Black Wings

by Megan Hart

  “You hated my mother,” Tommy said.

  “I’m sorry for you,” Marian told him gently.

  Silence.

  “Thanks.”

  “I can be there,” she said. “Briella has a planned home study day tomorrow, so—”

  “No,” Tommy cut in.

  Marian hesitated. “You don’t want her there?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  She waited for him to make an excuse or apology about how it wouldn’t be good for the kid, which honestly, Marian herself wasn’t sure about but would have been willing to concede to for his sake.

  “She’s old enough to know about death,” she said at last.

  Tommy’s derisive snort sounded very much like his daughter’s. “Oh, I’m well aware that she knows all about death. I remember what she said to my mother.”

  “Tommy.…” Marian sighed and pressed her fingertips between her eyes. There wasn’t much she could say other than, “I’m sorry.”

  “You can be there, if you want. But don’t bring the kid. It would be…too much.”

  “All right. And if there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know,” she said.

  Tommy huffed into the phone. “Thanks, Mare.”

  Dean had been sleeping when she’d gone into the bathroom. She found him sitting on the edge of the bed, blinking sleepily. The grin he gave her was pure light. He gestured for her to come closer.

  “Hey, baby. And baby,” he added, bending to push her shirt up so he could kiss her bare, slightly bumped-out belly.

  “Tommy’s mother died.” Marian ran her hands through the brush of Dean’s hair.

  He looked up at her. “We knew that was coming. Still sad.”

  “Funeral’s tomorrow.” She paused. “He specifically asked that Briella not come.”

  Dean yawned so widely she could see his back teeth. Scrubbed at his face. “Damn. That might be for the better, right? A funeral’s not the time to be dealing with weird family dynamics. It would be stressful enough, for Tommy and for the kid, too.”

  “Yes. I know. It just felt…wrong,” she said. “It makes me feel bad for her. Her own father. I mean, yeah, for years he’s not been around, but this definitely felt…bad.”

  “She told you herself she didn’t want to go around his mother anymore anyway, and she hasn’t wanted to spend any time with him, either. I think it’ll be fine, babe.” He tugged her down to his mouth for a kiss, interrupted by another broad, jaw-cracking yawn. “Damn it, I just can’t seem to wake up.”

  “You’re doing too much. Working too many hours,” she told him firmly.

  Dean shook his head. “Nah. Not doing too much. It’s not the amount of hours, baby, it’s the schedule. Having a hard time getting enough sleep. That’s all. I’ll power through. They’re still talking about letting me switch to the day shift, if I agree to keep taking the extra hours.”

  “You haven’t told them you’re banking the time to take off when the baby’s born, have you?”

  “Uh.…” Dean laughed self-consciously.

  Marian knuckled his arm. “Dean.”

  “I think it’s in my best interest not to reveal that as the plan,” he told her. “They’ll cut my overtime back, they definitely won’t switch me to days, and I’d go so far as to say that they might even try to find a way to dock my vacation hours. But if they do that, the money I’m getting now means I can take unpaid leave, if I have to.”

  Marian had, as Tommy said, hated his mother, but she’d still been fighting sympathetic tears since the phone call. Now, she burst into sobs. Braying, snot-filled sobs that had Dean pulling her down to rock her against him.

  “Hey, hey,” he soothed, stroking her hair. “What’s going on?”

  She couldn’t find words at first. Just another series of sloppy sobs. Dean let her cry.

  “You’re working all the time. You’re hardly ever here, and when you are, you’re asleep,” she managed finally. “You’re exhausted, and I’m exhausted and I’m pregnant and I just…I miss you. I miss you, baby. I miss you at night, I miss you during the mornings when you used to get home earlier.”

  “It’s temporary,” he told her.

  Marian nodded, wiping at her face with disgust. “I know. And I know you’re doing it for us. I’m being selfish.”

  “You’re allowed.” Dean put his palm flat on her belly.

