The Blood of Seven

by Claire L. Fishback

  * * *

  On her way back through town, Teresa found a small two-top by the kitchen in the diner to warm up, the afternoon’s dream nearly forgotten.

  “Doctor Hart!” Ruthie’s voice said to her left. Teresa jumped and turned. “It’s so good to see you.”

  Teresa composed a courtesy smile on her lips. “Thank you, Ruthie.”

  “Coffee?” Ruthie held out her coffee pot, and Teresa nodded. “I know it’s not my place to say or ask,” she said. “It’s just . . . I know Derrick offers exams now as part of annual physicals and all, but I’m not comfortable with male doctors, and I hate driving all the way to Pine Valley. I just don’t have the time.” She pulled a couple sugar packets from her apron, set them on the table, and met Teresa’s eyes. “When are you coming back to the clinic?”

  “Oh.” Teresa twisted her coffee cup on the table and watched the contents swirl. She thought people knew her license had been revoked. She thought that was why they shunned her. “I’m not sure.” She took a sip.

  “Well, you have a patient in me when you do,” Ruthie said.

  “You would be the only one,” Teresa whispered as Ruthie walked away.

  Ruthie had always been nice to Teresa. Teresa thought it was just part of her job, but back when Ruthie had been her patient, she always took the time to catch up and inquire about Derrick and how Teresa’s pregnancy was going. She always asked to touch Teresa’s belly before touching it. Teresa placed her hand on her flat stomach. Back then, she didn’t mind things like that. Now she could hardly stand being in this place with its fried grease smells and collection of wrinkled regulars. The thought of veined, knobby hands touching her, groping at her belly, turned the corners of her mouth down.

  Ruthie bustled around the diner, stopping to chat at each table. Laughing, filling coffee, gasping in surprise at a young woman’s ring finger. She worked the diner day and night, Sunday to Sunday. If she wasn’t careful, she would work herself to death.

  Did Ruthie look thinner than Teresa remembered?

  The menu Ruthie left on the table listed an array of greasy, fried foods, a section of food smothered in gravy, and a small selection of salads with fried chicken strips. For just two dollars more you could smother it in gravy. Teresa scowled and pushed the menu away.

  Just as she finished her coffee, Derrick and Maggie came in. Derrick’s face lit up, but he wasn’t looking at her. Teresa followed his gaze and found Ann sitting in a corner booth. After a second, Teresa’s family sat down with Derrick’s ex-girlfriend.

  Well, isn’t this just perfect?

  Teresa considered confronting them, but the diner was full of people. How might that look? Baby killer, jealous wife. She left a few dollars on the table and slid out of the booth.

  She slipped into the kitchen before sneaking out the side door undetected.

  * * *

  Ann looked up and saw Derrick come in. Maggie bounced along behind him, holding a massive book, her long dark curls springing with her steps. Ann’s gut twisted. The girl. And now the book. Maggie spotted Ann in her faraway corner and came toward her. Derrick followed.

  Oh no.

  “Hey, Ann,” he said, slipping out of his jacket.

  “We went fishing,” Maggie said, her cheeks rosy. “I got a big one, but Daddy let it go.” She slid into the booth and sat on her knees, placing the book on the table. It had a worn leather cover. The yellowed pages inside were wrinkled and warped like a paperback left in the rain.

  “Maggie,” Derrick said. “Ann didn’t invite us to sit down.”

  “It’s okay, Daddy,” Maggie said. “She was going to ask us.” She opened the book and flipped through the pages.

  “Sorry,” Derrick said. “Do you mind?”

  Yes, she did mind, but motioned to the opposite bench.

  “This is my daughter, Maggie,” Derrick said.

  “We met yesterday,” Ann said. “It’s good to see you again, kiddo.”

  “You, too.” Maggie perused the book, her body fidgeting on the bench. Derrick asked her if she wanted to take her coat off—a puffy pink jacket—and helped her out of it.

  “What are you reading?”

  “A book my baba gave me.” The tip of her tongue poked out the corner of her mouth. Then she said, “He’s dead.”

