Crimes of Passion

by Toni Anderson

  Sitting up, I raised my hand to my head and lightly probed the growing knot with my fingertips. “I don’t know…” I mumbled, squinting from the light. Fear slithered in my gut as I peered over the counter to see if Mr. Crocker was still there. He stood to the side, pushed out of the way by a couple of elderly women eager for what had to be the best gossip in Henryetta all week. He eyed me warily, and my heart raced as I wondered how much I said before I passed out.

  Now, I’d had a multitude of visions all my life. I was gifted, or cursed—depending on who you asked—with the sight. My grandma on my father’s side had it. People respected her and considered her the Oracle of Lafayette County, Arkansas.

  But me? I was just a freak.

  Most of the time I paid it no mind. I kept to myself and everyone in my town of Henryetta liked it that way. While my grandma saw helpful information such as droughts and locust infestations, I was cursed with seeing useless and mundane things like Mrs. White’s toilet overflow or the ear infection in Jenny Baxter’s baby. None of that would be so bad if I kept what I saw to myself, but my visions didn’t work that way. Without any volition of my own, whatever I saw just blurted right out of my mouth. Most of the people who knew me thought I was a snoop or a gossip, the only rational explanation to reason away my knowledge. But Momma had another opinion. She declared me demon-possessed.

  But in my twenty-four years, I’d never had a vision about me, so seeing myself dead was quite the shock. I scrunched my eyes, trying to remember what I’d seen. I was leaning back on Momma’s sofa. Blood spread out behind my head, blending with the pink cabbage roses and seeping into the ivory background. My open eyes had a dull, glazed stare. All I could think was how angry Momma was going to be about all that blood on her favorite sofa. I didn’t think there was enough hydrogen peroxide in the entire state of Arkansas to get out that stain.

  “Rose!”

  My eyes flew open. A crowd of people had gathered around, watching to see if I’d pass out again. After I considered Momma’s impending outrage, it was a definite possibility.

  “I’m…I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.” I said between gasps of air. My eyes glanced to Mr. Crocker, who crept backward with a look of annoyance.

  “I’ll tell you what happened,” said Suzanne, who worked at the counter next to mine. “She was processing that license renewal and the next thing I know she mumbled ‘You’re’ and then her head fell forward and whacked the counter.” Suzanne’s favorite obsession was herself so it amazed me that she had caught that much. But then again, she didn’t much like me so my guess was that she welcomed the opportunity to gather more ammunition. She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed in front of the cleavage bursting out of her low-cut blouse. She tilted her head and her mouth lifted into a mocking half-smile.

  “I just felt a little dizzy, that’s all. I’ll be fine.” I tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear with a shaky hand.

  “Oh, no. No way. You might think you’ll be fine, but you just fainted. You sit there for a minute and then you’re goin’ home.” Betty’s voice was as large as her oversized body. Every person in the room heard her proclamation.

  “Seriously?” Suzanne asked, sounding like a toddler on the verge of a fit. “I asked you four times already if I could leave early to get a head start on my weekend and you said no. All Freaky Rose has to do is beat her head on her desk and she gets to go? That hardly seems fair.”

  Betty put her hand on her hip and narrowed her eyes. “Suzanne,” she drew her name out slowly as if she were talking to a small child. “Rose never calls in sick and hardly ever takes a day off. You, on the other hand, call in all the time and have used all your vacation days. But next time you wanna leave early, I’ll let you go. As long as you beat your head on your desk first.”

  “Yeah, well, the only reason she never takes time off is because she doesn’t have a life.” Suzanne eyed me as if I were a cockroach about to scurry across the floor.

  Betty scowled then surveyed the room, taking in the gawkers lined up against the counter. “All right, show’s over, folks. Y’all get back in your seat unless your number’s been called.”

  The crowd broke up, people grumbling and whispering. No sane person balked at Betty’s orders, not even the fuming Suzanne. Her eyes shot flaming arrows of hate toward me as she fluffed her bleached blonde hair.

  Suzanne leaned toward me and hissed. “Don’t think I’m not on to you, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes.”