  “I love you. God, so much.” They leaned together, saying nothing, letting the rhythm of their hearts sync. She rested her head on his shoulder. His breath caressed her face.

  “Are you going to the funeral?” he asked her.

  Marian sighed. “I don’t know. It’s no secret that I thought his mother was an awful person. But you don’t go to a funeral for the person who died. You go to support and show love for the people left behind.”

  Dean squeezed her shoulder. “Right.”

  “But I don’t love him any more, Dean. I mean, I did. A long, long time ago. But I haven’t in a long time. So…I don’t know. Do I go? If I do go, what do I tell Briella?”

  “Do you have to tell her anything?”

  Marian shifted to look at him. “Yeah. I do. She needs to know that her grandmother died, first of all, and I’m pretty sure Tommy isn’t going to tell her. Also, she doesn’t have school tomorrow, so if I’m going to the funeral, she can’t stay by herself.”

  “And I’ll be at work,” Dean said.

  “She can go to stay with my dad. I’m not worried about that part. But I do have to tell her.” Marian sighed. “What do I say if she asks to go?”

  “That’s a tough one. I don’t know.”

  As it turned out, Marian didn’t need to worry. She broke the news of Tommy’s mother’s death to Briella, who accepted it calmly and without question. She’d been accepting everything calmly and without question for the past few weeks, ever since her teachers at Parkhaven had forced her to put aside the Blackangel project to focus on something else.

  It had made life at home much quieter, although Marian had often found herself watching the girl too closely, waiting for an outburst of temper that hadn’t yet come. She searched Briella’s room for evidence that she was continuing to work on the project at home, but found nothing. And of Onyx? Marian could find no evidence that Briella was letting the bird in through her window at night. It still did come around the house in the afternoons to be fed, but it no longer left behind any gifts.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Marian had always been prone to laughter at inappropriate times. Listening to the mourners wax poetic about Tommy’s mother was sending her into a fit of giggles, and choking them back was upsetting her stomach. She was barely out of the first trimester, still suffering from occasional morning sickness that could hit at any hour of the day. Somehow, she thought that bursting into guffaws would be worse than puking all over the pew.

  At the graveside service she stood toward the back, both in case she had to make a hasty exit and also because although she was there for Tommy’s sake, she had no desire to be pushed into the public role of mourner. Stifling laughter in the church had been hard enough. If someone stated to her face how sorry they were for her loss, she wasn’t going to be able to hold it together.

  The weather was nice, at least. March had come in like a lamb, that was for sure. The grass was still brown beneath her sensible flats, but it was soft and the sun was shining. Marian let herself enjoy the promise of spring. If it felt a little disrespectful to do that, well…it was much better than pissing on the old bitch’s grave.

  After, Tommy hugged her for a long time. “Thanks for coming.”

  “No problem.” Marian patted his back. Over his shoulder, she spied a flash of dark shadow darting among the tombstones. A flutter of wings.

  When she pulled away from him to stare, though, there was nothing. If the bird had come to
the funeral, it was gone now. Or hiding, Marian thought with a shudder.

  “You okay?” Tommy asked.

  Marian pulled her attention back to him. She’d been imagining it. Onyx was not stalking her, or Tommy, or God forbid, the corpse of Tommy’s mother.

  “Yes. Just feeling a little sick to my stomach. I’m pregnant,” she added, because of course he couldn’t have known before now.

  Tommy blinked rapidly. “Congrats.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Dean’s a good guy,” he said next. “He’s a lucky fucking guy.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  Another flash of shadow, of wings, of fluttering feathers from behind him, this time closer. Her stomach lurched. The sun that had been so welcome now seemed too hot. She needed water and shade. Marian excused herself to head for her car, but although she kept an eye out for the bird, it never showed.

  By the time she got to her father’s house, her stomach was still unsettled but not threatening to erupt up her throat. The house was dim and quiet. Her father was in his recliner, as usual. Briella was in the kitchen when Marian came in.

