Three
Vickie Ellington opened her mirrored closet door and reached down for her shoes. The choice this morning was easy, as it was most mornings: black. Black shoes, black t-shirt, black jeans. The clothes on hangers now shoved onto the far side of the rod were the ones she used to refer to as “cute.” She ran her hand over the ones that had been her favorites—ones that she and her mother had picked out together. Vickie had no need for them now. “Cute” was no longer a word to be found in her vocabulary.
At her touch the closet door slid back into place. She looked at herself in the mirror and ran her fingers through her dark hair, now showing blond roots. She forced a smile but her mouth sagged quickly back into a line of disinterest. The single day bed that had been hers since she was small rattled as she fell back on it. She bent her head back to look at the steel railing, now spray-painted black with occasion chips revealing the white enamel underneath. It looks like my hair, she thought.
Vickie was old enough to understand that she was unhappy. She felt lost and angry most of the time and no longer cared about the things that used to matter to her. Her love of school had been replaced by a daily act of endurance. She was frustrated at her dismal grades and, even though the longing to learn and grow tried to re-emerge, she wondered if it might be too late for her. Maybe she would not be able to find life again.
Wrapping herself in darkness offered a form of comfort to her. Her early attempts to return to normal life after the loss of her father brought his memory into more clarity than she could bear. Every textbook opened after dinner caused her to turn from her chair, expecting him to enter her room and ask her about her day and her work. When she put on her “cute” clothes she remembered how Dad would compliment her. The pain was too much. Darkness shielded her from the loss of love that would never return.
She looked at the school books stacked on her desk. She knew that she would have to find a way to engage in school again. The idea of failing to the point of having to drop out scared her more than trying to find the inner strength to focus and risk having her teachers notice that she was trying to care.
For now, she needed to get out. She and Ashley would find a way to escape the routines that felt stifling, if even for one day. Ashley was not the kind of person Vickie would have usually chosen as a friend, but these days new friends were hard to come by. She felt hungry but dreaded going downstairs to see Mom and Jay. They seemed to be better at finding a new kind of normal, and Vickie was angry at them for that betrayal.
Vickie sat up and glanced down at the stuffed sock monkey that was half hidden under her blanket. She pulled it out and held it on her lap. She would never let Ashley know that she retained this single artifact of her old life. There was some comfort in this odd toy—one that she had slept with since she was three. She turned and stuffed it between the bed and the wall, and rose to leave her room.
N
“Hey, Mom. Let’s make some pancakes for breakfast. It’s Saturday!”
Marcia Ellington gave her son an insincere scowl. “Let’s?”
“Yes, I’m serious, Mom!” Jay put his arm around his mother and leaned down to put his head on her shoulder. “Please? Please? Please? Please?”
Marcia grabbed him around the waist and tickled. He squirmed away, yelling in mock protest. “Hey, you’re killing me!” Jay moved to the microwave to look at his reflection in the glass door. He pulled his longish, light brown hair away from his forehead. “So, what is it Mom: Pancakes or not?”
“Okay, buster. I’ll start mixing some batter. You put out some plates and heat up the syrup. Then go wake up your sister. Nicely!”
Jay opened the cupboard and reached for the plates. “Is Vickie doing okay in school?”
A shadow passed over Marcia’s face at the mention of her daughter. “I think she’s starting to do better. I saw the school counselor with her yesterday. Vickie told us both that she intended to shape up and start focusing on her studies.”
“This is her junior year, Mom. She’d better shape up,” said Jay. “Vickie’s smart and should be headed for college. I’m just a year into it and it’s a lot harder than I expected. If she can get it together, she’ll still graduate in ‘91—we could actually be in school together.”
Marcia stopped cracking eggs into the bowl of pancake mix and turned to face Jay. “I know how hard these last two years have been for you, honey. You were in the same grade as Vickie when your dad was killed. You had to move from adolescence to adulthood very quickly—and grieve in the process.” She turned back to her work and measured out some milk into the mixture. “But I’m still worried about Vickie. She’s still into that gothic, vampire, whatever-it-is thing that she does. She looks awful and has the attitude to go with it.”
“Yeah, it is kind of weird.” Jay set out three plates on the family room table. “But it’s just a kid thing. I see high school kids wandering over to the university campus all the time looking like that. Vickie is just angry about something. Puberty, maybe.”
Marcia laughed. “Yeah, I guess so. Puberty, eh? Do kids these days get angry about puberty? I thought you just got zits.”
Jay was about to respond when the sound of footsteps on the stairs stopped him. “Oops. Sounds like she’s up. Has she gained weight? She sounds like an elephant.”
“Shhh!” Marcia lowered her voice. “That’s all she needs is to be compared with an elephant.”
The swinging door to the kitchen flew open, hitting the pantry as Vickie walked in the room. She stopped and looked at Marcia and Jay. “What are you making?”
“Pancakes,” said Marcia.
“Cool. Why are you doing that?” asked Vickie.
“It was my idea,” said Jay. “I thought it might help you actually say ‘Good morning’.”
“Oh, yeah. Good morning,” said Vickie. “So can I have some?”
“Sure,” said Marcia. There’s plenty of batter.” Vickie sat down at the table.
