by Megan Hart
Marian shrugged, uncomfortable with the question. They’d been neighbors for about a year, but this woman was essentially still a stranger. Too many people felt like it was okay to ask women about their plans for their uteruses, she thought, trying to come up with an answer that wouldn’t sound rude, even if she thought Amy’s question had been a little intrusive.
She was saved from answering when Amy noticed Briella and Toby had reached the end of the cul-de-sac, passing Hank’s house and starting down the small path that cut between his yard and the house between his and Amy’s. That house had been empty for the past six months, and the yard was overgrown, providing a border of grass and weeds to the left of the path. On the right side, Hank’s electric dog fence was marked about two feet back with small white flags.
“Toby, wait for Mommy!” Amy’s voice had risen high enough that Briella and Toby both turned around to look with surprised expressions.
It was because of the dog. Rufus, Hank’s ill-tempered hound, wasn’t always out in the yard, but today he trotted toward the boundary of the electric fence. The dog kept his distance from the flags, trained by the shock collar, but the moment Briella put a foot to the path, the dog barked and ran back and forth along the invisible barrier.
Toby, startled, began to cry until Amy got to him and picked him up. Briella didn’t look frightened, but she hung back to wait for Marian to take her hand. Her little fingers squeezed.
“It’s okay, Mama, he won’t come beyond the fence.”
The girl was trying to comfort her, Marian realized with a pang of emotion, a surge of love so deep and strong she wondered how any mother could endure it without dying a little from the force of it.
“I don’t like those shock fences,” Amy said in a low voice as they managed to get beyond Hank’s yard and into the forest proper. “They don’t seem safe. And they feel cruel.”
Marian had let go of Briella’s hand so the girl could run ahead to the small pond a bit farther down the path. After a moment, Amy hesitantly let Toby down to join her. She gave Marian a sideways glance.
“I admire you,” she said.
Marian let out a surprised laugh. “What? Why?”
“You just seem so confident as a mother.” Amy shrugged and looked awkward. “I hover. I fret. Jeff says I baby Toby too much, but you know what, he’s still a baby to me. Jeff says that soon enough he won’t be, and I guess that’s true, so why not let me…you know. Let him be a baby for as long as I can? Toby! Not so far ahead! See? I just…”
Marian shook her head at Amy’s self-conscious laugh, and both of them stepped up the pace to get around the bend in the path so they could see the kids. “You don’t have to apologize to me. I get it. I’m glad you see me as being so confident, because I can tell you, Amy, I am so, so not.”
“Not so close, wait for Mommy!” Amy shouted.
Briella was the one to wait, looking over her shoulder, and she grabbed the back of Toby’s overalls to haul him a step back from the pond’s edge. The pond itself was little more than a drainage ditch, not deep enough to sustain fish. But it was home to a chorus of peeping frogs all summer long, even into the late fall.
The path continued toward a stream that ran along the power lines, but Marian had never hiked beyond the pond. Dean had told her that as a teen, he and his buddies had hung out by the stream, skinny-dipping and smoking weed, drinking beer. The path ended at the junkyard, where the coyotes were rumored to linger.
“Were you close with your mom?” Marian asked as they drew closer to the pond.
Amy smiled. “Yeah. She’s an inspiration to me. She always had time for us, no matter what. Dinner on the table at six. Came to every school event. The whole thing. Even now, she’s always there for me when I need her. How about you?”
“My mom passed away about nine years ago. But yes, we were close. We were different in a lot of ways. I know I disappointed her sometimes, mostly about religion. But I always felt like she understood me.”
Amy smiled. “Oh, that must be nice for you. To have been so close to your mom, and to have such a great relationship with your daughter. I’m sure that has a lot to do with why you’re such a good mom to Briella.”
I don’t understand Briella, Marian wanted to say. And I don’t know if I could ever have explained that to my mom.
“Gogs!” Toby pointed at the pond, his face alight.
