Halfway there, p.17
Halfway There, page 17
I yawned.
Which was ironic given I was technically asleep. I left the books on the table and went back to bed. When I woke in the morning, there would be no table and chair. No hidden room.
And I was getting an axe.
I fell asleep immediately, and when I woke, I thought I still dreamed. That or I was going crazy because, in the corner, where there used to be a wall, was a reading nook with a doily-covered chair and lots of books on the shelf, plus the three on the little side table.
What I didn’t see was a wall. At all.
Or a closet, for that matter. Instead, I saw a huge wardrobe that, when opened, revealed my clothes. It was as if the closet never existed. I turned slowly in the newly uncovered space. Was I still dreaming?
I pinched myself.
“Owww.”
Rather than ponder the impossible missing closet, I headed downstairs and was surprised to see Winnie had beaten me to the kitchen. She slid a mug toward me.
“Rough night?” she asked.
“Weird night. Remember my closet?”
“What closet?”
I blinked at Winnie. “What do you mean, what closet? The one you helped me put my clothes into. The one opposite the bathroom.”
“Mom, you don’t have a closet.”
“I do, too. I mean I did. Now there’s some huge wooden thing and a chair.”
“And books, too. What about it? You trying to say you want to get rid of those and put a closet in instead?”
“No.” I stared at her. Was she playing some kind of joke? Or did she really not recall?
“Are you getting senile in your old age?” Winnie laughed, but I didn’t.
I could have sworn there was a closet.
Just like I would have sworn I’d never seen the little porcelain eggcup she pulled from the cupboard. I’d gone through those cupboards thoroughly. It hadn’t been there. Maybe she’d pulled it from her things.
I sat down heavily in a chair. “How did you sleep?”
“Awesome, but those stickers on the ceiling have to go. They freaked me right out.”
I wanted to protest. Those were mine. How could she hate them?
Was I really going to have a fit over some old stickers?
“You do whatever you like to the room. It’s yours for as long as you need it.”
I’d finally said the right thing because she beamed. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
I should have been job hunting that morning and taken Winnie with me to find one, too. Instead, I got the ladder out of the shed and held it while Winnie perched a few rungs up and scraped the stickers from the ceiling. It hurt to watch them flaking off. I wondered if I could glue them on the ceiling upstairs. Don’t judge. I winced each time one fluttered to the floor.
When that was done, we ran into town and tried to buy some plaster and paint. We weren’t allowed to pay, so I tossed two twenties in their charity jar to save the ducks. We left with a bucket of light purple for Winnie’s walls. As for me? I got some glow-in-the-dark paint. I had an idea for my room.
As we drove by the diner, I thought about stopping in. I wanted to say hi to Marjorie, but I also wanted to boycott it given the owner didn’t want to hire me. He was lucky I wasn’t actually a witch, or I’d put a real curse on the place.
Back at the cottage, Winnie insisted on handling her room, so I brought my purchase upstairs then went back for the ladder. I hadn’t been able to find constellation stickers, but the paint, Mr. Peterson assured me, would glow at night. Perched on the ladder, I could see the same sigils and etchings that adorned the doors and windows also embedded into the beams of the ceiling. I filled them in with paint, the brush tracing the signs, mesmerizing me to the point I would have sworn I saw light trails. The pattern illuminated and glowed a soft blue, not green as expected.
The more of the symbols I painted, the more light I created, and I noticed a soft hum. Like a buzz but not of any insects. It had an electrical feel to it.
If I touched the signs I’d painted, would they shock me?
“Mom, what are you doing?”
I blinked and noticed I’d stopped using the paintbrush and was dipping my fingers into paint and then sliding it in and out of the carved grooves.
“I don’t like the dark,” was my reply as I clambered down the ladder.
“Since when?”
“I’ve always been afraid.”
“How did I not know this?” she asked.
“Because I never let you or your brother know. I didn’t want you to be scared like me.”
“Seriously?”
I shrugged. “I’m also afraid of thunderstorms and rodents.”
“I had a hamster when I was in elementary school.”
Which we kept hidden from Martin. A good thing he rarely went into the basement.
“I was terrified it would escape.”
“To do what?”
“Eat my face in my sleep.”
Wendy stared at me a moment before laughing. “Oh my God. I had no idea. How many other things did you pretend for us?”
“A few. I was determined to raise you to be brave.”
“You did good, Mom.” She took my hands, not minding the fact they were covered in paint. “But you know, you don’t have to keep pretending for me.”
I couldn’t meet her gaze and stared at my feet. “I can’t make any promises.” In my head, moms had to act a certain way. Behave and dress in a specific fashion.
“Were you faking it with Dad, too?”
The question threw me for a loop, and my first impulse almost had me opening my mouth to claim everything was fine until Martin left me. Except that would be a lie. And she knew it. I could tell by the way she stared at me.
The sigh I uttered was heavy. “It didn’t start out that way. Your father didn’t used to be that angry all the time.”
“What happened?”
I frowned. “I don’t know. Life. Work. The stress of making ends meet.”
