by Mike Hopper
Olivia paused and took a sip of tea. “We cannot change our genes. Just remember, while you may learn something that you are happy, or even grateful to know, it is also possible that there is some crazy mutant, foreign type of gene lurking around inside of your body. That’s why I wonder about these things. Why would either of you want information that you may ultimately regret having.” She looked first at Sam, and then at Steuart. “Do you really want to know?”
“No, ma’am,” Sam and Steuart replied in unison.
“You understand,” Olivia nodded, smiled and looked down at her cake. “I don’t know. I am not sure how I would feel in your shoes. My mother wanted me. I am not saying this with the intention of being provocative. I’m telling you this so that you’ll understand my difficulty in relating to the two of you regarding this issue. We are looking at things from different angles.”
Sam and Steuart exchanged glances. Steuart yawned.
“Regardless of what I say to you or what I understand as truth, you need to consider the facts. I do. We are presented with two large cans of worms. After all, you were both given away. I hate to use a word like tossed because it is such an awful, tasteless word; however, the word is accurate. You were tossed away like a pair of beautiful, brand new shoes that did not quite fit.”
Olivia looked at Sam. She looked at Steuart. She stopped and took a deep breath. “Please do not get me wrong. You were not unwanted by everyone. No. You were…” Olivia placed her hand across her heart, “…by me. You were wanted by me.” She nodded and sniffled, “It has always been important that I have children in my life.”
Steuart looked at Sam and rolled his eyes. Olivia showed no signs of stopping. “Facts are facts and I believe in being direct with both of you. There is never a good reason to sugar coat your cookies. You both have good minds and are capable of understanding what I am saying to you. At the same time, I do not want to say anything that will deter you from making a choice that is one-hundred-percent yours to make. After all, this is a decision that is ultimately up to you.”
Olivia’s speech became rapid, “I will tell you this,” the finger went up again, “once you open a can of worms, it is next to impossible to put those slimy things back. You simply cannot do it. Even if you do, you will always know things that you didn’t know before—things you may wish you had never learned.” Olivia wiggled her fingers and made a sour face. “Sometimes, it’s best not knowing, if you know what I mean. In some situations, not knowing is your blessing.” She paused, “You’re taking chances. Open that can, and you may find those slimy things crawling across your plate.” Steuart and Sam rested their forks.
“Just remember that you may open a door and you may choose to close that same door, but once someone knows where you live they may try to come in through your bedroom window.” Olivia cut another small slice of cake and laid it on her plate. Steuart and Sam sat quietly as their mother finished eating and then said what Sam had waited to hear the entire evening. “Samantha Leigh, would you like to open your gift now?”
Steuart exhaled.
Sam beamed, “Yes, please.”
Olivia reached for the gift and handed it to her daughter. Sam smiled at Steuart. Steuart smiled at Sam. Olivia smiled at both of them.
Sam held the box for a moment. The weight felt right. “Yes,” Sam whispered. She looked at her mother and smiled. She looked at Steuart. She laid the box on the table. She pulled the fabric ribbon and untied the bow. She straightened the ribbon between her fingers and laid it beside her plate.
Olivia picked up the ribbon, flattened and rolled it carefully before moving it aside. Sam picked up the scissors and moved the box close to the edge of the table. Carefully, she cut the tape at one end, making certain not to damage the paper. Delighted, almost giddy, she could never remember a time when she was more eager to unwrap a gift.
Olivia, also eager, could not contain her excitement. “I had no idea this was going to mean so much to you. I am pleased beyond expression to be giving this to you now. I only regret that I didn’t do it sooner.”
Sam was thrilled by her mother’s happiness in giving her the paints. Overcome with love and appreciation, Sam continued cutting the tape and carefully dismantling the wrapping. She smiled as she cut. She smiled at Olivia. She smiled at Steuart. Both smiled back. She cut a little more, pulled the tape gently, and put it aside so that it would not accidentally stick to the paper. Sam smiled and continued with great care; pulling paper, smiling, looking over at her mother and softly giggling as she lifted the box from the wrapping paper. “Thank you Mother dear…” Sam opened the box, “I cannot wait to paint!”
Sam saw her mother’s face at about the same moment she glimpsed the box’s contents. She was not looking at a box of paints. She was looking at tissue paper.
“Paint?” Olivia looked puzzled. She reached for the wrapping paper, folded it slowly, and then placed it under the ribbon. She looked at Sam and shook her head, “No,” she said quietly and turned to look at the folded paper and ribbon. “No,” she softly repeated.
Sam looked down at the gift, pulled back the tissue, and stared. She was not looking at a set of watercolors and a pad of paper. There were no little brushes. There was no mixing tray. Instead, Sam was looking at white gloves and a book. She was looking at her mother’s favorite book. She was looking at a pair of pristine white silk gloves and a book she knew too well—Right, Good, and Appropriate: The Definitive Guide for All Well Meaning Gentle Beings and Perfectly Behaved People.
Steuart and Olivia stared at Sam.
