting me a glass of water in their tiny kitchen, and when he turned around, I kissed him. We were still kissing when Viv walked in. Oh Lord, couldn’t you just murder me? You and Viv and Justin might be together right now if I hadn’t…”

  My stomach started to churn. She was right. If Bubbles hadn’t double-crossed Mom, I might have had two parents and a shot at a normal life, instead of the constant moving and scrounging and changing schools. If Bubbles hadn’t ruined Mom’s life, Mom might have had the strength to follow her dreams in a constructive way. I might have known the man who was my father. I might even have liked him.

  “You have every right to be furious with me,” Bubbles said.

  She was right about that too, and I was furious. Too furious to speak.

  “I’m a monster, and I know it.” She clasped her hands to her face.

  What did she want me to say? No, you’re no monster, Bubbles. You’re a good person. You were just in a tempting situation. It’s not your fault that you wrecked my life and my mother’s. No problem at all. Let’s just forget it ever happened.

  “You know,” she said, “I didn’t even know Viv had a child—had you—until that phone call last week. We hadn’t talked in all those years. I wrote letters and left messages, but she never got back to me. I nearly died when I found out, all these years later, that she’d been pregnant when Justin and I had our…thing. I nearly fell apart and died.”

  It made sense now, what George said about Bubbles going nutty when she got Mom’s call. It wasn’t just Hi Bubbles, can you do me a favor? It was Hey, did you know I was carrying Justin’s baby when you seduced him? No? Well, why don’t you spend a couple of weeks with the proof?

  I was pretty sure that if I opened my mouth, it would be to attack Bubbles with every four-letter word I knew, so I kept my mouth shut. Bubbles apparently saw this as a good sign. She downed the last of her drink and said in a lighter voice, “I’m so glad Viv has found someone new. She deserves it. So don’t be too upset with her now that she’s finally fallen in love again. Won’t you try to forgive her?”

  I could not forgive my mother for towing me to Idaho any sooner than I could forgive Bubbles for splitting up my parents. “Look, Bubbles,” I said, standing up, “it was kind of you to take me in this week, especially with it being the holidays and all. So thank you. I have to go now.” I walked out of the room without a hug or even a goodbye.

  I needed some air.

  After throwing on my jacket (and noticing that George had made my bed before leaving the room), I ran downstairs and out onto the front porch, cursing myself in the bitter blackness for forgetting my mittens. No matter, really. I was broiling—with rage. Rage against Bubbles for betraying Mom, rage against Mom for ruining my life, rage against Starla for messing with Blue, and maybe even a little bit of rage at Blue for deserting me.

  I pulled my hood up over my head and walked to the railing. The moonlit snow twinkled and rippled below me like a silver ocean. God, it was cold out, and so quiet I could almost hear the moon nudging across the sky. After soaking up the silence for a minute, I scooped some snow off the railing and made a ball in my bare hands. I threw it as hard as I could and listened to it thud, not so far away, on the ice. As it crackled and rolled into oblivion, I had a thought that so surprised me, I had to say it out loud: “My poor mother.” Then with numb hands and tingling toes, I went back inside to pack and say good night to George.

  I sat with George in the study for a while, then headed upstairs, but I didn’t go straight to my room. Instead, I stopped at the Tiger Lily door and knocked lightly. “Starla, are you there?” No answer. “Good news, Starla—I’m leaving. Tomorrow. And I’m moving all the way to Idaho. Just thought you’d like to know.”

  I looked over to the Foxglove Room, Blue’s room. I took a step in that direction, and another. Then I turned and went to my own room. Starla would tell him the good news soon enough. I was beat.

  Hey, you’ve got to hide your love away.

  —The Beatles

  It was two in the morning, and I might still have been asleep if my belly weren’t growling so loudly. But I hadn’t eaten since Christmas breakfast, and my body was making demands, so I decided to make a quick kitchen raid. Just something easy from the fridge, I told myself, some cheese and bread or fruit and crackers. If I’d been less ravenous, less weary, or less scattered, I might not have dared to leave my room in the middle of the night. But I was famished, worn out, and pretty much topsy-turvy, so I forgot to be afraid. I simply got up and headed downstairs.

  In the parlor, the only lights still on were the ones strung around the Christmas tree. I stepped over to the tree, where a dusting of pine needles covered the floor as if to signal that the holiday was officially over. And what a holiday it had been. The awful news from Mom. The luminous afternoon with George. Bubbles’ toxic disclosure. There was no doubt about it—I needed chocolate.