“Lots of people deal with those things. They don’t turn into dicks.”
“I’m sure your father never meant to. It just kind of happened.” And I’d allowed it. I’d make excuses for his outbursts rather than put my foot down and demand he apologize. I’d placated him rather than deal with his quick temper. I’d crushed every ounce of my spirit and every mean word I wanted to yell, trying to keep the peace. But that wasn’t the worst of it.
I’d not stepped in when he turned that raging voice on the children. Luckily, he’d never hit them, but that didn’t excuse my actions—or lack thereof. I should have protected Winnie and Geoff from Martin’s anger. Words could bruise even more deeply than fists.
“Don’t make excuses for him, Mom.”
“I’m not. I honestly don’t know why he is so angry all the time. I swear, he wasn’t like that when we met. He was kind and thoughtful. He made me laugh. When Grandma died, he was the one who kept me going.”
“Wish I could have known that guy.” Winnie grimaced.
“Me, too,” was my soft reply. “Maybe now that he’s doing his own thing, he’ll be happier.”
The remark earned me a snort. “Okay, Mom. Sure. Do you know he’s not called me once since he left you?”
“I…” I paused. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. What he does or doesn’t do isn’t your fault.”
“I know, but twenty years of habit is hard to break.”
“You need a Martin patch. Or maybe a hot neighbor.” She waggled her brows.
I laughed. “While I appreciate your faith that I could be a woman of interest for Jace, he’s much too young for me, and I’m not ready.”
“Says the woman making out with guys in bars.”
“It was one time. I was drunk.” I winced as I said it. “Okay, that’s a bad excuse.”
“Do you know how often it happens at college? Girls going to parties and having a few too many. Throwing themselves at guys and then having buyer’s regret in the morning.”
“Did you—” I couldn’t even finish that sentence.
“Mom! I am not talking to you about my sex life. Although…if you really want to know…”
I shook my head violently. “No. I’m good. No need.”
Winnie chuckled. “Are you sure? Maybe I can help you bring your terms up to date.”
“I don’t need any help.” I did, however, want to sink into the floor with heated embarrassment even as I was humming inside with happiness at this conversation. This was the kind of relationship I’d always wanted with Winnie. Something open and honest, where we could say anything. Be not just mother and daughter but friends.
“Want help finishing up in here?” she asked, pointing to my sloppy can of paint.
“I am done, actually. I just need to clean up.” I held up my hands with a rueful grin.
Winnie chuckled. “I’ll make us some grilled cheese sandwiches while you scrub.”
My daughter left, and I was smiling as I folded the ladder and brought it downstairs. I returned and eyed the ceiling, not truly able to see the effect of my work yet, but I was excited about tonight. I reached to grab the paint can, still half full, only I somehow managed to tilt it over instead.
“Oh no.” I ran for the bathroom and a towel to mop up the mess, only by the time I returned, the paint wasn’t in the expected puddle but sitting inside the grooves of the floors. Scrubbing at it didn’t do a thing to help, so I leaned back on my haunches and sighed.
Things might get interesting tonight when all that paint began to glow. I might be visiting the hardware store again for something to cover it.
“Lunch is ready,” Winnie yelled from downstairs.
As I stood, the lines in the floor began to glow blue, racing out from my feet and spinning in a series of circles that were interconnected. Within those round spaces, more sigils, the shape of them rising in a nimbus that made all the hair on my body rise.
“Are you coming?”
Winnie’s yell snapped my attention, and the glow was gone. My room was normal. But I was beginning to think something was wrong with me. Sane people didn’t see things. I needed help.
Since I couldn’t afford a pro, I went looking for my new friends.
22
It only occurred to me as I sat behind the steering wheel of my car that I had no idea where Marjorie or Tricia lived. I did, however, know where they worked.
Tricia was easy to find, as she was located in the only downtown municipal building. The term downtown seemed too grand for the number of buildings, even if we counted the ones boarded over. It surprised me to see the defunct bookstore’s front door was propped open and a pickup truck loaded with lumber was parked in front of it.
Another renovation? I really had to wonder at the revitalization of a dead town. What did these investors know that the townsfolk didn’t?
It bothered me more than it should have. I barely knew this town. My grandmother had done a decent job of keeping me away from it. I had to wonder why.
Odd how I never wondered before how I’d managed to live as a teen for years in the cottage but didn’t know the streets or buildings like I did the mall the next town over. It had to be because of the witch thing, and the free gifts. What I just couldn’t fathom was why my grandmother never told me about it. I mean she regaled me with stories about fairies and monsters, of godlike men battling for good, but not that the people of Cambden thought we were some kind of spell-casting sorceresses.
It made me wonder how many folks would make the sign of the cross if I dressed as a powerful witch for Halloween and went trick or treating. Given how many of them owned shotguns? Probably not a good idea. But funny as heck.
The smile remained as I parked in the back of the town hall, which provided permits for everything indicated in the many bylaws, property information, including ownership and taxes, and dog and cat licenses. Having lived in suburbia with all the many branches of office required anytime anything had to be done, I appreciated the simplicity of the one stop for everything.