  I turned toward her in surprise. I had no idea what she meant. But then again, I suspected she didn’t either. My clammy palm rested on Mr. Crocker’s paperwork, reminding me I hadn’t finished processing it. But as my head swiveled around and searched the room, I saw he was gone.

  I couldn’t understand that. Why would he just abandon his personal papers?

  I sat at my desk trying to slow my galloping heart and glanced down at the paperwork. His first name was Daniel and he lived on Highway 82. I tried to memorize the address, knowing that if I wrote it down, Suzanne would catch me and make a big deal about it. I told myself I was crazy, or paranoid. Or both. My demon possession had branched out into new areas.

  I grabbed my purse and headed out. I pushed open the heavy metal door, searching for Mr. Crocker before I entered the humid parking lot. Nothing. I shook my head at my over-active imagination. Seriously, Rose. My visions didn’t always come true and this one seemed too preposterous to consider. The logical explanation to his leaving was that I freaked him out. Just like I freaked out everyone else in Henryetta.

  Nevertheless, when I reached my car, I looked around for signs of someone preparing to jump out and grab me. Where should I go? If I went home, Momma would ask questions. I’d rather give Suzanne’s hammer-toed feet a pedicure than face that. I turned left, toward the edge of town. A visit to my sister sounded like a good idea.

  Violet lived in a new neighborhood on the outskirts of town, still in the city limits but hanging on the edge like it couldn’t make up its mind. She lived in a new house, my older sister’s dream come true. She hated the one we grew up in, the old and worn-out home I still shared with our Momma. It only needed a little tender loving care, but Momma insisted it was a waste of time and money to paint and add fresh curtains. Not to mention that in her eyes, it was greedy. Momma tried to avoid the seven deadly sins like they were Satan himself.

  Violet lived in a cookie-cutter replica of every other home on her street. The houses were only a couple of years old, each one in various pastel shades. Most of the yards were bare of landscaping, with just an occasional tiny tree here and there. But Violet took great pride in her home, and flowerbeds full of red begonias lined the walk from the driveway to the front door and the backyard was bursting with more. Violet loved flowers.

  I parked my old Chevy Nova in the driveway. It was Daddy’s old car. It became mine after he died during my freshman year in college, when Momma made me drop out of school to take care of her. The car was old, but well maintained. Not that it mattered. I didn’t drive it much. I had nowhere to go. Or, more accurately, Momma said I had nowhere to go.

  My knuckles rapped the metal door. I didn’t want to ring the doorbell for fear I’d wake up my niece and nephew from their naps. The door swung open, and the shock of my unexpected visit was written on Violet’s face.

  “Rose! What on earth are you doing here at this time of day?” She gripped the edge of the door with one hand and held a dishtowel in the other. She looked like one of those greeting cards of women from the fifties, only those were spoofs and Violet was the real thing.

  Not that I was making fun of her. Violet was everything I longed to be. Pretty. Married. A mother. Free.

  “I’m sorry to barge in on you, Violet,” I said with a sigh, “but I wasn’t sure where else to go.”

  Violet’s eyes widened with concern and she moved out of the entrance. “Of course. Come on in.” She led the way to the small kitchen where the mouth-watering smell of chocolate chip cookies g
reeted me. A mixing bowl sat on her tiny kitchen island, along with a cooling rack covered in a fresh batch of cookies.

  I perched on a bar stool in front of the island and snatched a cookie so fresh that it folded over as I lifted it from the rack.

  “Want some sweet tea?”

  “Mmmhmm.” I mumbled through a mouth full of cookie.

  Violet poured us both a glass and sat on a stool. She sipped her tea as she watched me over the top of her cup, waiting. I loved that about Violet. While Momma was always quick to snap and drag every piece of information out of me, Violet was content to wait.

  I set my tea on the counter, careful not to let the sweat-covered glass slip through my fingers.

  “Violet, do you remember me ever having visions of anything bad?”

  Violet scrunched her nose. “Bad? You mean like the time you told Miss Fannie her husband was sleeping with her best friend?”