  Derrick raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “A few weeks after we adopted Maggie, a member of the adoption agency hand delivered this book, which was kind of weird, actually. It had a letter with it explaining her grandfather had passed.” He shrugged. “I can’t read a word of it, but she seems to be able. She’s read a few passages to me. Sounds like it’s some kind of religious book.” He huffed air through his nose. “I haven’t told my wife. If she knew Maggie was reading some religious text other than the Bible there would be a holy shitstorm from hell.”

  “Daddy—language,” Maggie said without looking up. Derrick covered his mouth in mock shame. Ann laughed. Ruthie came back over and glanced from Derrick to Ann and back.

  “Hey, Doc. Teresa’s sitting across the way.” Ruthie glanced over her shoulder, and Derrick followed her gaze, the smile gone from his face. “Or not. I guess she was in a hurry.”

  Visible relief washed over him. He shifted his weight on the bench and cleared his throat, the tips of his ears bright red.

  Ruthie flipped to a new page in her notepad. “I already know what Miss Maggie wants.” Ruthie bent over. Maggie draped herself across the table, and at the same time they said, “Pancakes!”

  Ann closed her eyes and tried to stay calm. This was all too small-town-perfect.

  Ruthie righted herself and looked at Ann. “Detective?”

  “I’m good with the coffee, thanks.”

  “You need to eat,” Ruthie said. “I’ll bring you the special. On the house, hero.” She winked.

  “I’ll pay,” Ann said.

  “And for the hungry doctor?” Ruthie looked up from her notepad at Derrick.

  “I’ll do the BLT, extra B,” Derrick said. He winked at Ann. “Cholesterol shmolesterol, right?” He laughed, so did Ruthie. Ann did her best to not look as uncomfortable as she felt.

  “You got it.” Ruthie rushed off.

  “Is there some joke I’m missing?” Ann asked Derrick.

  “What do you mean?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “So much winking going on around here, just thought I missed something.”

  Derrick laughed. “Nah.” He waved his hand. “You haven’t missed anything. I’m sure you’ve seen nothing’s changed around here.”

  Ann nodded and wished he’d stop smiling at her.

  “It really is great to see you.” To her shock he slid his hand across the table and clasped hers. She pulled away, and his face sobered. He cleared his throat and sat back as if to get as far away from her as possible. Thank god.

  “So, did you meet my wife yesterday, too, or did Maggie’s teacher walk her home?”

  “Your wife. She seems—interesting,” she said for lack of anything better to say. “She’s . . . well . . .”

  “Unfriendly. Unpleasant. Self-centered.” Derrick said under his breath.

  Ann cleared her throat. “Should we be talking about this in front of Maggie?”

  Derrick leaned over and petted Maggie’s hair. He pulled her against his side and hugged her. She gazed up at him with adoration in her eyes.

  “I need to hit the bathroom,” Derrick said. “You don’t mind watching Maggie, do you?”

  “Sure.” She did mind. She minded a lot.

  Maggie hummed random notes while she flipped through the book, her eyes darting across the text. The handwritten words on the page weren’t English by any stretch. But, to Ann’s relief, they weren’t scribbled nonsense, either. Not like the book from her dream.

  “What language is that?” Ann asked.

  “Coptic Egyptian,” Maggie said, pronouncing each syllable carefully. She turned the book sideways for Ann to get a better look. “My baba helped the Protectors
. They are people like you.”

  “People like me?” Ann asked. Then she got it. “Oh, you mean cops?”

  Maggie shook her head and leaned closer. She lowered her voice. “Protectors of the Knowledge.” She tapped her temple.

  Ann sat back. Her heart beat painfully hard a couple times. She rubbed the center of her chest.

  “At first I thought it was Daddy,” she said, her eyes on the book. “Then I met you, and now I get it.” She met Ann’s eyes. “The book told me—just like Baba said it would.”

  You were drawn here . . . I’ve been waiting for you.

  A dull roar started in Ann’s ears. The lights seemed to brighten. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. The roar escalated until all of the voices in the room combined into mumbled rumbling.

  I’m having a stroke.

  “You’re broken on the inside,” Maggie whispered, crisp and clear, in her ear. “But you’ll heal.”

