Twillyweed

by Mary Anne Kelly

  “Would you? Do you really think you would have spared him by doing it?”

  I didn’t know how to answer. He was right. Because it was clear he’d been spared nothing.

  “While she was alive, I could never tell anyone. It would have cost her, see?”

  “Yes. Is that why Daniel is afraid of you?”

  He flinched. The fact of it wounded him; I could see that.

  We must have sat there for more than two hours. He talked—oh, he could talk, recounting tales of his youth, stories of Daniel and himself growing up on the North Shore when Daniel was still normal—how grand it had been, fishing and sailing back in those days without the McMansions and the country clubs, Oliver and Paige trailing behind as youngsters, too young to join in their hot competitions. I watched and listened with growing affection. His short hair had lengthened since the first time I’d seen him and now looped around his ears and down his sun-darkened neck and I knew I was sunk. But he must have mentioned five times how good Paige had been to his mother. “All the long while I was overseas, and when I was away at school, it was Paige who looked after her. It can’t have been easy for Mother, without me. But she always wrote and told me she was well looked after, then later Annabel came over with Wendell, or Radiance and Paige had stopped by that day or the day before … bringing her a package of Lorna Doones or a pint of cream, things she held dear.” He squinted, as though he were seeing the past.

  I sat there with a smile plastered to my face. It was already perfectly clear to me that he felt duty bound toward Paige and I wished he’d drop it.

  “She was so good to my mother, you see. Tended to her all the time.” He eyed me steadily. He cleared his throat. “And then there’s Radiance. She’s very young, of course. One must take care. But we’re all very close. Very close.”

  I understood. He was telling me that while he and I liked each other, he had obligations, commitments. Or was he making a move on me and laying out the rules? Suddenly I was confused. Did he intend to marry Paige and have a little on the side? Is that what this was about? And what did he mean about Radiance? Was he having it off with her, too? Or was that in the plan? I had no doubt he thought he could handle us all. Even if I might not mind being his little bit on the side, I’d be damned if I’d be a little bit on the side of a little bit on the side! I stood ungraciously, went to the sink, and washed and rewashed a couple of dishes, signaling it was time for him to go.

  He stood awkwardly, upsetting his chair. “Have I said something wrong?”

  “God, look at the time!”

  “Oh. Sorry. I was carried away. Will you forgive me? I didn’t mean to overstep me bounds. It’s just … it’s so pleasant here.” Our eyes were drawn out the window. The sky hung so close and black and thick with stars. “Ti a braw bricht t’nicht,” he murmured, then looked up and laughed. “It almost feels like if you leaned out you could grab one of the stars.” Then, when I didn’t reply, he said, “Ah, well.”

  “Well,” I echoed, “thank you so much for the weather stick. It looks like Pinocchio’s nose.”

  “I’ll stop by sometime when I have my tools and put it up for you.”

  “Right. Thank you.” I bobbed an awkward curtsy.

  He knocked the chair over again. Suddenly I remembered that crack Paige had made about me and the buttons in my ears. “Oh,” I said, “wait just a minute. I have to show you what I’ve done to your mother’s button collection!” I started toward the button safe, but he held me back.

  “Please don’t,” he murmured. “I don’t want to see them. You can have them.”

  “Oh, God. I didn’t mean that!” The kitten was at the door, scratching, indicating her needs.

  “No, really.” He turned his back. “Take them. Take them all. It’s not that big a deal.” He took his plate and moved tiredly over to the sink and then stood there just holding it, a man with a plate. “Don’t you get it? They pain me to look at, each one a hurtful memory, see?”

  I gave a sly look into the button chamber. If I emptied it out, I could hook up the sink and turn it into a darkroom. I said, “Look, you might find one day you won’t feel the same …”

  Again he held my eyes. “I’m afraid I’ll always feel the same.”

  I took the dishtowel from him and wiped the few plates and put them up on the shelves.

  “She used to sit there fingering them at night,” he remembered, “in that chair, when she was thinking of him. What she would wear if he came back. Like other people would watch television.” He shook his head ruefully. “I used to hate it. I knew who she was thinking of. Always waiting for him. A man who wouldn’t think enough of her to come to her funeral.” He spat the words then wiped his mouth. “And there was I, the never enough.”

