by Anna Roberts
“I need your help.”
He shifted his weight and narrowed an eye. “Is it burying those jars again?”
“They’re witchballs,” said Gloria, prodding him through the living room with a pointed finger in the small of his back. “They keep things away.”
“No shit,” said Gabe. “If I had a yard full of broken glass, rusty nails and piss, I’m pretty sure people would leave me alone, too.”
Gloria snorted. “Who said anything about people?”
The shovel was next to the kitchen door and Blue winced to see it there. Not only had it been used to bury jars full of pee, but Gabe had also used it to scrape up the sloppy bits of deer from under the porch. “Well,” he said, picking it up. “They’re not working. Your porch is covered in Jesus crap again. This time from those nice folks yelling about how it’s Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.”
“Shows how much they know,” said Gloria. “It was never Adam and Eve. If anything it was Eve and Adam. She came first - had to. The genes don’t lie.” She found the gardening gloves down by the side of the microwave. “We’re the blueprint for the human species,” she said, waving a finger between herself and Blue. “You’re the busted mutants, you Y-chromosome types.”
Gabe gave her a shit-eating grin. “Whatever, Gloria. Didn’t your momma ever tell you not to call a man a mutant when you want him to do your yard work?”
She slapped him on the arm with the gloves and handed them to him. “Go, man,” she said. “Go till the earth from whence you came. And work up an appetite; I’m making spaghetti for dinner.”
He went out, swinging the shovel by his side. Blue set about helping Gloria with dinner, dicing onions, crushing garlic cloves, but every time she passed the kitchen window she knew she was lingering too long there. Gloria knew, of course. She had to, which was probably why she sent Blue out to pick oregano.
When she stepped out, Gabe was leaning on the shovel, wiping his brow with the back of his arm. The air was soft and suffocating, like a giant, heated overstuffed pillow. “Hey,” he said, with a breathlessness that only reminded Blue of the way he spoke in bed. Everything about him made her think of sex.
The words just popped out of her mouth; “I’m not pregnant.” She figured the opposite would be much harder to say.
He looked...surprised. “Oh. Well, that’s good, right?”
“Very,” she said.
He still looked kind of puzzled and she couldn’t quite figure out why. Wasn’t that what he’d wanted to talk to her about? Unless of course he wanted to break up with her, or he was seeing someone else on the side. There was a weird pause between them and Blue scrambled to fill it with something, anything.
“Those holy rollers,” she said. “I don’t think they’re gonna stop coming.”
“Probably not, no.”
“There was one here yesterday,” said Blue. “And the day before. Sooner or later it’s going to start to draw attention.”
He frowned. “Okay. What’s your point?”
“Maybe it would be better to get Gloria checked out,” she said. “By a doctor. Just to confirm that this is nothing...” God, the word sounded ridiculous. “...nothing supernatural. If we can explain that there’s no miracle then maybe these people will stop bugging us.”
Gabe laughed. “You’re adorable.”
“I am?”
He leaned over and stole a quick kiss. “Blue, do you seriously think science is ever going to stop people believing in whatever the hell they want? Half of these crackpots probably don’t even believe in evolution.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Where are you at with it? Mr. Hypocrite. Gloria said you were hard-headed like that, but you still don’t take your boat out on full moons, do you?”
He grinned. “Come on. You think I’m gonna dismiss a thing that gives me a sweet three days off every month? I may not be superstitious, but I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth.”
“You’re full of shit,” said Blue. “I’ve seen that bathtub shrine outside your house.”
The screen door creaked and Gloria’s voice floated out on the sticky breeze. “Girl, you growing that oregano from seed or what?”
“I gotta go,” said Blue. Gabe nodded and picked up the shovel again.
When Blue got back to the kitchen, Gloria was up to her wrists in a bowl of ground beef and raw egg, making meatballs. “You two seem to have a lot to talk about lately,” she said.