  “Well….”

  “Or the time you told Bud Fenton his business partner was cheating on the books?”

  “No.…”

  “Or….” Her eyes widened in terror, “when you told Momma that Ima Jean was going to win first place in the pie contest at the Fenton County Fair?” Violet shook her head at the memory. Then she nodded, raising her eyebrows. “That was a bad one.”

  I shuddered. Up until that year, Momma had always won the pie contest at the Fenton County Fair. She never forgave me for it. “No,” I hesitated and sipped my tea. “Worse.”

  Violet appeared stumped as she tried to reason what could be worse than taking away Momma’s blue ribbon. She waited.

  I cleared my throat. “Um, today I saw a vision about me.” I paused, letting the full weight of it settle in the room.

  “You? But that’s impossible. You’ve never seen yourself in a vision before.” Violet cocked her head. “Have you?”

  I pursed my lips and shook my head. “No, I’m sure I saw someone else’s vision. It just happened to be about me.”

  Violet grabbed a cookie and took a nibble. “Who was it? What did you see?”

  For some reason, I didn’t think I should tell her. The seriousness of the vision, and the fact I knew the name of the man who killed me scared the bejiggers out me. To speak it would make it real. To remain silent left it in the realm of the nebulous otherworld. I shrugged. “Just a customer at the DMV. Nothing special.”

  I worried Violet would push harder, but mentioning the DMV jogged her memory. “That reminds me. What are you doing here eating my cookies when you’re supposed to be at work?”

  I shrugged again then grabbed another cookie. “Dunno, it was a slow day.”

  Violet squinted her disbelief. “On a Friday? At the end of the month?”

  Henryetta was a small town, and word was bound to get out about Freaky Rose fainting at the DMV. Violet would be upset if she heard it from someone else. “Well, I don’t know what happened. I was sitting there at my desk, trying to work and suddenly I just fainted and whacked my head on the counter.”

  Violet leaned forward and examined my forehead. “Oh, I see it. Do you want some ice for that?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Why did you faint? You’ve never fainted before.”

  “No, but I was really cold.”

  “Do people faint from cold? I can see hot….” Violet bit her lip and looked out her kitchen window as she considered it.

  “I dunno, Violet. I just fainted.” I regretted the harshness of my words. “I’m sorry, Vi. I’m tired.”

  Violet’s eyes got as big as the hubcaps on her husband Mike’s four-wheel drive pickup truck. “You don’t think you’re pregnant, do you?”

  Her question shocked me more than seeing my own lifeless body in my vision. “Good heavens, no. NO!” To be pregnant meant I had to… with a man. Fire flooded my face and I placed my glass against my cheek. “How could you ask such a thing, Violet Mae Beauregard?”

  “Well…” Violet said slowly and searched for the right words.

  “Do you think so little of me? How could I be pregnant? You know I’ve never…ever…”

  Violet plastered an indignant look on her face and lifted her chin in defiance. “Well, maybe you should. Have you ever considered that, Rose? It’s the twenty-first century, for heaven’s sake. People have sex.”

  I shrank away from her in horror. “How can you say such a thing? Momma would have a conniption.”

  “And maybe that’s why you should, Rose. Momma needs a few conniptions. You need to stand up to her. You’re fritterin’ your life away. You’re gonna regret it one day, mark my words.”

  We sat in silence while I digested Violet’s pronouncement. There was no denying I’d thought everything Violet just said, but they were just thoughts. Ugly and hideous thoughts. I couldn’t act on them.

  “Momma needs me, Violet. You know that. I’m all she’s got left.”

  “And why is that, Rose?”

  I stared at her like she’d asked me to explain how to assemble a nuclear bomb.

  “I’ll tell you why. She’s an abusive old woman who’s run everyone else away. Why, even poor Daddy had to die to escape from her.”

  “Violet Mae!”

  Violet squirmed in her seat and leaned closer, lowering her voice. “You know it’s true, Rose. Everyone says so. The question is why do you put up with it? You’re a grown woman.”

