Black Wings

by Megan Hart

  Tommy sighed and ran a hand through his hair. She shouldn’t take such glee in how much older he looked with the start of the bald spot, but she did.

  “Look.” He hesitated. “Let’s put things in perspective. My mom is going to die. Soon.”

  Marian contemplated her toast quietly, before saying gently but without much sympathy, “If you want people to say nice things about you when you’re dead, you shouldn’t be an asshole when you’re alive.”

  “Exactly. I’m trying hard not to be an asshole. It’s not about my mom, Mare. It’s about me and you being okay,” Tommy said. “I want to be okay with Briella.”

  Marian didn’t have an answer for that, but she fortunately didn’t need one, because Dean’s booming voice echoed through the house.

  “Baby! I’m hoooome! And I see we have company.” Dean came into the kitchen with a broad grin that didn’t falter even when he saw who sat at the kitchen table. “Yep. I thought I smelled bullshit all the way out at the street. You parked in my spot, douche.”

  Tommy rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

  Dean gave Marian a kiss, long and lingering and deliberate, she thought, but allowed it to go on as long as he wanted. “Hey, baby. You look scrumptious.”

  “Gross,” Tommy said.

  Marian looked over Dean’s shoulder. “You can go home any time.”

  Tommy didn’t get up from the table. He looked uncomfortable, but his discomfort didn’t seem to be about Dean. He scratched his fingers through his hair again. “Look. About the kid.…”

  “I’m not okay with you taking her to your parents again,” Marian cut in. “I know your mom’s sick and everything, but—”

  “Yeah, about that. It’s about that,” he said and stopped himself again without finishing.

  “Coffee?” Dean asked.

  “I’ll make you fresh.” Marian kissed him again and started toward the cupboard. She put in fresh grounds and water, expecting that Tommy would have said what he had to by the time she was done. He still hadn’t, and, irritated, she gestured at him. “You know, for the guy who used to run his mouth nonstop, you sure ended up without a lot to say. What is it?”

  “That bird. The black one, the raven.”

  Marian’s insides twisted. “Onyx?”

  “Yeah. He was at my parents’ house again the other night.”

  Dean frowned. “How can you be sure it was the same one?”

  “Because when I called it by name, it said ‘Briella’.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The story Tommy told was brief but took a long time to get out of him, because he kept stopping to shake his head, as though he couldn’t believe his own words. When he got to the part where he talked about the bird tapping on the house windows, whichever one it could see his mother through, he went silent and shuddered, over and over.

  “Did you let it in the house?” It was the only thing Marian could think of to ask.

  “Of course I didn’t let it in the fucking house,” Tommy retorted. “God only knows what it was intending to do!”

  Dean laughed, and if Tommy’s glare bothered him, he didn’t show it. “It was probably intending to get something to eat. You fed it the last time, right?”

  “Yeah,” Tommy answered reluctantly.

  “Ravens are smart, and they’ll remember where they got food before.” Dean caught Marian’s glance and shrugged. “I listen to the kid when she talks about it.”

  “If it was just begging for food, why was it there at night? Tapping the windows? Fucking singing?” Tommy got up and went to the fridge to help himself to the jug of orange juice. “Ugh. Pulp.”

  “Forgive me, the next time I shop I’ll remember to buy the kind of orange juice you like.” Marian refilled Dean’s mug with coffee, stopping to look down at him when he touched her wrist. The smile he gave her made everything seem okay.

  We’ll all be just fine, she thought, and the taste of something sour coated her tongue and closed her throat.

  Tommy took the juice to the table. Marian gave him a glass, and he filled it, gulping half the contents before swiping a hand over his mouth and setting the glass back on the table with a thump. He looked up at both of them.

  “I just thought you should know about it, that’s all. I mean…it said her name.”

