Chapter Ten
Boredom Buster
It’s been two weeks since Jayce’s funeral, and life around the house has returned to normal.
My mom went back to work, confident I can be alone now, and my dad, well, he only takes time off for funerals or emergencies, which there have been a lot of the last few months.
We are falling back into our regular Monday-through-Friday family routine—breakfast, work, dinner, bed, repeat.
During the day, I work on my crafting projects for the upcoming craft fair.
Ever since I saw the charred remains of Jayce, all I could think about was, why couldn’t they bleach them—at least make them white again?
That’s what gave me the idea to do natural art items. I take an animal’s bone, simmer it in a pot until all the flesh falls off, then soak it in dish soap for a couple of days to degrease it, and then use peroxide to get it clean and white.
Of course, I have to do all this in the garage because after my test run, my mom wanted to kill me.
The house smelled bad, and the thought of having an animal’s carcass in a pot on the stove grossed her out.
I glue the last piece of baby’s breath on the wood platform holding the skull of a raccoon surrounded by moss.
Coming out of its wide-open mouth is a baby spider plant.
I call this piece Scarce, since when food is hard to find, raccoons eat various grasses.
Well, at least that’s what the internet says.
The back door slams, and seconds later, Boozer barrels into my room and dives on my bed.
He shakes himself off, casting a shower of dirty water across my bedroom, dotting the walls.
“Mom!” I yell, glancing at the clock. Is it after five already?
Poor Boozer, I haven’t taken him out since this morning.
Mom rounds the corner and peers over my shoulder. “That’s creepy.”
I glare up at her. “Boozer just shook wet dog droplets all over my room and on my art.”
She sighs heavily. “Well, it is raining out, so it happens. I’ll grab a towel and dry him off.” Her eyes scan the other nine natural death art creatures lining my desk and dresser—a mouse, rabbit, opossum, even a skunk. “Well, at least there’s no human ones,” she says with a sarcastic tone.
“Not yet,” I say matter-of-factly as she walks out of my room.
The floor vibrates, and there’s an audible thud as Boozer leaps from the bed and trots after my mom.
My mind wanders to Mastyx and his actions at the funeral. Why did he protect me? I know inside my head I was asking for help, but he’s the last person I imagined coming to my rescue.
Tomorrow is my very first craft fair, and I’m nervous but excited. Either people will love what I’ve created or stick their nose up at it. It doesn’t really matter to me, I’m just happy to get out of the house and spend a Saturday without my parents hovering.
I rub my forehead, a headache creeping its way across my brow.
Tonight, we’re dining out at a local restaurant.
People around town say they have the best fish fry around.
I wouldn’t know. I don’t care for any seafood.
I always order chicken tenders or macaroni and cheese.
My parents don’t mind, since it definitely costs a lot less.
No one talks about what the doctor at the hospital found after performing the rape kit.
I imagine they couldn’t wrap their head around it, the internal burns, the scarring.
Perhaps they don’t want to upset me by telling me I will never have children.
Sometimes I wonder if their silence is an effort to force me to come to them, to open up to them first. I won’t do it.
Ever.
I can’t. I’m having a hard enough time holding myself together and maintaining my composure every time I glance at a calendar, trying not to obsess over the next fast-approaching full moon.
My dad pops his head through my open doorway. “You about ready, kiddo?”
I glance at the creation in front of me. “Yep. Just finished.”
He disappears back through the opening, and I follow him, the faint sound of the phone ringing downstairs growing louder as I descend the steps.
My mom picks up the house phone, and her face shifts from cheerful to concerned to downright irritated.
She rolls her eyes at my father, covers the receiver with her palm, and whispers, “It’s mom. ”
He stands in front of her, waiting patiently for her to hang up the phone.
The wrinkle in her forehead deepens as the phone slams onto the cradle, and she says, “She’s wandered off again. That was the sheriff in the next town over. They found her standing in a cornfield wearing nothing but her robe for God’s sake.”
I stifle a laugh, and my mom’s eyes dart to mine, burning a hole through them. “This isn’t funny, Contessa.”
Oof. When she uses my whole name, I know it’s serious.
“You’re going to have to take the car away from her now. The home has shuttles and drivers who can take her to the store and to her appointments when we can’t,” my dad says, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Can we go eat before we go get her?”
She shakes her head, a tiny smile creeping in the corner of her otherwise stern face. “No, we can’t just leave her there. I told the sheriff I’d get her and bring her back to the home myself.”
