Occult Suspense for Mothers Boxset: The Nostalgia Effect by EJ Valson and Mother's by Michelle Read (2 ebooks for one price)

by EJ Valson

  I buttered my pancakes — mmmm, anything that can be buttered is a true weakness for me – and devoured them in minutes. I must have been much hungrier that I thought. Of course, I had been up for several hours already.

  “These are delicious,” John uttered between bites. “Aren’t they, Vy?”

  “Mmm-hmmm,” she managed. Her mouth was full and she was slowly morphing into an alert human being. A few bites later, she had brushed the hair out of her face and was swinging her feet under the table.

  “So how long have you been up?” John continued. “Looks like you’re already ready to go.”

  “Oh… a while. And I am. All we need to do is get that grubby monster ready for her first day of school photo ops and load up the car.” As I answered him, I felt unmistakably proud of how ahead of schedule we were, and was perfectly sure that I could do it right every morning.

  After everyone was chocked full of fluffy pancakes and chocolate milk, I rose from the table and cleared the dishes. John was behind me in a moment, cradling my waist in his hand as he reached around me, setting his empty glass in the sink basin.

  “I’ll go get her dressed if you want to clean up down here,” he offered. “Finish your coffee and get mentally prepared for all those kids you’ll be dealing with today.”

  I had nearly forgotten that not only was this a momentous day for Violet, it was my first day at my new job as well. I think I kept this thought hidden in the recesses of my mind because I feared it the most. I quickly pushed the anticipation and apprehension to the back of my brain— knowing that I could only process so many emotions at one time.

  Violet and John came racing down the stairs backwards in only a few minutes, laughing as they tripped over each other. John was holding a hairbrush and a little pink clip in his mouth like a dog as he descended. There was only one thing in this world that John was not any good at – and refused to do – and that was fixing hair. Violet won the staircase race and immediately planted herself in front of me for inspection. Clothes matched, shoelaces were double knotted.

  “Looks good,” I remarked.

  I pretended not to notice the mop of hair on her head, knowing that if I drew attention to it, she would beg me not to fix it. John tossed me the brush and clip without her noticing and spun her around for a pep talk. I tugged and pulled as gently as I could while he distracted her with questions about her big day.

  Done.

  And no complaints?

  Well, this part of the morning routine would probably not be so easy every time. Thank goodness for John today.

  We each grabbed a bag of school supplies on our way out the door, and we were off. I was so thankful that John had taken off today. He said that he wanted to be “a part of it all” for the big day and had used a whole day’s vacation at work. I wondered what he would do with the rest of his day after he dropped us off at the school, but I didn’t ask. I was afraid that if he told me, I would come up with a million other things he could be doing with his free time, and I’m not one to leave him with a Honey-Do list on his day off.

  As we rounded the corner, and the little school came into view, I felt my insides begin to shudder. It wasn’t until John climbed out of the passenger seat, though, fumbling with the camera that I knew the tears could not be stopped.

  As he moved around the front of the car, asking me where I wanted the very first picture taken, I lost it. I stepped out onto the grass, one hand clutching school supplies, the other trembling. I pointed silently to the flagpole, and when I watched Violet climb the shallow steps there and strike a pose, I allowed myself to blink. When I did, giant tears flowed from behind my giant sunglasses. I stood there, holding grocery sacks full of markers and glue, with my shoulders rocking heavily as I cried. And cried. And cried.

  By the time John had gotten a decent picture, one where Violet wasn’t pretending to be a spider or a cat, I had run out of tears and was drying my eyes with my shirt.

  “Alright, Mom. You too.”

  John motioned for me to join her and was taking the bags from me. I took the stairs two at a time and reached Violet and the flagpole in four strides. John snapped the picture and smiled. I only thought I had run out of tears; a new well emerged and a fresh fountain began flowing. John embraced me firmly when I got back to the car to finish unloading.

  “I love you,” he whispered while Violet tugged impatiently on both of our shirts.

  “Let’s go. Let’s go!” she was saying.

  I kissed my husband and walked hand in hand with my daughter to the front door. Instinctively, we both turned to wave and blow kisses the moment we reached the door handle. John had stepped up onto the sidewalk only a few yards away and was snapping another picture, waving furiously and smiling.

  More tears leaked out from under my dark glasses, and I hoped that John didn’t notice, though he probably did. He was always quick to notice of each of my emotions, almost as if they were his own. He was abnormally sensitive that way. I tried to hide behind a smile anyway as we turned to go inside.