Sam felt the blood drain from her face. It was gone. Her skin became bleach white. Her body went cold. Steuart picked up his fork and looked down at the remainder of his cake. He looked over at his partially eaten pizza. The only sound in the room was Steuart swallowing a sip of soda. Olivia looked perplexed. She cleared her throat and began quickly shaking her head. Sam sat frozen in time, wholly speechless. Olivia smiled a weak smile as she pretended everything was normal. She had no idea what she had done. Steuart understood. He sat silently and waited.
Olivia spoke quickly and gently, tapping at the edge of the box with four fingers. Sam heard her mother’s fingernails hit the box. Olivia’s voice sounded muffled, “Look, look,” she said with urgency and excitement. “This is your own personal copy, Samantha Leigh,” her voice slowed, “for well-educated ladies of great privilege.”
Sam frowned. She watched the room become fuzzy. It started to spin. Everything felt hot. She was sweating now.
Olivia continued talking, “This is more than other presents. There is more. Look here, I autographed this for you.” Looking fishlike, Olivia leaned in towards Sam’s face. She opened the book to the first page and held it up for her daughter to see. Proudly pointing towards the inscription, she said, “Look, I autographed it with the date and everything. Look, it says In Celebration of our Special Day, November 19—Love, Your Mother, Olivia Light DuBoise.” Olivia looked in her daughter’s eyes. “You and me sweetheart; this is precious.” She closed the book and pointed at the cover. “It has your monogram too—see.”
Leaning back, Olivia began talking faster. “Samantha Leigh, you are a lady now. This is your life-guide. This copy is exactly like mine. It’s the same edition. I could have waited until you were thirteen or even sixteen, but I decided you are old enough now. It is time for you to have this and make a committed, daily devotion part of your life. You should begin and end each day with Right, Good, and Appropriate, as it will help you find your proper place in this world.”
“You obviously do not realize the significance of this moment, but eventually you will reach the proper level of maturity and will rely on this for everything. We live in a world of bad taste, and bad behavior, where the good and bad must be separated. Please understand, this is something made available to those of us who are privileged. Nothing is more important than knowing who you are and how to behave as you walk through this life.” Olivia looked at Steuart; “I have a copy
for you too.”
Sam tilted her head. She looked confused.
Olivia moved into a rant. “Samantha Leigh, it is apparent that you have forgotten something important. This is my special day too.” She laid her finger on the book. “This is exactly what you need. More than that, this is what I want you to have. Samantha Leigh DuBoise, I am very disappointed in you. Your behavior tonight is shocking. I am only now realizing how badly you are in need of this book.” Olivia took a sip of tea, “You are at the age now when you should be buying sweet gifts for your mother, not the other way around. I am the reason you are here. I am also the reason you have this wonderful life. After all, I do everything for you. Do you know how lucky you are?” Olivia paused. She poured another glass of tea, took a sip and returned to her rant. “Do not forget that as you are growing up, your dear sweet mother is growing older.”
“The way you remember grandmother?” Sam asked in a whisper.
Olivia stopped. The room was silent. Sam didn’t move. Steuart smiled for a moment imagining Olivia with the hungry pirates as they waited for turtle soup. Olivia sipped her tea and looked at Sam. Sam sat quietly and said nothing. Olivia stared at her daughter. Steuart thought about wrestling with Sparky. Olivia leaned in closer, huffed quietly and then spoke. “Well then, I see. I can only say that I am shocked by your incomprehensible behavior. I don’t know what to think about this. Samantha Leigh, you have not even thanked me.”
Steuart cocked his head. He looked at his mother. He looked at Sam. Sam frowned and clenched her teeth. She felt warm blood trickle down inside her mouth.
“Well?” Olivia waited.
Sam saw her mother’s mouth move, but she didn’t hear the words. Her life had suddenly ended at the age of twelve. She understood that she would never again have fun. Nothing would be the same. She looked at the book. Her hand moved across the pages as her feelings disconnected from her body. She watched her fingers. She silently mouthed the inscription, closed the book and traced the title with her fingers.
“I’m waiting Samantha Leigh,” Olivia took a deep breath.
Still seated, Sam slowly lifted the book from the table and held it high above her head. Using her full range of motion she sent the thing flying across the room. The book barely missed a decorative table holding Olivia’s special collection of crystal flowers and angels. It hit the wall, ricocheted across the room, and slid over the table as it raked the crystal pieces, one crashing into the other, pulling them down onto the hardwood floor before landing on top of the newly shattered glass. Sam threw the gloves across the room. She put her hands in the cake, grabbed a fistful and threw it at her mother. She ran out the door crying and shouting, “I wanted the paints!”
Steuart, up from his seat, turned to his mother and began yelling, “Cherry Matzo! She wanted the paints. Cherry Matzo! My sister wanted the paints! Why don’t you care about us? My sister wanted the paints!” He put his hands in the remaining mess of cake and threw it on his mother’s dress before running out of the house into the cold November night screaming “Cherry Matzo!”
Sam ran down the trail towards the towers, over the bridge, crossed the river, jumped down, and crossed the brook. She jumped up, leapt across the railroad tracks, and continued into the Preserve. She ran to the tree house that she and Steuart discovered on their first day in town, climbed the ladder and sat against the back corner wall. Steuart quickly joined his sister. The two sat together sobbing. The night was cold, snowy and black.