  “I’m sure that wasn’t so.”

  “That’s what it felt like to me. I was the one who’d ruined her life, if you want to know the truth. Stole her blamelessness. That was something very important to her, a religious woman. Before my sin, she was uncorrupted by guilt.”

  “Morgan, it was an accident, not a sin! You can’t think that way.”

  “But I do. And it’s all in the perception, isn’t it? I loved both my parents, but they loved me too much, wanted me to see their way. I was the rope they pulled in either direction.”

  “Morgan. Why are you telling me this? Why don’t you tell—”

  “Who? Paige? You think she cares about my mother’s thoughts? She just wants her wealth. She doesn’t understand that my mother’s wealth was in wanting good for others. Do you see? She can’t understand past the material, Paige. At least that’s how it is between her and me. How would you like it if the person you were bound to couldn’t bear the touch of you? Didn’t want to be too friendly when you were alone because he thought it would lead to what he couldn’t bear! How would you like that?”

  Oh no. I shrank into myself. This was the worst thing he could tell me. It hurt me so much to think he desired her with all his heart and she didn’t want him at all. This crushed my secret hopes; it meant there was no room for me. “Then why—” I almost said why do you love her? But I couldn’t. The unfinished words hung in the air. If he told me she was his moon and stars, if he said it, we wouldn’t be able to be friends. I couldn’t bear it. And I suppose I’d rather remain just friends with him if only to be around him. That realization shut me up. I gathered my wits and crossed the room and put the kitten out. When I came back, he was sitting in Noola’s old chair, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. I poured myself another glass of wine, emptying the bottle, and drank it down. Without warning Jake sprang half up on top of the table and swiped what was left of the cheese. “Get away from that table, you rat!” I cried, chasing him. I was furious, but Morgan laughed so hard and so long that I refrained from smacking Jake with the paper. “Just don’t do it again!” I shouted.

  “He was waiting for his chance the whole time!” Morgan roared with laughter.

  Jake eyed us both from under the hassock. He looked so pleased.

  “Morgan.” I turned and said, “Do you know who killed Patsy Mooney?”

  He wiped his eyes. “It wasn’t me.”

  “Good.”

  He looked up at me, realizing the seriousness of my intent. “No, I’m saying it really wasn’t me.”

  My head wagged. “Double good. I’ll eliminate you, then, from my list.” It was something in my pronunciation of that tricky eliminate that alerted him.

  The corner of his mouth turned up. “Are you drunk?”

  “Yes. A little. Hic.”

  He stepped carefully over the carpet, “So, while you’re nice and supple, you won’t mind me asking you a few personal questions?”

  I swung an expansive arm. “Go right ahead.”

  “Good. Because, I’m confused. Are you still in love with your fiancé?”

  I scowled. “
No. It’s like he never was. Like he was a respite from real life.”

  “And what about the ex-husband? Are you still in love with him?”

  I didn’t answer as quickly. I decided to be honest. “I’ll always love him, somehow.” I shrugged. “The kids’ father. That’s important.”

  “And I suppose he’s handsome?”

  “He’s the handsomest man I ever saw.”

  “I see. I guess that leaves me out,” he teased, but there was disappointment in his eyes.

  I was both taken aback and touched by his vulnerability. “What! You, so beautiful! You shouldn’t care about handsome. Just look at your wrists.” I leaned over and took hold of one of them, feeling powerful beside his doubts. “Such magnificent wrists.” I held one up and wished my lips pressed to it. But I wouldn’t do that. Not after what he’d said about the one he loved. I felt his pulse beat against my finger and our eyes met. He pulled back in alarm.