It was the first time Marian had heard the kid speak, and the toddler way he shouted the word made her laugh.… And it felt good to laugh, she thought, realizing it had been too long since she had. Standing on the edge of the tiny pond, watching her daughter and the neighbor boy hunting all around for ‘gogs’, Marian breathed in the warm fall air and let herself simply enjoy the moment.
“We’re working with him on his language skills. He’s a bit developmentally delayed,” Amy said, sounding embarrassed. Her chin went up, her mouth giving a little wobble, but she didn’t cut her gaze from Marian’s. “I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“I hadn’t,” Marian assured her. Amy’s admission made Marian somehow like her more.
Amy stared past her, toward the kids. “It’s harder than I thought it would be. You know when they’re born, you have all these big plans. I think I hold on to him so hard because I’m worried he’s never going to…that he’s going to have trouble. Now he’s still little, you know, people give him a break. But the older he gets, the less kind people will be.”
“I do know,” Marian said a little too fervently.
“I got one!” Briella’s breathy scream of excitement brought Marian back to herself.
“Gross,” Amy said with a wrinkled nose.
Briella was squeezing the frog in one fist, its legs dangling from between her fingers. Yeah, the critter was supposed to have pop eyes, but Marian was pretty sure they were bulging from the kid’s grip. She waved a hand.
“Not so tight, Bean.”
“I have to hold him tight, or he’ll get away!”
“You’re going to squish it,” Marian said, but Briella was too busy squealing at the feeling of the frog in her palm to pay attention. She sighed. “Let Toby look.”
Annoyance flashed across Briella’s face, but she bent to let the little boy see the frog in her hand. When he tried to grab it, though, she held it up too high from him to reach.
“No, no,” she scolded. “You’ll squish it.”
Toby didn’t cry, but giggled as Briella bent again to show him the frog, which took that moment to struggle its way free. With a shout, Briella grabbed at it as the frog tried to hop away. She caught it by one leg and lifted it, swinging, while Marian cried out for her to be careful. The weight of the frog’s body was too much for it, and as Briella swung, she was left holding only the leg as the rest of it tore free.
Toby was screaming, Amy was shouting, Marian was trying to catch the falling frog. Briella held on to the single leg with a stunned look. The rest of the frog hit the dirt by the pond and lay there without moving before feebly trying to hop with one leg toward the water.
“Don’t touch it,” Amy told Toby, who was trying to pick it up. She gave Marian a wild-eyed look of panic.
Marian’s stomach twisted at the sight of the mangled frog, and she bent to try and nudge it along to the water, even though the thought of touching it grossed her out. “Bean…”
“I didn’t mean to!”
“I know you didn’t. It was an accident.”
From the woods on the other side of the pond, a black shape flew. It circled them, rasping out its rough greeting, before diving toward the maimed frog and stabbing it with its beak. Amy screamed again, this time lifting Toby to shield him from the sight. Marian fell back, still feeling the wind from the raven’s wings on her face.
The damned thing had nearly clipped her. For a second she considered trying to wrest the now limp frog from its mouth, out of
spite, but she didn’t want to touch the dead thing, nor did she want to get close to that sharp beak. It was Onyx, she thought. It had to be.
“Briella, just step back. Let the bird do its thing,” Marian said.
Briella didn’t listen. She bent to stroke the raven’s glossy feathers as it stabbed again into the frog and began gulping it down. She was murmuring to it.
“Aren’t you afraid it’s going to peck her?” Amy asked.
Marian pulled at Briella’s shirt. The bird flew up, shrieking, slapping its feathers in Marian’s face before it flew off. The smell of it, somehow dusty, feral, earthy, made her cough. It hadn’t hurt her, but her skin crawled.
“Awww, Mama, you scared him away.”
“You can get diseases from wild animals,” Amy said.
Marian hated the raven, but she thought she might dislike Amy’s constant worrying just a little bit more. “It’s fine, Amy.”