I turned off the engine and got out of my car, which I’d parked right beside Tricia’s distinctive Pinto. Entering the building was like falling back in time. The sight and smell were seventies to eighties chic with a few minor attempts to modernize things. The old? Lots of thick, scrolled newel posts, which acted as columns, and smaller, scuffed ones that created separation of space. All were a dark brown, having long lost their shine.
The many columns went well with the wood paneling, which rippled and even showed splintered cracks, obviously well past its best-by date. I was impressed, however, with the linoleum floor that had survived the test of time. Black and white squares, with only the seams showing signs of wear and tear.
Better than the laminate flooring we’d tried in the house. The one that burned down. It scratched, it creaked, and I hated it, but it was cheaper than dealing with juice-stained carpet. The sippy cups of two decades ago weren’t as leak proof as today’s.
Tricia was sitting at a rusted metal desk. The computer atop it sported a giant screen, the kind that took some muscle to lift. She spoke on a phone, an honest-to-goodness landline, with an avocado green handset that had a curly black cord. There were a few chairs in front of her desk. I chose the one that looked the least uncomfortable as Tricia kept talking.
“No, Mr. Morrison, for the last time, we are not sacrificing any of Mrs. Basinette’s goats to appease the lake monster.”
My eyes widened.
Whereas Tricia rolled hers as she said, “I need to go now, Mr. Morrison. Talk to you tomorrow.”
She hung up, and I exclaimed, “Was he serious about killing something?”
“Probably. But I should add that he’s not too fond of his neighbor, Mrs. Basinette. He also never offers his own herds but those of others.”
“And he calls you to suggest it?”
She nodded. “Every day since the Maddy sightings started. Yesterday his plan was to throw packets of gelatin into the lake and see if the monster would get so full eating it that it would go back to sleep.”
“Surely you’ve told him the monster isn’t real.”
“Why would I lie to him?” Tricia wrinkled her nose.
Why indeed?
The phone rang insistently. She sighed. “Give me one second. Hello, Cambden Town Headquarters, Tricia speaking, can I help you?”
I almost snickered as she put on her “phone voice.” I shouldn’t laugh. I had one, too. A fake, fluttery, breathy way of speaking to the person on the other end. Martin was so good at it. Yelling about something one minute, answering his phone calm and collected the next. Until he hung up. Then he had the ability to resume yelling where he’d left off.
Tricia’s forehead creased. “I see. Yes, we’re aware.” She paused. “Have you contacted the police?”
My brows lifted.
Tricia drummed her fingers. “You need to call them and tell them what you told me.” Another pause, then, “You take care, you hear me? No going out to the lake at night. And keep the rest of your herd penned far away.” She hung up.
“What was that about?”
“One of the farmers on the south edge of the lake let his herd out into the lake pasture and lost two cows.”
“Let me guess, he thinks it’s the lake monster.”
“You don’t need to sound snotty about it. Especially since you’ll feel stupid later when you discover it’s real.”
She seemed so normal and serious. She had more than one person calling her about it. Was it me who was wrong? Did Maddy truly exist?
“I’m sorry. It’s just hard for me to believe.”
“Which is weird because you used to totally believe until you went off to college.”
I frowned. “I don’t recall that.”
“You don’t recall a bunch of things, I suspect.”
On a hunch, I said, “Do you remember the books we were looking for?”
“Your Grandma’s? What about them?”
I bit my lip, suddenly reluctant to say anything. “I found them.”
“Really?” Her eyes widened. “Where?”
As her phone rang again, it occurred to me that I’d interrupted her work. What made me so important it couldn’t wait?
Tricia answered yet another call about Maddy. A news reporter that she blew off with a pert, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Maddy is only a legend.” Then she hung up and smiled at me. “Back to those books.”
“We can talk about it later. I really should let you work. I’ll call you later if you give me your number.” Because she always came up number unknown for some reason.
“We’re fine. People pop in to yap all the time.”
“Yeah, but next time, maybe I’ll visit you at home, after work. Where do you live?”
“My housing situation is complicated.”
“Are you okay?” I asked. “Do you need a place to stay?” Sure, I now had Winnie in the extra bedroom, but we could figure something out.
“I’m fine.” She waved a hand. “Give me your phone and I’ll add my number.”
I handed it over, and she keyed it in while I looked around. “You work here alone?”
“Most of the time. Unless the mayor decides to pop in. Which is rare.”
“When’s your lunch?”
She pulled a sign out of a drawer and propped it on the desk. Back in an hour.
“Lunch is anytime I like. Shall we hit the diner?”
“Sure.” I still had some cash left over from the makeover and night out.
We walked to the restaurant, and she poked me for information. “You found the books.”
“I did, in that hidden space beside the closet.”
“What hidden space?” Tricia’s nose wrinkled. “Was there a hidden compartment in the wardrobe?”
In that moment, I believed I was the one going crazy. How could she not remember the closet? She’d gone into it to search for the books.
“They were on the little pie plate table.”
“But I looked there,” Trish sputtered. “I can’t believe the house hid them.”