  The roar stopped. Ann opened her eyes. Maggie was gone but the book remained. She sat up straight and surveyed the room. Where did the little shit go?

  “Maggie?” she called. “Maggie?”

  Shit. She’d lost her ex’s daughter. She tore out of the booth. Laughter came from the center of the restaurant along with Maggie’s clear, high voice reciting something that sounded like a poem.

  “ ‘Light and darkness, life and death. But the good are not good, the wicked not wicked, life not life, death not death. Those who live above the world cannot fade. They are eternal.’ ” She turned, and her eyes bored into Ann’s. “ ‘Wisdom is mother of the angels.’ ”

  The guests clapped, and she took a bow, grinning. Derrick stood behind her, clapping as well. He guided her back to their booth. Ann swallowed the wad of burlap in her throat and took deep breaths to stop her heart from racing.

  “Excellent, Maggie,” Derrick said, leading her back to the table. “Where did you learn that?”

  “From Baba’s book.” She placed her palms on the pages and looked at Ann. Ann forced herself to smile.

  Ruthie brought their lunches, and even though her appetite had once again vanished, Ann forced herself to eat. The special was a slab of chicken-fried steak smothered in gravy, served with a salad. As if the salad would cancel out the entrée.

  When they’d finished eating, Derrick grabbed the bill and took it to the front to pay before Ann could protest.

  Maggie stared at her. “I want you to have this,” she said. She pushed the book across the table.

  “I can’t take that,” Ann said. “Your . . . Baba gave that to you. I can’t even read it.”

  “You can’t?” Maggie sat back. Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “But the book said . . .” she started, but then Derrick came back and sat down.

  “Did I miss anything this time?” he asked, nudging Maggie. “Did you recite more poetry?”

  Maggie shook her head. She flipped the book shut.

  “I’d like to go home now,” she said in a small voice.

  Derrick looked at Ann and shrugged. “Her Majesty gets what Her Majesty wants.” He smiled.

  “Thanks for lunch,” Ann said.

  Derrick helped Maggie with her coat and led her by the hand. Maggie looked over her shoulder at Ann, much like the way she had when Teresa hauled her away. But this time her expression wasn’t so excited as it had been then. Her face held a different expression now. Disappointment.

  Chapter 16

  Teresa got home and paced up and down her hallway like an angry lioness. How dare he? How. Dare. He. She took deep breaths and tried for rational thoughts, but her mind was overblown with worst-case scenarios.

  He’s cheating.

  No. Not cheating. Not yet anyway. A public place with a child was not exactly an affair.

  Teresa went down to the basement and clicked on the nursery lamp. She sat in the rocker with the nursing pillow on her lap and worked to shift her mind to Tiffany.

  “We’ll be together again soon,” she whispered. “We’ll have our life back the way it was before. We’ll be happy again. All of us.” She hummed a lullaby and stroked the pillow.

  She rocked in the chair until she heard Derrick and Maggie’s arrival home above her. Then her throat went dry. How could she bring up what she saw? How could she confront him? Wretched despair weighed her down.

  Maggie’s rapid footsteps ran up the stairs, and Derrick’s heavier footsteps stomped down the hall. A hard knock came from the other side of the basement door. Then Derrick’s muffled voice yelled through it.

  “Teresa, come out of there,” he said. “Now.”

  She didn’t like his tone. He had no right to yell like this. She hadn’t done anything wrong. He had. She went upstairs and opened the door. Derrick stood in the hallway, his arms crossed tight.

  “I ran into Sheriff McMichael today after lunch,” he said through his teeth. His nostrils flared.

  “Sherriff McMichael?” She didn’t know what the significance of this might be.

  “He said you assaulted some kids at the cemetery.”

  Her scalp tingled. “I did nothing of the sort.” That man would do anything to continue to tarnish her reputation, like he’d first done when the baby died. She pushed past Derrick into the hallway and went to the kitchen.

  “He said one kid’s mother called him. Said you threw rocks at them.” He followed her and grabbed her arm. She jerked away from him.

  “I didn’t do anything. I went to Tiffany’s grave since it was seven years ago yesterday she died.” Teresa instilled her voice with scorn and balled her fists. “I cleared away the leaves and straightened the stones.” Her voice hitched on the last word. Derrick’s face didn’t change. “You don’t believe me, do you? You never believe me. You always take the other person’s side.”