“Here. I have some hand sanitizer—”
“I said it was fine.” Marian’s words came out clipped, irritated, and she tried to soften them with a smile, but she could tell by the way Amy flinched she hadn’t done a very good job.
Toby had stopped crying and now struggled to get down. He ran to Briella, who was bent back to the pond, babbling about ‘gogs’. They didn’t catch any more, and Marian was glad. The raven didn’t return, and she was also glad about that.
“Well. Maybe we should get back,” Amy said. “C’mon, Toby. We’re going home now.”
Briella didn’t argue when Marian called her over. She scuffed the dirt with her shoe and gave Amy a solemn look. “Sorry about the frog.”
“It’s all right. You didn’t mean to. Would you like a granola square?” Amy had dug into her pack.
Relieved the other woman didn’t seem to be holding a grudge, Marian offered a package of nuts. “Would Toby like some?”
“Oh, he’s allergic to peanuts,” Amy said hastily. “No, thank you.”
Marian put the nuts away quickly. “Sorry.”
She and Amy didn’t talk much as they walked back along the small path toward the cul-de-sac. Rufus the dog didn’t come out barking this time, another thing for Marian to be grateful about. Briella and Toby had gone far enough ahead that it was hard to hear what Briella was telling him, though she was clearly talking a mile a minute to the littler kid.
“She’s really good with him,” Amy said finally as they hit the sidewalk.
It was an obvious attempt at mending a fence that hadn’t really been knocked over, but Marian took it. “She doesn’t spend much time with younger kids. My brother has two about Toby’s age, but we don’t see much of him. He and his wife live in California.”
“Well, she’s welcome to come over any time. It’s good for Toby to interact with an older child. I think it’ll help him.” Amy gave Marian a sideways look and said like a confession, “Jeff and I are trying for another.”
“Oh? Wow. That’s…good luck. That’s exciting,” Marian said.
Amy grinned and nodded. “Yes. Of course, we have no idea when we’ll get pregnant. We’re just…you know. Trying.”
“That’s the fun part.” Marian chuckled.
Amy’s eyes widened, and she covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh!”
But they both laughed together after that, and it was nice. A moment. Marian and Amy had not been friends before this, but wouldn’t it be nice if they could be? How long had it been since Marian had made a new friend? Hell, how long had it been since she’d connected with an old friend? Too long to both.
“Let’s do this more often,” Amy said, as though she were reading Marian’s mind.
A shadow passed over them. They both looked up. It was the bird, circling. It cawed or squawked or whatever the hell sound that ravens made. It dipped lower around the children but flew off before either Amy or Marian could take more than a half step toward them.
“Onyx,” Toby said clearly with a wide grin on his chubby face. “Onyx!”
Chapter Sixteen
Marian had expected the bird to be lingering at the back door when they got home, but the yard was empty. Nor did Briella mention a word about the raven. Marian made her the usual snack of apples and peanut butter, grateful beyond anything that the kid wasn’t allergic. She served the snack at the kitchen table while Briella scribbled furiously in her notebook, her tongue poking between her teeth in concentration. Marian cleaned the kitchen and started dinner. She pretended not to be looking at Briella’s work, but the girl caught her staring and shielded what she was writing with an arm.
Marian kept her voice neutral, trying not to seem too interested. It was obvious the girl was trying to hide what she was doing. “What are you working on, Bean?”
“Just some theories. About frogs.”
Marian nodded like that made sense. She’d seen a hint of a drawing. Briella was no artist, but it had clearly been a frog.
“What do you think they taste like?” Briella asked.
“Frogs?”
Briella nodded, still keeping her arm in front of the workbook as she wrote.
Marian shrugged. “Well, in France they eat frogs’ legs, so I guess they can’t be that bad. But I haven’t ever eaten one, and I don’t think I want to. Do you?”
“I was just wondering. Why do you think it’s okay for Onyx to eat the same stuff we do, but I wouldn’t eat what he eats? Like, bugs and stuff. Why do you think it tastes good to him, but not us?”