  His tone prickled the hairs on the back of Marian’s neck. “You come in here, talking about how you want things to be okay, but you still think there’s something wrong with her. You couldn’t stand the idea of her going to that ‘weirdo’ school, but you want to lock her up in some psych ward, is that it? It will never happen, Tommy, not over my dead body!”

  “Babe. He’s not saying that.” Dean shook his head.

  Marian whirled on him. “Don’t you dare hush me.”

  “I wasn’t hushing you. Just saying. I’m sure he only wants the best for her. That’s all. He’s worried.”

  “Do you think he has reason to be?” she retorted. “Do you think he’s got reason to think we aren’t going to keep Briella safe and take care of her?”

  “I don’t think that.” Tommy got up from the table. “But it’s that bird, okay? I think you need to be careful with it. Don’t let it get too close to her. It’s not healthy.”

  Marian crossed her arms over her chest. She wouldn’t agree with Tommy if he said the Pope was Catholic. “There’s nothing wrong with Briella having a pet.”

  “That thing’s not a pet, and you know it. If it comes around my house again, I’ll shoot it,” Tommy said.

  “Big man,” Marian replied.

  After that, Tommy got the hint he might not be totally welcome there, and he left. Dean followed him out to his car so he could move his into his normal spot. Marian watched them both from the front window, standing behind the curtains so they couldn’t see her.

  “What were you talking about?” she asked when Dean came back in the house.

  He looked surprised. “He was apologizing for coming over so early and taking my spot. I assume he meant the parking spot.”

  “That’s not funny,” she snapped.

  “I’m sorry. He was just apologizing, baby. That’s all.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Tommy.”

  “Maybe he’s changed a little, Marian. People do.”

  She frowned. “So what, you’re taking his side?”

  “I’m not taking any sides,” Dean said. “Wow. What’s going on with you?”

  “Nothing’s going on with me.”

  Truth was, Marian did feel unsettled. Irritable. She didn’t usually blame PMS for bad moods, but that seemed a likely cause now. Forcing the crankiness aside, she hugged him.

  “Sorry,” Marian said. “I didn’t get a good night’s sleep.”

  Dean yawned. “Come back to bed with me for a little while.”

  She looked at the clock. “I’m supposed to go to my dad’s for lunch.”

  “Come back to bed with me,” Dean said with a grin.

  * * *

  Her father seemed surprised to see her when he answered the door, but let her in with a smile and a hug. He’d forgotten she was supposed to come for lunch, Marian realized, but didn’t point it out to him. She didn’t want to embarrass him. Maybe she didn’t want to have to face it, either, the fact that he was slowly but clearly declining. She hadn’t spoken to her brother in a few months, but she would have to call him, Marian thought. She would have to tell him to visit from California, soon. They would have to talk about what to do about their father.

  But not right now. Now, she made them both macaroni and cheese, with tuna fish sandwiches on white bread, pickle spears and chips on the side. It was a comfort meal from her childhood, her mother’s specialty, and usually Marian loved it. Today it left her stomach rumbling and unsettled.

  Dad fell asleep in his recliner after lunch, the
way he usually did. Marian left him there while she went upstairs to her old bedroom to sort through some boxes of stuff she’d left behind almost a decade ago. If she hadn’t needed it in all that time, she doubted she’d need it now, but she did find some childhood books that she packed up for Briella. She took the rest down to her car and put it in the trunk to be donated. The entire house would have to be cleaned out, eventually. She didn’t let herself think about the reasons for that.

  Halfway down the stairs again with a heavy box in her hands, a rise of nausea hit her so hard she almost dropped everything. By the time she got to the bottom, Marian had to let the box fall. With a hand over her mouth, she ran for the small bathroom off the hallway. She barely made it before her lunch came up, bitter, sour, burning.

  “Marian?” Her father’s voice in the doorway was concerned, but Marian didn’t dare turn to face him. She could only concentrate on heaving into the toilet.