  “Oh, listen to me! Never mind,” I said. We stepped apart and I heard myself say in exasperation. “See, I think of myself as this slender young romantic figure, and I’m not anymore!” It surprised me that I was crying but I’d started now and couldn’t quit. “I’m a big hefty woman who stomps into rooms with a big foolish smile and—”

  “Stop!” he demanded angrily. He took hold of my face. With his thumbs he wiped away the wet streams. He leaned and kissed me tenderly on the side of my neck. I don’t know about you, but for me the side of the neck is key. That feather at the core of me began its seductive niggle and I felt its resonance to my toes. But then I sensed, rather than saw, the light next door in Mrs. Dellaverna’s window go out and the room changed somehow. She could see in. I lifted my head and then like a reply in a song, took a deep breath and, like an idiot, said, “Don’t do this.”

  And of course he listened! He raised his head and tipped it, romantically, watching me. He looked so good, so rugged and everything a man should be. But that knowledge of being observed brought me back to myself. And even swept away by passion and wine, I had to ask. I had to know. I said, “Remember you told me about moon dials?”

  His breath was coming faster. “Yeah?”

  And then I said, “If I told you about one, would you be interested?”

  “A moon volvelle?” His eyes, blurred with passion, became alert. “A real one?”

  “Very real. Very old.”

  “I’d be the one who’d be interested, yeah. An ancient lunar volvelle might be worth a great fortune. Have you seen one?”

  “No,” I admitted, turning away. “No, I just— I haven’t.”

  “But you’ve heard about one? A stolen one?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Because there are unscrupulous collectors who’ve been known to cover their tracks, who’d be delighted to take a piece like that off your hands, you know.”

  “But then a collector would have to stay underground. Never be able to give claim to owning it outright.”

  “Oh, aye,” his said, green eyes glimmering, “but many a real collector wouldn’t care.” Suddenly and in one quick movement he stood and turned away. “Ach. I’d best be getting on.” He sort of limped to the door and I realized with a thrill that he’d become erect. “I’ll thank you for your hospitality.” He gave me a wry smile. I moved toward him, meaning to shake his hand and feel again his almost predatory maleness. But he backed away as though he couldn’t bear to touch me and at once he was gone. In that moment of ravaging nearness there’d been a palpable heat between us. I hadn’t imagined that. His broad shoulders and ropey arms. I’d felt them almost as though they’d encompassed me. You could tell he might have a punishing temper. Hadn’t he admitted as much? But was it enough to murder someone? And this time he’d held his impulses in check. Was I to be flattered? I was. I stood there at the door watching the spot he’d left, sobered at once by his leaving. Oh! Why did I feel so attracted to this engaged, possibly dangerous man?

  Halfway down the path he stood still and turned slowly back toward the house.

  Oh, my God, I realized with horror and delight, he’s coming back!

  He pressed his nose against the screen. “You’ll not believe it. I forgot the reason I’ve come!”

  I cracked the door a hopeful inch.

  His hands were on his hips. “I’ve got your dole.”

  “Huh?”

  “Your wages.”

  I stared at him dumbly. I’d forgotten I was due any. The both of us laughed and I opened the door all the way. He walked to the table and counted out my pay in cash. Very carefully he laid out each bill and gave a precise, out-loud account. “Now you count it again,” he instructed earnestly. This I did, feeling strange. But I’d earned it, I reminded myself, seeing the bad state of my nails as I did. There’s nothing like money to cheer you up. I folded the bills into a cracked but still pretty sugar bowl above the stove and walked him to the door.

  He hesitated at the screen, then, coming close, pressed his salty sea lips against mine in an ardent kiss. Rapture closed the deal. He stepped back and raked his hair with his hand and, after we gave each other one last look, he went away.

  I walked around the room colliding into things. Jake watched me for a bit and then, losing patience, decided it was time for his constitutional. I let him out and stood in front of the mirror brushing my hair. Lost in thought, it was only after the fact that I perceived his frantic barks. I dropped the brush and, unthinking, flew out the door. Jake was in a corner of the yard, hunched and barking. He wasn’t cowering, he stood his ground, but he was freaked out. My eyes scanned the darkness and suddenly I saw it, its eyes, glittering. A badger! It was poised and still, watching. I’d never seen anything like it. It was big as a dog, beige, almost blond, with long fur like a collie. I went rigid.