“I’m not sure. That’s just how we’re made, I guess.” Marian checked the oven temperature and, satisfied there was nothing else to do but wait for the meal to finish cooking, she poured herself a glass of iced tea and took a seat at the table.
“Who made us that way?” Briella closed the notebook with a snap and gave her mother a fierce look.
Marian took a long sip of her drink, trying to think how best to answer. She wasn’t going to get away with nonsense. “Some people think God makes us the way we are.”
“Grandpa does. He believes in God a lot.”
“Yes.” Marian nodded. “Grandpa does.”
“But you don’t?”
Marian tapped the table with her fingers. “I used to. When I was your age, I did.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what my parents taught me to believe. I didn’t have a choice.”
Briella snorted in disbelief. “They couldn’t make you believe in God and heaven. If you didn’t.”
“I don’t mean that they forced me,” Marian said. “I mean that I didn’t know any different than what they told me, so I just believed it. The way you believe me when I tell you things.”
Briella looked appalled. “Like what? What do you tell me that isn’t true? You said we shouldn’t lie! That’s bad to tell kids stuff that’s not true!”
Ah, shit. Marian had gotten herself caught. “My mom and dad didn’t try to make me believe stuff that wasn’t true. Just like I don’t make you believe stuff that’s not true. But sometimes, parents tell their children something when they’re younger, and when they get older, the kids don’t believe it any more. Like Santa. You just told me a little while ago that you don’t believe in Santa anymore. But you used to. And when you were little, you loved Santa. Was it bad for me and Dean to tell you he was real, even if you don’t believe in him anymore?”
Briella put her chin in her hands to think about this. “So…God and Jesus are the same as Santa, except sometimes people don’t stop believing, even if they aren’t real.”
“Yes. Maybe. Kind of. But, Bean, don’t go around saying that to anyone. It would really hurt Grandpa’s feelings to hear you say something like that. Even if it’s what you believe.”
“Is that what I should believe?” Briella looked confused.
Marian sighed and rubbed the spot between her eyes. Both of them shared the sa
me divot there, from frowning. “I don’t know. I’m not sure what I believe, now. A person who doesn’t believe in God is called an atheist. A person who’s not sure about the existence of God is called an agnostic. So I’m an agnostic, but I’m hopeful that someday I might be convinced there is a God. So I’m an optimistic agnostic.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Optimistic means hopeful. You hope something is true.”
“Optimistic agnostic,” Briella repeated under her breath. “I guess that’s what I am, too. But why don’t you believe in God anymore, Mama? If you did when you were my age?”
“When Gramma died, I guess I gave up believing. I couldn’t believe that if God was real, that he would have let that car hit my mom. I was really angry and sad.” Marian said this bluntly, but not harshly. It was the truth, and even if her instinct was to shield her kid from stuff like this, she knew it was better to tell it.
Briella frowned and got up from her chair to come around the table and hug Marian. She was quiet. Marian pressed her face into Briella’s tangled curls and held her tight.
“Grandpa says Gramma’s in heaven.”
“That’s what he believes. Yes.”
Briella pushed back a little to look her mother in the face. “But you don’t?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure there is a heaven, or a hell. Some people think that you can live many lifetimes, and that after you die, you come back as someone else. But I don’t believe that, either,” Marian said.
Briella went back to her seat. Her brow furrowed, she pulled the notebook toward her and flipped through a few pages, too fast for Marian to see anything. She shook her head, muttering, then took the pencil and scribbled something before closing the notebook again.
“What about animals? Do they go to heaven? Do they come back as other animals, or people?”
“I don’t know, Bean. I wish I had a better answer for you, but I just don’t.”
“If we don’t go to heaven after we die, where do we go, then?” the girl asked seriously, looking to Marian for an answer, the way she had for everything else in her life. Only instead of being able to open the closet door and lift the bedskirt to show her there were no monsters, Marian was not able to just give her the right answer. One that made sense and offered comfort. One that would make her feel better.