  I would have loved to stand up to Momma. I couldn’t do a blessed thing right in that woman’s eyes, but somehow, every time I tried, I froze up like the power lines in a raging ice storm. I looked down at my glass of tea, running my finger around the rim. “It’s not that easy.”

  “Well, of course it won’t be easy. You’ve let her ramrod you for twenty-four years. But Rose, it’s time. You can’t let her control you for the rest of your life.”

  I sighed, a deep and heavy sigh. If only sighs could carry all my troubles away. But after a big exhale, they were still there, as large as ever. “I know. But not today, okay? Can I just hang out with you and the babies for a while? I can’t go home and deal with her right now.”

  Violet reached over and gave my shoulder a big squeeze. “Of course! Ashley will be so happy to see you and you won’t believe little Mikey. He’s almost walking.” Violet beamed with pride.

  I envied Violet. Always the pretty one, she was blessed with blonde hair and blue eyes while I inherited boring brown hair and murky hazel eyes. Violet had experienced so much more of life even though she was only two years older. She married her high school sweetheart right after graduation and started having babies several years later. She and Mike, her husband, seemed happy. I couldn’t help but wonder if that was because Violet had very little to do with Momma.

  A little later, four-year-old Ashley woke up from her nap. We played tea party until thirteen-month-old Mikey got up and showed me his tottery walk. I glanced up at the clock and realized it was after five.

  “Oh, I have to go,” I said.

  “Do you have to, Aunt Rose?” Ashley asked, her big blue eyes begging in an earnest plea. She looked so much like a younger Violet that my breath caught in my throat.

  “I’m sorry Ashley, but I do. Grandma needs me.”

  Violet made an ugly face, but to her credit, she didn’t say a word. I gave her a big hug after I picked up my purse. “Tell Mike I said hey.”

  I left her house and cute little neighborhood, working my way past the DMV and to the older part of town where Momma and I lived. Traffic wasn’t bad in our town of eleven thousand, but a little after five o’clock on a Friday and a holiday weekend to boot, I had to stop at the lights longer than usual.

  When I pulled onto our street of older bungalows, I knew I was late. The rustle of curtains in the front window as I parked in the gravel driveway confirmed it. Momma had been watching for me.

  The over-grown landscape encroached on the broken concrete sidewalk. I had to sidestep the bushes to walk to the side of the house. Daddy had taken great pride in his house and woul
d be upset to see the state of things. He’d always kept the hedges neatly trimmed, the yard meticulously cut, and a multitude of flowers blooming along the edge of the walk. Daddy had loved his flowers. I often wondered if that was how Violet and I had gotten our names. Momma would never say. I did the best I could with the yard, but it was a big lot and Momma refused to hire anyone to help maintain it. I was lucky to get the lawn mowed and tend to my rose garden in the back.

  I walked in the side door and set my purse on the kitchen table. The sounds of the television filtered in from the living room. I knew Momma would be watching the national news on the Shreveport channels we used to get with our giant antenna outside. Now the news came through a little black box that sat on top of the TV. Momma resisted the box and pronounced it a government attempt to spy on us, but the alternative meant no television since Momma refused to get cable. Momma declared cable full of pornography, though what I’d seen at Violet and Mike’s house looked perfectly respectable. Even if I could have convinced her otherwise, she would never have stood for paying to watch television.

  “Hello, Momma. Did you have a good day?”

  I heard her harrumph. “I most certainly did not. Ya left the air conditioning on. It cooled off so I had to go through the entire house and open all them winders.”

  “I’m sorry, Momma. They said it might rain so I worried you would have to close the windows if I left them open.”

  “I ain’t made of money, Rose Anne.”

  “Yes, Momma.” I let the detail that I paid the electric bill slide right on by.

  I opened the refrigerator and pulled out the meatloaf I’d made in the morning before work. I would’ve asked Momma to put it in the oven so it would be ready when I came home, but she claimed she couldn’t bend over anymore. She was only sixty-two years old, but you couldn’t tell by the way she behaved. Our eighty-two year old neighbor, Mildred, often acted younger than Momma did.