Blue turned away so Gloria wouldn’t see her blush, although she was reasonably sure Gloria knew something was going on. Even at her craziest, Gloria still seemed to know more than most people, especially where undercurrents were concerned. “Oh, you know,” Blue said, rinsing the oregano and patting it dry with a paper towel. “Just stuff. You want this chopped?”
“Torn. Chopping will bruise it. What sort of stuff?”
“I don’t know,” said Blue. “Who we are, where we’ve been.” She plucked the leaves from the stem; he loves me, he loves me not. “He always said you...took him in.”
Gloria nodded over her bowl. “I take in a lot of strays,” she said. “Always have done.”
“Is...is that me? I mean, am I one of them?”
Gloria came over to the sink, holding her meat-covered hands gingerly in front of her. Blue ran the tap for her and squirted a couple of pumps of hand soap. “I don’t know,” said Gloria. “You feel like a stray?”
“I always thought of myself as more of an orphan.”
“Well,” said Gloria. “I take in those, too. Your dad not around?”
“No. I never knew him. I’m like Gabe – I don’t even know if he’s alive. All my mom ever said was that he was a white deadbeat who gave me nothing but a pair of blue eyes.”
Gloria dumped the oregano into the bowl, looked down at it and sighed. “Shit,” she said. “I always do this. Always wash my hands before I’m properly done with the meat.” She plunged her hands back into the ground beef. “There are a lot of lousy fathers in this world,” she said. “A lot of lousy mothers, too. Some states you need a license to own a pet but all you need to make a person is two sets of sweaty genitals. Squeeze them out and then you can fuck ‘em up as much as you like, short of actually killing them. Never seemed fair to me.”
“It’s not,” said Blue, and decided to ask anyway. “Did you ever...have any? Of your own?”
Gloria frowned into the meat. “I forgot the salt,” she said, and that was that.
*
The light fitting was swinging again.
It seemed to do it most often at night, and when Blue stood near the door of the cellar. The movement of the light on the walls still made her queasy, but she was determined to figure out what was making it move like that.
She bounced tentatively on the floorboards, careful not to wake Gloria, who had gone upstairs for an early night. Now that Blue thought about it, the light fitting was especially twitchy whenever Gloria was sleeping.
Gabe came out and found her bouncing on the balls of her feet, staring up at the light like a maniac. “What are you doing?” he said.
“Looking for ghosts,” said Blue, not taking her eye off the ceiling.
“Oh, well. That’s a relief. For a moment there I thought you were going nuts.”
“Gabe, have you seen this? The thing swings around in circles every time I step into the hallway here.”
He snuffled a soft laugh into the back of her hair and wound his arms around her waist. “I told you,” he said. “I only believe in things I can see. And touch.” His hand snaked up under her t-shirt, his fingertips nudging against the underwire of her bra.
“But you’re seeing this,” said Blue. “Why do you think it’s doing that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it has delusions of disco grandeur,” said Gabe, pulling her hips in against him. “Thinks it’s a strobe or something. Now turn around and kiss me already. I’ve been dying to get my hands on you all night.”<
br />
His mouth tasted of garlic, but it didn’t matter, because so did hers. He pushed and she almost stumbled, giggling, and clumsily folded her legs down until her butt landed on the stairs. As soon as he was on top of her she wanted him inside her again, and she was half-appalled at how eager she was to make the same stupid mistake all over again. Her body didn’t know or care. It just wanted. The fact that she could hear Gloria snoring softly from upstairs didn’t matter; if anything it made her need worse.
Gabe’s fingers were inside her bra, pushing the cups up over her nipples beneath her t-shirt. The light swung crazily above them but Blue closed her eyes against it, wanting to be completely absorbed in Gabe’s kiss. She greedily pressed her palm against the front of his jeans, wondering what he’d do if she took it out and blew him right here on the stairs. In an instant she pictured the whole thing – how his surprise and amusement would give way to lust before she’d even licked the first swipe up the length of his dick. How he’d come fast and hard and sweet, his fingers crammed in his mouth to cover his moans.
“Gimme,” she whispered, fumbling with his fly buttons.
“Upstairs.”