  When she’d finished, her dad handed her a damp washcloth and a paper cup from the dispenser so she could rinse her mouth, then gave her privacy. Marian pushed her hair off her sweaty forehead and waited to see if she was going to have another round. Her stomach had settled enough for her to risk going out to the kitchen, where she found him with the kettle on.

  “Peppermint tea,” he said. “Good for your belly. Was it something you ate?”

  “I don’t know. I hope not.” Marian pressed on her stomach but the sickness had passed.

  “Lots of good memories in this house,” her dad said abruptly.

  Marian sipped her tea. “Yes. Lots.”

  “Me and your mother, this is the only house we ever lived in together.”

  “I know that, Dad,” she said.

  “I miss her.”

  “I miss her too.” Marian reached across the table to squeeze his hand.

  “It’ll be yours and Desmond’s. When I pass.” Her father squeezed back.

  “Dad, that won’t be for a long time,” she began, but he waved her quiet.

  “I knew when your mama left us too soon that I was going to have too many years without her. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. But that’s what God gave us.” Her father smiled. “It won’t be long now, though. The angels tap every night now.”

  Marian blinked, sighed. Frowned. “Do they sing?”

  “Sometimes.” Her father patted her hand with his gnarled fingers. “Sometimes they just call my name. That’s how I know it’ll be my time soon. I dream about flying every night. Sometimes, when I wake up, I still feel as though I have wings.”

  “That’s a little scary, Dad.” Marian shook her head.

  “It’s not scary at all. It’s a comfort. It feels like a freedom, Marian. And it’s been a long time since your old dad felt free that way.” He patted her hand again, then got up to take their mugs to the sink.

  Marian got up and pushed him gently aside. “I’ll wash these. I’m just worried about you, that’s all. I’m worried about you being here all by yourself.”

  “You don’t need to worry about me.” He put a hand on her shoulder.

  She turned, fighting tears. “I love you, Dad.”

  “Love you too, baby girl. You bring that dolly of yours around to see me soon, you hear?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “And don’t you worry about me,” her father said. “We’ll all be just fine.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  She got home barely ahead of the Parkhaven van. The entire drive, Marian had been thinking about Tommy’s story of the raven at his parents’ house, and how it connected with the idea her father had about ‘angels’ tapping on the windows. Then there’d been the day when her dad had woken up making those awful noises – those, she had to admit, bird noises. And if she really wanted to dig deep, scrape away the layers of determined ignorance and piece the puzzle together even more, there’d been the time he’d needed her to pick up new meds because his had gone missing. The combination of his pain and blood pressure meds could cause seizures. She knew that because she’d gone to the doctor with him for his last appointment.

  Seizures.

  She threw up again just before Briella burst through the front door. There’d been nothing to bring up but sour strings of bile and air. Marian had stopped at the drugstore on the way home to pick up something she hadn’t thought she’d ever need again. The instructions said to wait for first morning urine, but Marian couldn’t wait that long. She’d bought the twin pack, anyway, so she had a spare if she needed one.

  She peed on the stick and set it on the counter on top of a scrap of toilet paper.

  She washed her hands, studying her face in the mirror again for any signs that something had changed inside her. There weren’t any, of course. Some faint circles beneath her eyes that came from the lack of sleep she’d been having over the past few weeks. Some new silver threads in her dark curls, more prominent now that she’d pulled her hair back.

  It was too soon to check for a result, so she went out to find that Briella had already helped herself to some cubed cheese and grapes. “Hey.”

  “Hi, Mama. See, you didn’t have to help me. At school they let us fix our own snacks, because we should learn to be self…self…efficient.” Briella stumbled over the term and grinned, showing the gaps between her teeth.

  “Self-sufficient. How was school?” The correction and the question both came out automatically, but Marian, suddenly starving, was too distracted by her hunger and the anticipation of what the stick in the bathroom would tell her. She nodded and murmured as Briella told her all about what had gone on that day, but she wasn’t really listening.

  “…so they gave me my own lab room,” Briella said.