  As soon as I turned toward the kitchen hallway, something went careening across the parlor floor. I jumped back. Looked in all directions. Whispered Starla’s name. I couldn’t see or hear anything. Then, squinting at the floor, I found a tree ornament, a round one with tiny bells inside. It must have fallen earlier, and I must have kicked it accidentally. That’s all, just a decoration. Get a grip. I picked up the ornament and headed toward the hallway.

  “What?” came a crackly voice maybe twenty feet in front of me.

  I froze, staring into the black hallway, my temples pounding, not knowing whether to run or confront. Then the hall light went on, and I saw Vincent standing there. He was—I couldn’t believe it—he was in a bathrobe, barefoot, skinny-legged, closing Rita’s bedroom door behind him. He was leaving Rita’s bedroom! I dropped the ornament, which jangled to the floor.

  “Shhh!” he whispered, fiercely flailing his hands. “She’d curl up and die if she knew you knew.”

  “I’m sorry—I was just hungry.”

  “Well, come on then. We might as well go to the kitchen. I suppose I have some explaining to do.”

  “You don’t have to explain a thing,” I whispered, but he was already holding the kitchen door open for me.

  “I know,” he said, following me in, “but I’m going to tell you anyway. It’s better than having you guess.” He took a stool and crossed his exposed legs self-consciously. “Go ahead, grab whatever you want.”

  “Are you sure, Vincent? Because I could just take a handful of crackers and disappear upstairs.”

  “If there’s any of that tiramisu left, give me a helping too.”

  I found the tiramisu in the fridge, took a couple of forks, and decided not to bother with plates. Setting the dessert between us, I sat down and waited for him to take the first bite, which he did with gusto.

  “Did I mess up your world?” I asked, poking my fork into the cream topping.

  “You didn’t even mess up my night. As long as we can keep this a secret.”

  “Don’t worry about that—I’m out of here tomorrow. That’s what my mother was calling about this morning. I’ll be out of your hair, out of everyone’s hair, in a few hours.”

  He put down his fork. “I thought you were planning to be here for a while yet.”

  “Plans change when they depend on my mother.”

  “Damn shame. You’re good for this place. Good for Rita.” He pushed the dish toward me. “Here, eat.”

  I took another forkful.

  “All right,” he said, tightening his bathrobe belt, “let me tell you what you’ve already figured out. Rita and I are…”

  “An item?”

  “Well, yes. But it’s much more than that.”

 
“So you’re in love?”

  “Very much so. For a long time now.”

  “How long?”

  “Since about Rita’s second week here.”

  “Wait, it’s been that long and it’s still a secret? Even from Bubbles?”

  “Bubbles is usually too—how shall I say—distracted to pick up on such subtleties.”

  “You mean drunk?”

  Instead of answering, he got up to rinse the dish off in the sink. “Just as well she’s oblivious,” he said. “She might not approve.” He turned off the faucet and reached for the dishtowel.

  “So what?” I asked, joining him at the sink. “So what if Bubbles disapproves? It’s not like you’re kids and she’s your mother.”

  “No, but she’s our boss, and we’re living under her roof, and we need to keep in good standing. Rita says Bubbles would watch us like a hawk if she even suspected.”

  “She’s right about that,” I said, remembering how Bubbles acted when she saw me in George’s bedroom.

  Vincent finished drying the dish and set it in the drying rack. “Listen, Penny, I’m afraid I’m leaving at the crack of dawn to take Bubbles to an appointment on the mainland.”

  “Oh, right, I’m keeping you up. Sorry.”

  “What I mean is, this is probably goodbye.”

  There it was. Goodbye, that lousy word I was going to be saying a lot soon.

  “So anyway…,” he went on.

  “Can I ask you one question first?” I said.

  “Shoot.”

  “Did you once make Rita a casserole out of tuna fish and potato chips?”

  “Rita told you about that?”

  “Sort of. No details. She didn’t mention your name or anything. Not that I didn’t try to force it out of her.”

  “She was recovering from the flu one winter,” he said. “Finally got her appetite back, and that’s about the only thing I know how to make. That and fried eggs, but she doesn’t like eggs.”

  “Well, she loved the casserole.”

  He smiled broadly. “Truly?”