“No. Here. Now.” She opened her eyes, knowing that the light was still dancing its mad fandango above her; she could see it flicker even through her closed eyes. It lent a sleazy, fun-house quality to Gabe’s smile as he rose to her dare and opened his jeans for her.
When he leaned over to kiss her again she had him in her hand, warm and straight and smooth. She squeezed him gently, like a prize, making him catch his breath in a sharp hiss. “You love it, don’t you?” he said, with a kind of wonder. “You always want to touch me.”
It was getting harder and harder not to say it. She smothered the words in a kiss and then everything went dark. A tiny ‘fwink’ of breaking filament and then it was black.
“What the...”
Gabe laughed. “I think you made the ghost jealous.”
He was still hard in her hand, but she could hear the light fitting still moving above them. There was an instant where thrill and desire met, but the darkness brought anxiety, quickly dissipating the simple warmth between them.
There was a knock on the door.
They both jumped halfway out of their skins. Then someone spoke.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” It was a breaking voice, one that was still getting the hang of its own lower registers. Blue’s half-fried brain scrambled for recognition for three seconds or more before she realized who it was. Gabe was lost in silent giggles as he quickly stuffed himself back into his jeans.
“Just a minute,” said Blue. She could feel her heart beating frantically as she adjusted her bra. Swatting Gabe into the living room, she turned on the porch light and opened the door.
Axl was a lot drier than the last time she had seen him, but the boy still looked like someone had poured cold water on his head. He held himself in the habitual stoop of a child who had suddenly shot up to six foot three and had no idea of why he kept banging his head on things. He looked as though he had been crying.
“Axl?” said Blue. “Where you at? What’s going on?”
He sniffed hard. “Can I stay here?” he said.
“Let’s just take this one thing at a time, shall we?” said Blue, and ushered him in.
Gabe was in the kitchen, still looking a little flushed and sheepish. He frowned when he saw Axl. “Hey,” he said. “Everything okay?”
Axl shook his head and burst into tears.
“Oh,” said Blue, who had no idea what to say to teenagers, let alone male ones who cried at her. “Don’t cry. Come on, sit down. What’s going on? What happened?”
He had both hands over his face, and when he spoke it came out in such a teary, high pitched whine that it was unintelligible. “My mom,” he said, for a second time.
“Is she okay?” asked Gabe.
Axl snorted angrily and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “No,” he said. “She’s fucking evil.”
“Ahh,” said Gabe, a sound somewhere between relief and frustration. He tore a handful of paper towels from the roll and handed them to Axl. “So what did you do?”
Axl glared at him. “Why do you assume I did something?”
“Uh, because you’re fifteen? And when I was fifteen all I wanted to do was get drunk, smoke up and chase pussy.”
“Nice,” said Blue.
Axl blew his nose noisily on the paper towel. “I didn’t do anything,” he said. “I’m even up to date with my homework, but she says it’s bullshit and locks me in my room.”
“Are you sure?” said Blue. “I don’t believe your mother would do a thing like that.”
The boy gave her a look of pure teenage contempt. “Oh yeah? You don’t know her like I do. Do you know what I heard her talking about?” A brief, dramatic pause. “Eli Keane. That guy who murdered - ”
“ - he did not murder that girl up in Miami,” said Gabe, who had gone from mildly amused to looking like a thundercloud in a matter of seconds. He crossed the kitchen in one step, his knuckles coming down hard on the table. “Who’s been saying that? Because that’s a lie.”
Axl stared him down. “And what about him being my dad? Is that a lie, too?”
Gabe’s head drooped between his shoulders as he sighed. “Oh,” he said. “No. That part’s probably true.”
Oh, this was difficult. When she was a teenager Blue had always thought that adults were all ‘do as I say, not do as I do,’ and it brought her no comfort to discover that she had been right on the money.
“She said I’m like him,” said Axl. “I take after him. That’s why she’s locking me up, so I can’t murder anyone.”
“I told you,” said Gabe. “He didn’t murder anyone. They let him go.”
