The Butterfly Affect
Page 3
“Now, this,” she said, hand still touching the bejeweled beauty at her throat, then patting it enthusiastically, “is more like a birthday present, my dearest.” She continued to peer at what encircled Brett’s tiny, tan neck, even walked around the girl slowly, looking unsuccessfully for some clue, or flaw, in the thing.
“Oh, it’s beautiful mother,” the girl said brightly, ‘Take it off so I can try it.” She reached up to touch the nearest realistic re-creation - a Tiger Swallowtail, outlined in tiny yellow stones - but her innocent inquisitiveness was expertly blocked.
“No…don’t touch,” her mother said harshly, “I don’t know where those hands have been…”
The woman of the house paid no mind, as usual, when Louisa came up behind her; knew the help had always taken the girl’s side in such matters, so made a point not to turn and look directly at her. Predicted the other was disapproving even now, probably shaking her head or shrugging her soft, rounded shoulders in disbelief.
“Do you have it, Louisa?” she asked, still not turning.
Indeed, the other, like a trusty squire, dutifully carried the torn butterfly wrapping paper and the jeweler’s hinged box with the velvet-lining and iconic embossed logo. “Yes, ma’am.”
The girl’s mother went back to the situation at hand without so much as an appreciative grunt.
“So, sweetie, as I was about to say, this...” but she stopped. Clearly she wasn’t making the impression on the girl she’d hoped; apparently the kid wasn’t even listening.
Brett giggled as if she was being tickled, of all things, and then began shrugging her shoulders and finally shook her head in a kind of half-shiver, half-shimmy.
The woman leaned ever so slightly towards the girl. Were the butterflies on her necklace actually writhing?
Now the woman had to shake her own head, to rid herself of such nonsensical thoughts, though it did literally pained her to do so. She closed her eyes; rubbed her again throbbing temples.
“Brett...” she said sharply, then tried to soften, “...sweetie…this is much too precious a thing for you to wear at your age,” now that had gotten her attention. Good. She continued, “I’ll keep it safe for you for a few years…”
“No-o-o…” the girl wailed.
Now she looked like she wanted to cry, but was fighting it. Her mother blinked slowly, waiting. She knew if the girl gave in to it, it would prove her point.
“Daddy...Daddy gave it to me…so, so he doesn’t think--” Her mother cut her off.
“You’re perfectly right, my darling,” she said, causing Brett to relax a little, “he doesn’t think. Nor did he likely ask how much this thing cost first, before he had it packed up and sent here…to a kid. So…I’m going to have my lawyer talk to his and…”
She stopped, finally noticing the girl had resumed her antics.
“Brett? What is it?”
Brett was giggling again; Louisa had come alongside and was staring, her mouth wide open.
Now even the typically oh-so-sophisticated, therefore studiously blasé, woman went bug eyed.
The girl’s necklace was falling apart; the butterflies were beyond wiggling, they were taking to flight, now circling...the girl’s head!
13
Brett watched the two wide-eyed women. Then she looked up to see what they both stared at.
Louisa had stepped back around behind her mother as if to leave, while her mother continued eying the butterflies’ circular path for a moment, before gasping in horror.
They’re going straight for Mom.
The woman went pale, then into a theatrical swoon. Fortunately Louisa was familiar enough with such reactions and saved the day. She slowed the woman’s floor-ward slump by catching her, deftly, under the armpits.
Brett, unafraid of the gentle creatures, leaned over into the midst of the dozen or so fluttering about, one of which had already settled on the tip of her mother’s nose. Thankfully her mother’s eyes were shut and the recent look-of-horror was completely erased from her face.
The girl knew there was no way she was faking it. That calm with a ‘bug’ on her? She was as good as asleep.
The girl looked up as Louisa trotted back with a wet cloth; she handed it to the girl straight through the still-swirling insects.
She’s not afraid of them, either.
Louisa whispered the age-old instructions, “There you go...right across her forehead.”
No reaction.
“Shouldn’t we get the necklace out of the way?” asked Brett.
“Certainly, miss, no need getting it damaged...accidently,” Louisa smiled, as she unfastened it.
She no doubt intended to lay it in the jewelry box but had barely gotten to her feet before freezing in place. Now the flyers were after her.
They were surrounding the look-alike strand as she held it, still draped in a semi-circle. One by one the fluttering ended as each deftly alighted on the smooth golden reverse side where previously one could read the engraved named of the particular species.
Soon, not a single butterfly remained aloft. Of course not a bit of gold backing was visible then, either. Not engraving, nor manufacturer’s mark, nor carat symbol.
“Oh, dear,” said Brett, as the housekeeper placed the jewelry in what she thought of now as a sort of velvet lined pet carrier. “What will Mother say?”
They looked down at the woman, who was actually snoring at that point.
“On TV and in movies I’ve seen them slap their face,” Brett said quietly, adding, “Louisa…um-m, don’t you think you should try that?”
The woman smiled, “No, miss, I think you should be the one to do the honors.”
So Brett lightly slapped her mother on one pale cheek, then the other. The woman’s eyelids fluttered, then slowed to a deliberate though exaggerated blink.
“Now then,” she said, looking up at them and continuing as if she always spoke to them like that…from flat out on the hallway floor, “What was I talking about?”
Louisa and Brett looked at each other and smiled.
THE END
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