* * *
Sam and Steuart sat huddled together shivering in the darkness. “This is the worst day of my entire life,” Sam cried.
Steuart sat close to his sister. “You might have picked a better night to run away. We should have grabbed our coats.”
“You think I planned this? I wanted to paint tonight. I feel like such an idiot.”
“I wish you hadn’t run out of the house.”
“You didn’t have to follow me.”
“Yes, I did.”
“I was stupid. I should have known that she wasn’t going to give me what I asked for. You tried to tell me.”
“You were just hoping.”
Sam continued crying, “Why did she give me that stupid book? I don’t even believe it. I hate that book.”
“She wants us to be grown.”
“I know. She said there’s one waiting for you too.”
“We’re in big trouble.”
“I don’t care. I never want to see or talk to her again.”
“You’re angry. You aren’t serious.”
“I am serious. I don’t want to see her ever again—as long as I live.”
Steuart shivered, “Eventually we’ll have to go home.”
“Not me. I don’t care if I’m homeless, eating out of dumpsters, and living in ditches for the rest of my life. Anything is better than living with her. I’ll live under a bridge if I have to. Go back when you get ready. I’m staying here.”
A noise came from the ladder, followed by a light. Sam continued crying. She had trouble catching her breath.
“Great,” Steuart reached for his sister, “I told you this would happen.”
They huddled together in the corner. “You kids must be freezing.” A woman carrying a lantern stepped into the tree house.
Sam and Steuart stared.
“Who are you?” the woman asked. “What are you doing out here on a night like this?”
Sam used her most sarcastic voice, “We could ask you the same thing.”
“I’m wearing a coat. I’m also wearing a hat, a scarf, and gloves. You will also notice that, unlike you, I have warm fuzzy boots on my feet. The two of you are not even wearing coats. Who are you? Where did you come from?”
“We’re not allowed to talk with strangers,” Steuart said.
“Excuse me,” the woman responded. “This is my tree house. It appears that you’re the strangers.” She pointed out the door and up the hill. “That’s my home. This is my property.”
Sam shrugged her shoulders.
“I’m Ceil Nunstern. Now we’re acquainted. Are you okay?”
“We’re fine.” Sam said
“Do you have a bad cold? This is not a good night to be roaming around, especially if you’re sick.”
“I’m not sick.”
“Do you live close by? I’ve never seen you before.”
“We’re okay. We just need a place to sit for a while. Is that a problem?”
“Yes, that’s a problem.”
“Why? We’re not bothering anything. We won’t be here long.”
“That doesn’t matter. This is a terrible place to sit during a snowstorm. The temperature is dropping fast and this place is not heated. You could get sick. We’re expecting at least a foot of snow tonight. You could get frostbite. If you stay out here long enough, you could freeze to death.”
Steuart grabbed his sister and whispered, “We’re too young to freeze.”
“It doesn’t matter where we live. We’re fine,” Sam tried to back away from the woman, but there was nowhere to go.
“It matters to me.”
“Why?” Sam and Steuart asked.
“It matters because you’re in my tree house. That makes both of you a liability.”
“What’s the problem?” Steuart asked. “What’s the liability?”
“Let’s see. I am an adult and you are not. This is my house. I found you here. That makes me responsible because you’re on my property. I can’t just leave you here in freezing weather and pretend that I never saw you. It’s late and it’s not safe.”
“Not safe?” Steuart asked.
The woman nodded, “That’s what I said. The temperature’s dropping and we’re going to have a lot of snow.”
“Ma’am,” Steuart responded, “we don’t know you.”
“No,” Sam repeated and shook her head. “We don’t know you.”
“I don’t know you either. Does that mean I can’t help you?”
“Yes it does.
My brother told you; we’re not allowed to talk with strangers.”
“I see. You can’t talk to strangers, but you can run into a stranger’s yard and climb into a stranger’s tree house late at night?”
Steuart looked at Sam and whispered into her ear, “She’s got us on that one. I’m cold.”
“Maybe you’re dangerous,” Sam said squinting and shivering.
“Why should we tell you anything?” Steuart asked. “Maybe this isn’t even your tree house.”
“I see.” Ceil pursed her lips and took a deep breath. She shook her head and thought for a moment. “Not my tree house—maybe it’s not. Maybe I just came walking out into the snow for a stroll on a freezing night during a snowstorm. Maybe I just decided to climb into a tree house that has no heat or lighting with the hope of finding children to harass me. Yeah, that makes a lot of sense.”
“It’s possible,” Sam said.
“I don’t think so.”
“Maybe you walk around the Preserve late at night looking for children to murder and put into stew,” Steuart said.
“You’re obviously very bright and imaginative, but we still have a problem. I can’t leave two runaway children alone in weather of this kind. I’m not playing.”
“We’re not runaways,” Sam said.
“Looks like it to me. You have a choice. We can talk about why you’re here. You can tell me what this is about.” Ceil paused and wrinkled her forehead, “Has someone hurt you?”
“No.”
“Do you need to see a doctor? Do I need to contact the police?”