  She stormed down the hall to avoid his glaring eyes and racked her brain, trying to figure out if any of the dream had been real. She got her coat out of the closet by the front door.

  “Where are you going?” Derrick followed her. “You can’t leave. We need to talk about this.”

  Teresa reached into the pocket of her coat and drew out the paint-spattered rock. It dropped from her trembling hand and hit the hardwood. Not paint. Blood. She covered her mouth and sank to her knees.

  “What’s that?” Derrick picked up the rock. “What is this?”

  “Oh God,” Teresa whispered.

  “Is this . . . blood?”

  “They were taunting me.” She hated the way her voice trembled. “They told horrible jokes about dead babies. I felt threatened. I had to protect myself.”

  “Goddammit, Teresa, they are kids. Kids.” He walked away, turned, and came back. “What is going on with you?” His voice drained of anger. His eyes softened. Placing his hands on her arms, he helped her stand. Was he finally going to listen?

  Don’t be fooled.

  “I saw you at the diner,” she said. “With another woman.”

  He halted and stared at her. “Ann? She’s an old friend I haven’t seen in decades. We were just catching up.”

  “She was your high school sweetheart, Derrick.” Her voice was an octave too high, bordering on hysteria.

  “Teresa, please,” Derrick said. “I married you. I chose you. Don’t you trust me?”

  Did she? She never had reason not to. Not until now.

  “I try, Derrick.” She gripped his sleeves. “I try so hard.” The opportunity had arrived, and she found herself unable to tell him what she wanted to say. How she did everything for him. How he pushed her away. How even when she did try it wasn’t good enough. “It’s never enough,” she whispered.

  “What’s never enough?” he asked. The usual tone returned, full of disdain.

  “The effort I make,” she said. “Making lunch, taking care of the house, looking nice for you.” Her voice grew smaller, became a whisper. “It’s never enough for you. Is that why you’re . . . having an affair?” She stared at the front of his shirt.

  He t
hrew his hands up. “Lunch with a friend is not an affair.” He shook his head and paced. Here it was. The disbelief. She was wrong to think he would understand her pain.

  “What happened to us?” she asked. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks. She wiped them away. “Why do you hate me so much?”

  He barked a short laugh.

  “You sit in your damn dark basement and brood.” He didn’t deny hating her. “You sit down there, and you feed yourself lies and stories and stupid . . . shit! Then you come up here and fill this house with your pain. Your pain.” He held out his hand. “Give me the key.”

  Teresa backed away. She held the key to her chest, attached to her like an umbilical cord by a coiled lanyard around her wrist.

  “No,” she said. “No, you can’t.”

  “Give it to me, or I swear to God, Teresa.” His fists clenched.

  Derrick had never struck her or ever threatened to. Her mother’s words screamed through her mind.

  Keep your husband happy, and he will never have a reason to discipline you.

  “No, you can’t have it. You can’t take this from me.” She dodged by him and ran for the kitchen. Her socks slipped on the hardwood. Derrick grabbed her arm and pulled her against him.

  Fire in his eyes, he grabbed her wrist. She squeezed her hand so tight the key dug into her palm. He pried her fingers open and jerked it. The lanyard dug into her skin then broke. His breath came in bursts through his flared nostrils. He went to the basement and locked the door, then came back to her, a crazed look in his eyes. Teresa backed away from him until she bumped against the counter.

  “You will not be going down there anymore. Do you understand me?” He stuffed the key into his pocket. “Monday, you are coming to work.” Teresa opened her mouth to remind him she couldn’t come back. He held up his hand. “You will come back to work to help out in the office. I had to let Whitney go, remember?” He didn’t let her reply. “You will be a part of this family from now on, and you will stop obsessing down in the basement. Do you understand?”

  She wanted to yell that he needed to include her if he wanted her to be a part of the family.

  They were both panting from the grapple over the key. He was treating her like a child. She felt scolded, like she should cower before him and beg forgiveness. She felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time. Sensations that heated her through. She wanted to kiss him. To touch him. To feel him.