“Bullshit. They let murderers go all the time. And she thinks he did it. She must do, because she’s treating me like a goddamn leper. Like, I found this old firetruck I used to play with when I was a kid, right? So I took it to Caleb, thinking he might like it, and she comes by and picks him up like I’m some kind of vampire.” He sniffed noisily. “My own fucking brother. Like I would ever hurt a baby.”
Gabe sighed again, combing his hair back from his forehead with his fingers. “Okay,” he said. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for this.”
“There is; my mom’s gone nuts and thinks I’m a psycho.”
“I think we should call her,” said Blue. “Just to let her know you’re safe.”
“I’ll do it,” said Gabe. “You find me a lightbulb. I don’t know where Gloria keeps the spares these days.”
Blue couldn’t find one, so they cannibalized one from a table lamp. While Gabe spoke in a low, confidential voice to Stacy – “...well, you know, it’s the age...yeah, I know what he’s going through...” – she dug out some blankets and made up a bed on the couch for Axl. His big boy feet hung over the end but it didn’t seem to bother him. When she said goodnight he just grunted, his knees drawn up and his face blue-white in the glow of his phone.
“He didn’t see me either,” said Gabe, when he sneaked up into Blue’s room. “Still texting.”
“Is Stacy okay?”
“She’s fine,” said Gabe, carefully closing the bedroom door. When he turned back to face her, he wasn’t smiling. Which was weird. Usually when they were alone in a room with a bed in it he never stopped.
“So,” he said, his back to the door. “Did Gloria read you the riot act about boys?”
Blue shook her head. “She told me to keep my underpants on at night,” she said. “But I don’t know if she was talking about boys.” Something unseen had shifted between them and she knew she should ask, but she had gone all day wanting him and now he was here. Impossible not to lead a man around by his dick when the opportunity was right there in front of you.
She peeled off her t-shirt, unhooked her bra. His eyes turned soft and dark and sexy at the sight of her breasts, and she got up and put her arms around him.
To her intense relief his kiss was as hungry as it had been when they were on the stairs. “Guess what?” she whispered in his ear.
“What?”
“Those jars you buried earlier?” He was sucking on her nipples now, the warm, wet pull of his mouth tugging little threads of pleasure all through her body. “At least one of those was mine.”
The gentle suction of his mouth sputtered out in a laugh. “You did it?”
“I was thinking of you. I thought you might get a kick out of it.”
He shook his head, but she could feel he was as hard as he’d ever been. “That’s...just...wow. That’s just wrong. That should not turn me on.”
“But it does.”
He squeezed her breasts in both hands and kissed her deep and rough. “Jesus, Blue – what am I going to do with you?”
“Everything?”
“Didn’t you just get your period?”
“It’s okay; I’m a slow starter. There won’t be much blood yet.” She caught hold of his belt and led him towards the bed. He had that hesitant, serious look on his face again, the one he had no business having when they had a whole night in front of them. She stepped out of her shorts and underpants and leaned back, letting her knees fall open to show him everything. He looked at her with such tender, scorching heat that it was almost as good as being touched. Almost.
“Come on, Blue,” he said, plucking a couple of foil wrapped condoms from the back pocket of his jeans. “Play nice.”
“Why?” The jeans were off. He was naked and beautiful and her hands itched to be all over him. “Now that I know you like nasty so much better.”
14
She knew she was dreaming. Again.
Smell of earth, old cellars, a woman’s hair, matted with blood. Her hand was turned palm up and stopped just beyond the wrist.
Charlie is my darling, my darling, my darling,
Charlie is my darling, the young chevalier.
Cramp. Cracking, bones aching and bending in ways bones were never ever meant to...God, no. Stop. What is this?
Little pig, little pig, let me come in.
There was a voice, and it sang, and it spoke, but it was more like a breeze than a voice. A hot, sick-smelling breeze like the one that had carried the smell of the deer to her nostrils, dank with blood and rot. A brown, sticky, dirty kind of voice, like if the stink in the Superdome could talk.