  Up to now, the moments of the last several days before school had crept by so slowly that I’d had time to stop and savor each one. Time to think through each minute, to analyze every one of Violet’s expressions, to squeeze everything I could out of each passing second. The moment we walked through the school door, however, time suddenly seemed like a luxury – a privilege.

  The first word that came to mind was swarm.

  There were teachers, mothers, children . . . everywhere. Half of them looked confused and all of them looked like they were in a hurry. Teachers and assistants were directing traffic and pulling parents off of their children to make room for more people. There was a dull roar throughout the whole place, and my observant nature took in several things at once.

  I smiled at the mother that was licking her thumb and giving her son a spit bath before sending him in to class. I ached for the mothers that were lingering at the doorways, saddened because they had to leave for work, hoping for just a few more minutes with their babies. I cringed a little at the mother who was panicking because she had left her child’s lunch pail at home. She was quite obviously a scatter-brained woman, and she reminded me a little of myself.

  Violet and I squeezed past the line of mothers and grandmothers just inside the front door. They were all waiting to sign themselves in so that they could walk their children to class. Several of them shot me dirty looks as we cut to the front of the line. I smiled sheepishly and flashed my I.D. badge at the woman sitting behind the sign-in table. She waved us on cheerfully.

  I found my way through the horde of people – eventually – and made it to Violet’s classroom. She tugged impatiently on my hand and danced around in place as we waited to enter. I kneeled down beside her and turned her body to face me.

  “Are you excited?” I asked, hoping she would tell me no and I could just take her home.

  “Yes!” she shrieked. “I love Mrs. Autry! She’s so nice!”

  Several things were running through my head as I watched her look around at all the passing people, taking in her new surroundings eagerly. Of course she was nice when you met her, honey. It was Meet the Teacher Night. She was on her best behavior. What if she’s not as nice today? What if she’s impatient with you when she shouldn’t be? What if you don’t like her tomorrow? I could take you home right now if you asked me to and we could watch cartoons all day...

  As I thoughtfully considered home-schooling just so I wouldn’t have to be away from her, Violet interrupted me.

  “Can I go in now, Mommy?”

  I wanted to say no, but hugged her silently instead. When I pulled back out of the embrace, I cupped her tiny face in my hands.

  “I’ll see you after school,” I muttered, and kissed her gingerly on the nose.

  She wiped it off – or rubbed it in, the way I looked at it – and walked through the crowded doorway. I squeezed my arm in after her and set the grocery sacks down on the table labeled “School Supp
lies” that was just inside the door frame.

  When I turned to find Charlotte and report for duty, knowing that a clean getaway would be less traumatic for both of us than lingering at the door, I felt something catch my pant leg. I turned around and stooped down to Violet’s level, her features brimming with some new emotion I had never seen there before. I could have sworn I saw her bottom lip quiver a little, and there was a look in her searching eyes that I recognized easily. It was uncertainty – mixed with fear. The same thing I had been feeling for days was now sprawled across my child’s vulnerable face.

  She had just realized, in that five-year-old brain of hers, that I was leaving her here to fend for herself. Somehow, she had not yet worked out in her mind the part where Mommy doesn’t stay in class with her.

  She felt abandoned. And I felt like I was abandoning her.

  I pulled her up to my hip and squeezed her as tightly as I could without breaking her, reaching my hand around her back to wipe my eyes so she wouldn’t see me crying. Cut the cord, I was thinking, and I set her down as gently as if she were made of crystal.

  I pecked her on the forehead and promised again, “I’ll see you after school. And you can tell me all about your day.” With a wink and another quick embrace, I nudged her back into the room and backed away from the door.

  It was only then that I actually noticed the other children filing in behind her. These children were in the wrong place. They were huge! They had to be at least seven or eight, but definitely not five. These were big kids, tall and more mature-looking than Violet. I wiped at my eyes again. Did they go to the wrong class? Surely these weren’t kindergarteners? Surely Violet wasn’t this big. I stepped closer and peeked into the classroom. Sure enough, there sat Violet at a square table, next to three children that were just about the same size as her.

  No. That can’t be right, I thought. She’s just a baby.

  I realized I had stopped breathing and sucked in a small breath.

  My baby.

  “She’s distracted now, leave while you can.”

  I jumped at the voice, the sound of it was so near that I could feel breath on my ear. I was also startled because a hand was suddenly bearing down on my shoulder. I turned my head. It was Charlotte, centimeters from my face and leaning over my shoulder to sneak a peek at Violet. Our eyes met and she was grinning widely—proudly.

  “She’ll be great. You’ve raised her perfectly so far; she’s a pretty well-rounded little tyke,” she soothed.

  “Yeah.” I sunk back away from the door and sighed.