  This caught Marian’s attention. “They did? All to yourself?”

  “Yep. Because I’ve got a project that nobody else wants to work on.” Briella shrugged and ate more cheese.

  “That sounds…” Marian shrugged, uncertain what she meant to say. It sounded suspicious, but she wasn’t going to tell Briella that.

  Briella paused, her glossy dark brows furrowing. “It sounds what, Mama?”

  “Sounds like I need to call and talk to your teacher. To make sure everything’s okay.” Marian plucked a couple of cheese cubes from the plate and tossed them in her mouth.

  “You don’t need to do that,” Briella said.

  Marian was anxious. Stressing. Yet beneath it all, a certain unanticipated hope had begun to rise. She didn’t want to think too hard about it, convinced she was psyching herself out, but…

  A baby?

  She and Dean were going to have a baby. The past month or so made so much sense now. The achiness and mood swings, the trouble sleeping. The puking.

  Briella was still talking about school, the lab and her experiments, but Marian had zoned out. Standing in front of the sink, staring at the backyard, she roused herself with a shake of her head at her daughter’s impatient tone. She turned.

  “What?”

  “I said,” Briella replied with a frown, “you can just check the parent portal.”

  Oh, that thing. The tech that so annoyed her, because every time she tried, the system booted her out. “Right. Finish your snack. I’m going to go to the bathroom again.”

  “You just went,” Briella said.

  Marian ignored her. She went to the bathroom and checked the stick. Two lines.

  Oh my God.

  “Mama, I’m done with my snack— What’s that?” Briella flung the door open hard enough to bounce the handle off the wall.

  “Be careful,” Marian scolded and tucked the pregnancy test into her pocket. “It’s nothing. You don’t need to worry about it. Let’s go see if you can help me get logged in. If the desktop is too old and slow, we’ll have to use your school laptop.”

  “Why’d you put it in your pocket?”

  Maria
n turned the girl and nudged her forward. “Go. Out of the bathroom.”

  The portal, as it turned out, had to be reset again. For some reason, the email listed under Marian’s contact profile was wrong again – just another typo, but a guarantee that she wouldn’t actually get any of the emails from the school. With Briella hovering over her shoulder, waiting anxiously to get her laptop back, Marian changed it and checked the site’s inbox for messages.

  Along with the usual updates about the daily menu and extracurricular activities, there was a message from Briella’s homeroom teacher, Mrs. Addison. She explained that although Briella was new to the school, she’d adapted wonderfully and they’d decided to shift the focus of her curriculum to something she called a ‘student-led learning module’. There wasn’t anything in there about Briella having her own lab to work in, and the student-led learning bit sounded a little more hippy-dippy than Marian was used to. The note went on to praise Briella for being ‘focused’, ‘determined’ and ‘creative’.

  The last part suggested that she might benefit from some sessions with the school psychologist.

  Marian’s fingers twitched on the keyboard. Giving up on bugging her mother to finish, Briella had finished her snack and gone into the den to watch TV. She hadn’t asked permission, but Marian didn’t scold. She read the message again.

  Focused, determined, creative.

  Reluctance to participate in classroom activities, trouble relating to other students, an occasional less-than-respectful attitude toward authority.

  “It’s candy sprinkles on a shit cake,” she said to Dean an hour or so later when he’d woken to amble into the kitchen, where Marian was fixing dinner. She showed him her phone, where the email had finally arrived.

  He scanned the message quickly and shrugged. “Sounds like she’s doing well in school, but they have some concerns. That can’t be a total shocker.”

  “First of all, that message is from two weeks ago. If there are issues,” Marian said, “they should be following up with a phone call or a paper sent home, since I didn’t reply to it. They also need to get their stupid parent portal fixed. And they need to just come out and say what those issues are, so we can be prepared to address them. I don’t want to sign off on her going to some shrink without making sure it’s really what she needs. I mean, trouble relating to other students? Briella’s always been friendly to other kids.”