  The girl spun around at the sound of her mother in the doorway. She’d been reaching into the cupboard by the microwave. A glass shattered. Briella cried out.

  “You scared me.” Briella sounded breathless. She put a hand over her heart as though to press against its pounding. Her tawny skin had flushed a deep, dark russet.

  “Careful,” Marian said and waved the kid away from the mess. “No, don’t touch it. I’ll clean it up.”

  “I’m sorry!”

  Marian looked at her with narrowed eyes. “Accidents happen, Bea…Briella.”

  “It was the Tweety glass!”

  Marian found the dustpan and broom to sweep up the shards of the Looney Tunes glass that had been around since her childhood. She pulled another glass from the cupboard, knocking over her father’s pill bottles in the process, and handed it to Briella. The girl poured herself some juice from the fridge while Marian cleaned up the glass.

  By the time she’d finished, her father had woken up and come into the kitchen. He assured Briella that he wasn’t angry about losing the glass. He hugged Marian and kissed her cheek. He reminded her of the doctor’s appointment he had the next week, and that she’d promised to drive him.

  She hadn’t forgotten, but it had slipped her mind. She made sure to add an alert to her phone’s calendar so she wouldn’t forget next week. They said their goodbyes.

  In the car, Marian looked into the rearview mirror to catch Briella’s gaze. “If you want to talk to me about Grandmother Gallagher, you know you can. Right?”

  “I know.”

  “It’s okay to be sad,” Marian said.

  Briella shrugged. “I’m not sad.”

  The rest of the drive was quiet, except for the radio. They pulled into the driveway as Amy and Toby were walking along the sidewalk, probably heading for the frog pond. Briella got out of the car first.

  “You want to come for a walk with us?” Amy called.

  Briella looked at her mother. “Can I?”

  Marian waited until she got closer to Amy before greeting the other woman. “Great day, huh?”

  “Spring is definitely on the way.” Amy eyed her. “If you don’t feel like taking the walk, Marian, Briella is still welcome to come with us. It would be a shame to waste such a pretty afternoon.”

  “Sure, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all,” Amy assured her.

  Briella and Toby were already heading for the edge of the cul-de-sac. Toby chattered to Briella, his words still unclear, but he was using so many more of them now. Briella had even taken him by the hand.

  “He found his voice,” Amy said with a small laugh.

  “Thanks for taking her. I’m a little tired. I’m…” Marian, thinking of Amy’s confession that she and her husband had been trying for another, paused. “Well, I guess it’s okay to start letting people know. I’m pregnant.”

  Amy blanched. A moment after that, she forced a smile. It seemed genuine enough, but Marian still felt guilty.

  “Congratulations,” Amy said.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The magazines in the waiting room were battered, the pages bent and some torn, but Marian flipped through them anyway. The obstetrician she saw belonged to the same medical group, and the magazines were mostly the same, but she gleaned them anyway for something she might have missed.

  “Mrs. Blake?”

  She looked up, confused. “Yes?”

  “Dr. Cole was wondering if you had a few minutes to chat about your dad.”

  Marian’s heart lurched. She stood. “Yes. Of course.”

  She had forgotten to put down the magazine and still clutched it as she took a seat in front of the doctor’s desk. Dr. Cole was in her mid-forties, skin the color of dark amber, with a broad smile of white teeth and kind hazel eyes. Marian’s father had spoken highly of her as a practitioner, but Marian had never met her before.

  “Marian,” Dr. Cole greeted her. “Thanks for bringing your dad in. He’s having some blood drawn right now, but I wanted to talk to you about a few things. First, did your dad mention any falls or injuries lately? There’s a wound on the back of his neck, at the base of his skull, and we can’t seem to pinpoint how it might have happened.”

  “No.” Marian shook her head, grateful for the doctor’s ability to get right to the point. “Is he all right?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s healing fine. He couldn’t recall how he cut himself, though, and that’s troubling, because he also seems to have been forgetting his meds. Or possibly taking the wrong doses. At any rate, he’s run out of his prescriptions earlier than he’s supposed to a couple times now.”