  “She won’t have any trouble adjusting or making friends, that’s for sure. The little socialite.” I smiled at her use of John’s word for Violet— socialite. Very true.

  “All right boss,” I joked, hugging my friend and wishing I could cry on her shoulder. “I’m ready to work.”

  “Fine, employee,” she teased in return. “Follow me.”

  We walked arm in arm down the hallway, Charlotte patting my hand.

  SEVEN

  In the room adjoining her office, Charlotte showed me how to clock in, where my mailbox was, and fastened a walkie talkie to my waist. She handed me a set of keys and warned me to guard them with my life.

  We walked and talked for nearly an hour as she explained which key opened which door and made a second pot of coffee in the lounge. She talked for several minutes about her own children, one of whom went to school here. Halfway through my first cup of mediocre coffee, just when I was beginning to wonder what Violet was up to, my radio chimed in.

  “Vomit in the first grade wing,” it pealed.

  I swallowed. Was this going to be my first task? Puke duty? Ugh. What a way to start the day. I shuddered at the thought of cleaning up after someone else’s kid, and Charlotte took notice of my sallow color.

  “That’s the janitor’s job,” she laughed, very clearly amused at my reaction.

  The phrases eeew and Oh thank goodness registered simultaneously, and I went back to my coffee. Charlotte checked her watch and rose to her feet briskly.

  “Duty calls,” she announced unexpectedly, obviously realizing that she had somewhere else to be. “Just wait here, or wander the halls if you like, until you get something to do. It’s a free-for-all today so just keep an ear out for your walkie talkie. If you have any orders, they will be coming from me this morning.” She tossed her cup into the trash. “If anyone else tries to talk you into doing anything, just help them if you feel like it.”

  “Easy enough,” I remarked.

  “Yes, but not every day will be this easy, so enjoy it while you can.” And with that, she slid out of the room. When she disappeared, the quiet nearly enveloped me.

  I was absolutely sure that I wouldn’t be able to sit still, it didn’t feel right to be lounging in the big comfy chair I’d discovered, sipping coffee while everyone else was so very busy. I needed to be doing something. So I refilled my tiny little cup and went for a walk. My feet apparently knew where I was headed long before I had consciously made the decision, taking me in the direction of Mrs. Autry’s kindergarten room.

  I decided in advance to simply glance in Violet’s room quickly and then keep moving. As I neared her class, I picked up my pace to a brisk walk and turned my head casually.

  Oops.

  I had walked too quickly and missed her completely. No one seemed to have noticed me passing by the first time, so I spun on my heel and walked in the other direction, much more slowly this time.

  There were children buzzing about everywhere in the room. It appeared that they were all doing something different. I spotted Violet quickly at a table labeled Manipulatives.

  I studied her expression carefully—she was concentrating very hard on something. I watched her fidgeting with a strange looking puzzle. As I scrutinized her expression, her face changed. She was frustrated. She worked a little longer and her features eventually morphed again . . . the corners of her mouth turning up in a grin. Her eyebrows raised slightly, like she had surprised herself—she was proud of herself. How sweet!

  My eyes searched for the person who would congratulate her, someone who would clap their hands and let her know what a great job she had done. But no one was paying attention to her. The other children at her table were busy making their own discoveries and Mrs. Autry was clear across the room.

  I wanted to go in and let her know that I’d seen her hard work and was proud of her, but after I had considered it for only a moment, she had put down her masterpiece and gone on to something else.

  Straightening my shirt and swallowing hard, I decided to keep moving. I couldn’t get used to staring at her all day anyway, most of the time I would be busy. I hoped I would anyway; I couldn’t handle being the peering parent outside the door trying to be invisible all day. I needed to be working, but since that wasn’t an option right now, I resolved to continue my walk.

  I wasn’t really sure where to go next. I really wanted to stand there and watch her all day, and I wondered how long it would be before I was given something constructive to do. I felt useless wandering the halls.

  I could be getting so much done around the house right now, I thought. Rather than roaming around aimlessly feeling like I’m in the way.

  I trudged up and down the halls for a full thirty minutes alone, appreciating the beauty and charm of the small school, and quickly fell in love with whoever decorated it. The floors were the typical ugly school floors—a muted, washed out yellowish color, made of some easily cleanable material. The walls were painted in alternating chunks of beige and burgundy, not really matching the floors at all, but it didn’t seem to matter.

  The plethora of Americana décor was utterly overwhelming. On every few feet of wall that wasn’t covered in bulletin boards, there was an old-fashioned painting or an American flag quilt hanging artfully from a quilt rack.