He purses his lips and blows out, making his lips flap together before letting his arms fall to his sides. “Okay, well, I’ll stay here with Tessa and order in while you go take her back.”
Mom presses her hands firmly into her hips. “Oh, no. We are all going. This is a family affair.”
I’m trying not to laugh as my parents have a stand-off in the middle of the kitchen. My grandma doesn’t care for my dad, and they are constantly bickering, so I get why he wants to stay home.
Dad and I exchange glances as Mom turns away from us and slides her feet into clogs. She’s all dressed up for dinner, wearing a beautiful blue floral summer dress, but her irritation with the situation has her not giving a shit about her footwear.
My stomach rumbles, and I cover it with my hand with widening eyes. I glance at my dad, who covers his stomach and says, “Yeah, me too.”
We’re both starving. My mom has the appetite of a bird, and we look forward to this one night a week, with no cooking, no dishes, and no healthy meal, to dive into something fried and fabulous.
As if she senses our starvation, Mom turns to us and says, “I’ll call the restaurant on our way back and get our usual meal ordered to go.
We’ll pick it up after dropping off my mother. ”
Like two children getting the toy they both wanted at the store, my dad and I exchange wide-eyed smiles.
She shakes her head and points toward the garage. “Come on, you scavengers. Let’s get this over with.”
? ? ?
I lean back in the back seat as my dad and mom approach, my grandma wedged between them.
She stops in the middle of the sheriff's parking lot to adjust her robe, opening wide for the world to see before closing it again and tightening the belt. My dad’s eyes drift to the sky before pinching closed, no doubt trying to burn the image of my grandma’s bare, wrinkly body out of his memory.
I couldn’t look away. How can boobs get so flat and long as you get older?
The back door flies open, and my grandma drops into the seat beside me, chuckling to herself. “No sense of humor,” she says as the door closes beside her. She glances over at me and grins broadly. “Hey, there, Tessa bear, how about a hug for your old grandma?”
I shake my head, declining as I gesture to the front of her with my pointer finger.
She gazes down at her left boob, lying flat against the front of her partially open robe. “Oh, hell, if you’ve touched one boob, you’ve touched them all. Hug me.”
Her arm hooks around my neck, pulling me against her bare chest, the faint smell of liquor wafting from her lips. “That’s my girl.”
My mom gazes at her through the rearview mirror. “Mom, why don’t you close your eyes and take a little nap before we get you back to the home?”
She releases her hold on me, and I can’t help but brush her dead skin cells off the front of my shirt.
Blech.
Her hand disappears into the front of her robe and reappears holding a joint and a lighter.
Where the hell was she hiding that?
My eyes widen as she presses the joint between her tight lips and flicks the lighter multiple times.
A flame rises, lighting up her face, and my stomach tightens.
Without thinking, I snatch the joint from her mouth, burning the palm of my hand, roll the window quickly down and chuck it out onto the highway.
Grandma June glares at me, her eyes narrowing. “What the hell did you do that for?”
The lighter hovers in her grasp between us, and I peel it out of her tightly clenched fingers, tossing it out the window as well. “No smoking in the car.”
It has nothing to do with the car. I could care less. It has everything to do with the flame. I don’t want Mastyx to see me, to hear anything we discuss in the car—good or bad. Fire is his gateway, and I refuse to allow that gate to be opened around me, especially after what I saw at the funeral.
Grandma’s eyes leave mine and stare through the windshield for several seconds before she looks back at me. “Well, hello there, young lady. Who might you be?”
Fuck. This isn’t the first time she’s forgotten who I was. My mom’s been ignoring the signs of Grandma’s Alzheimer’s for months now.
“Grandma June, it’s me, Contessa, your granddaughter.”
Her eyes flit to the outside, watching the trees float by before they return to mine. “How have things been going, Tessa bear?”
And she’s back.
I open my mouth to give her a rundown of my summer so far, when her head drops back against the seat, and she starts snoring softly.
Let’s add a side of Narcolepsy to her Alzheimer’s, why don’t we?
After returning grandma to the old folks’ home, we swing by our favorite restaurant, pick up our lukewarm food, and head back home. I excuse myself to my room, lie on my stomach at the foot of the bed and flip on the television, shoveling forkfuls of mac and cheese into my yap.
Fatigue and a long day weigh my head down within minutes. My life only grows more complicated by the day, and I don’t think it will ever be normal again. I close my eyes and listen to the weatherman reporting faintly in the background, his voice growing quieter and further away.