  “I know there was once, months ago. There’ve been more?”

  “He asked for refills at this visit, too. Now it wouldn’t normally be such an issue – things happen, pills get spilled, whatever. But coupled with the cut on the back of his neck that he can’t recall, or honestly didn’t seem to know about, that’s concerning.” Dr. Cole pulled a pad of paper toward her and scribbled something on it before handing it to Marian. “I’m going to give you the name of a specialist in elder care. Specifically dealing with neurological problems.”

  “You think he’s got Alzheimer’s or something?” Marian tried but failed to keep her voice calm.

  “Your dad might simply be experiencing the normal mental decline of aging,” Dr. Cole said kindly.

  Marian twisted her hands in her lap. “Does dementia make people do weird things? Like imitate animals? Make…bird noises?”

  “It could, I suppose. Why? Is that what happened with your father?” Dr. Cole’s smile had faded, replaced with concern.

  “Just once. A few months ago. He woke up, said he’d been dreaming. I thought it was nothing at the time.” That was mostly the truth.

  Dr. Cole nodded. “I’m sure it was nothing. Talking in your sleep or reacting to dreams is very common and has nothing to do with any indications of a declining mental state. But make him an appointment with the specialist and keep an eye on the cut on the back of his neck. Please don’t hesitate to call me if you have any other questions.”

  In the car, Marian waited until they were on the drive to ask her father about what had happened to his neck.

  “I cut myself shaving,” he told her blithely.

  “Why were you shaving the back of your neck?”

  He gave her a look. “Because it was scruffy.”

  “Dad.” Marian sighed, clutching the steering wheel as she navigated the lunchtime traffic. “I’m worried about you. That’s all.”

  “I’ve told you, dolly, you don’t have to be.”

  “That doesn’t stop me from worrying,” she told him.

  * * *

  The vis
it with Dr. Cole had been so disheartening that the first thing Marian did as soon as she dropped off her dad was to drive herself straight to the local fast-food burger joint, where she ordered a two-patty burger with extra cheese and mayo. Extra pickles, too. A jumbo order of fries and a strawberry milkshake completed the indulgence, but what made it truly disgusting was that she ate it all in the driveway because she couldn’t stand to wait until she got it in the house.

  Marian stared at her greasy fingers, still glistening although she’d tried to wipe them clean, first with the handful of cheap paper napkins that she’d stuck inside the paper sack along with the food. Then with a couple of baby wipes from her bag. She’d never stopped carrying them with her, even when Briella no longer wore diapers. She was going to have to get used to all of that all over again, Marian thought, staring stupidly at the soft, moist squares of fabric-like paper.

  Then suddenly she was weeping, the food as heavy in her gut as if she’d eaten a pile of rocks. She clung to the steering wheel so hard her fingers ached, the knuckles swollen and sore like she’d been punching things all morning long. Her belly was barely bumped, but she was already starting to have a hard time breathing with the baby pushing upward on her lungs all the time. Now her nose clogged and she had to gasp for breath and still felt like she couldn’t get enough air.

  The Parkhaven van pulled up at the end of the driveway. Marian muttered a string of curses and tore another couple of wipes from the package. She scrubbed at her face, glad she hadn’t bothered to put on mascara this morning. Yeah, she looked like a hag, but at least it wouldn’t be smeared all over her face now. She blew her nose hastily and shoved the nasty, used wipes into the empty fast-food bag. In the rearview mirror, her eyes looked puffy. Her face, bloated. She looked like shit.

  Briella had gotten out of the van and was already on the front porch. She hadn’t seen Marian in the car, so at least there was that to be grateful for. Marian stifled a belch with the back of her hand, waiting to see if she was going to gag on the rising taste of grease and onions. Heartburn tickled her behind the ribs, but she was used to that.