  It was deciding whether or not to spring. I spoke in as calm and seamless a voice as I could, “All right, come on, Jake, we’ll go into the house now,” and I went toward Jake in a straight line, moving as smoothly as I could, talking continually to the badger without looking at him, “We’re not going to hurt you now, we’re just going to get out of your way, all right?” and as I spoke I got between the thing and Jake and shepherded Jake to the door and into the house. “Whew!” I leaned against the inside of the house and, sinking to the ground, put my arms around Jake and held him. Trembling, I reached for the phone and put in a call to Twillyweed. It was Oliver who picked up. “Oliver! It’s Claire. The most frightening thing just happened. There was a badger out my door. He was huge. Right outside my door! I was terrified it would attack Jake.”

  “Couldn’t have been a badger, Claire,” he said, laughing. “We don’t have any badgers on the North Shore. It was a possum.”

  “No, Oliver, it was huge! Big as a dog.”

  “Possum can be big. Or raccoon.”

  No, I protested silently, it was a badger. It had that foxy face, a predator’s stance. “And it had long blond hair,” I added, “It was … well, beautiful.”

  “Yes, it’s rare to see one, but possum are around. They live in the sewers and in the woods on the golf course. Just shine a light out there, he’ll disappear.”

  “That’s it, I guess. The porch light’s out again. And I just put a new one in!”

  “Shall I come up?” he offered.

  “No!” Afraid I’d sounded too hasty, I added, “Thank God you picked up the phone. I was so frightened. I’m fine, now, thanks to you.”

  “Well. All right. If you’re sure.”

  “Oh, I am.”

  “Call back any time of night if you’re frightened again.”

  There was an awkward silence as we both remembered last time we’d spoken. “I will. Thanks again,” I hung up, relieved, but puzzled. I took a new bulb from the kitchen drawer and went to the back and looked out. Of course it had vanished by now, as frightened by me as I him. I let Jake out aga
in to finish his business and I climbed up on the porch railing and reached under the lamp cover. The old bulb hung limply on its thread. I screwed it back in and light flooded the yard. It was crazy. I was absolutely positive I’d screwed it in snugly just a few days ago. I gave it an extra turn, making sure it was tight, and we went back in the house. “Jake?”

  He raised his head and tilted it.

  “I am so glad you’re here.”

  Chapter Seven

  Claire

  Jake and I were inseparable now. He slept, snoring raucously, on the rug at the foot of my bed. Our relationship had deepened a notch. It was like I knew what he wanted and he knew what I wanted. I was so grateful to him for making me feel safe and he was grateful to me from rescuing him from days and days at the window in Queens. For him, this was paradise. As we walked along the cliff early the next morning, my cell phone rang. It was my old editor from She She magazine, Jupiter Dodd, the fellow I’d used as a reference when I’d first come. “Darling!” he greeted me effusively, so I knew he wanted something. “How are you?”

  “Peachy.” I reined Jake in from a squirrel’s mad dash. “What’s up?”

  “Well, I’m weekending out in East Hampton and—you know me—I get so carsick on long drives! Can I break up the trip at your little resort B&B? I’d only spend the night.”

  “Jupiter, it’s not a bed-and-breakfast.” I remembered my promise to watch Wendell. Jupiter loathed children. “You’d never have to pay at my place but, no, this weekend wouldn’t work for me, I’m afraid. I’m babysitting. How about next weekend?”

  “What? You deny me?”

  “Yes. Just this once. Sorry. Any other time, though.”

  “Once scorned, never sallied …”

  “Jupiter. Don’t be melodramatic. You know I love you.”

  “All right, I’ll try some other sucker. Ciao, bella.”

  “Ciao, bello.” I took Jake home and walked over to Twillyweed. When I got there, Jenny Rose was sitting at the kitchen table staring into her breakfast tea. I reached through the climbing ivy and tapped on the leaded diamond of glass. She jumped then smiled when she saw it was me. She let me in, fetched me a cup, and we sat down together. You could always count on Jenny Rose for an excellent cup a rosy. Puccini was on the radio. Wendell played on a stretched-out blanket on the floor. “I’ve kept him home today,” she whispered. “He’s been whimpering in his sleep, the poor lad. Just feel better keeping an eye on him.”