Jay plucked silverware out of the drawer and walked to the table. “Would you set this out? I need to get the syrup going.”
Vickie took the silverware and shoved the forks and knives toward the three plates. “Jay, can you drive me to Ashley’s after breakfast?”
Marcia looked up over the stove at her daughter. “What’s the status of your homework? Remember what you told Mr. Hamilton . . .”
“Yes, Mom. I know. The homework will get done. Don’t you trust me to do it?” Vickie pushed the last fork across the table with sufficient thrust to send it clattering to the floor. She sighed heavily, got up and walked to the other side of the table to pick up the projectile.
“Trust?” said Marcia. “I don’t . . . okay, but please get your work caught up before Monday.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Vickie picked up the fork and laid it back on the table.
“Hey, Tricky Vick,” said Jay. “Don’t put that back unless you’re planning to be the one to eat the floor demons.”
“Don’t call me that, Jay,” said Vickie. “I hate that name. And I’ll use the fork.” Jay didn’t respond, keeping his attention focused on the microwave as it heated the pancake syrup.
Marcia brought a plate of three hot pancakes to the table. “Here, Vickie. You can get started. “Jay, bring the butter and syrup, okay?”
“Sure, Mom.” Jay brought both items to the table and set them in front of Vickie. “Yeah, I can take you to Ashley’s. I need to get to work by 10:00. Can we leave by 9:30?”
Vickie looked up at the kitchen clock. “Yeah, it’s only nine. I’ll be ready.”
Marcia finished cooking the pancakes and brought them to the table. She and Jay sat down and started splitting up the food. Before they took a bite, Vickie finished her meal, picked up her plate and set it on the sink. “I’ll be downstairs by 9:30,” she said. She exited back through the swinging door and up the stairs.
“You’re right, Mom. She isn’t like an elephant,” said Jay. “I’ll bet she’s still barely at 100 pounds. She can’t be losing weight—she ate more than I did.”
“This is hard for me, Jay,” said Marcia. “Vickie was—is—so beautiful. Now she wears that awful black clothing and that heavy eye makeup. And her hair—it’s dyed black with blond roots! I always loved her blond hair with those bright blue eyes. I keep seeing her as a little ten-year-old, out on the soccer field, looking so strong and healthy—and happy!” Marcia started to choke up.
Jay reached over and took his mother’s hand. “She’s a good kid and she’ll come back around. She’s going to be okay.”
Marcia squeezed his hand and wiped her tears with her napkin. “Thanks, honey. I love you.”
“I love you too, Mom.”
N
After Jay and Vickie left the house, Marcia turned her attention to the kitchen, then hesitated. She pushed through the kitchen door and walked up the stairs toward Vickie’s room. As she left the stairs and moved through the upstairs hallway, she stopped to gaze at the family picture gallery on the wall.
Typical of many family photo collections, the Ellington’s chronicled vacations, sports events, holidays, and group shots suitable for mass production as Christmas cards. Marcia’s favorite was at the very center of the wall, taken two years ago at the family’s last Christmas with Joe.
Joe. There he was, his arms around the one’s he loved, looking so confident and happy. He wasn’t a particularly big man at five-eleven, but he had a big heart and he had cared for his family well. Even in his mid-forties he looked youthful in spite of his rapidly-graying hair.
Marcia would never forget that last Christmas Eve or the strange feeling she had as they posed for that picture.
N
“Joe, put a book under the camera. It’s going to fall over.”
Joe continued to balance the camera precariously on two pillows. He had assured Marcia that the automatic timer would give him enough time to jump into place for the photo. “It’s okay. I’ve almost got it. It’ll be perfect!”
“Daddy, hurry up! I have to go to the bathroom!” Vickie grimaced to show her agony.
Jay reached over and poked Vickie in the ribs. “Don’t think about waterfalls or leaky faucets, Tricky Vick!” He tugged playfully at her blond ponytail.
“Mom! Jay’s going to cause a crisis,” Vickie pulled Jay’s ear. “Don’t think about the pain I’m about to cause you, smart guy. Just because you’re taller than me doesn’t me I can’t hurt you.”
“That’s right, shrimp,” said Jay. “I’m about to hit six feet. I’m taller than Dad now!”
“Okay, you two,” laughed Marcia. “Your Dad thinks he’s going to pull this off. Try to . . .”
The four of them froze as a loud scraping sound came from the front door. The front entry way was adjacent to the living room, where the picture was about to be taken. The sound resonated through the front part of the house and ended with a bump, like a large animal had thrust its body against the door.
“Oh my god, what was that?” whispered Vickie.
Joe’s face had gone pale as he turned to look toward the living room window. Marcia saw his jaw muscles working, a sure sign of both fear and anger in her husband. “Joe, what’s wrong?”
“Stay here. I’m sure it’s just a lost dog or something.” Joe stood and headed for the door. The camera rolled off the pillows and landed harmlessly on the carpet.
“I’ll go get a book or two,” said Jay.
Joe was looking through the curtain on the front door window when Marcia came up behind him. “What is it, Joe? What’s going on?”
He continued to stare out the window, clenching and unclenching his teeth. When he turned to look at her, he relaxed his face and made an effort to smile. “It’s okay, Marcia. It’s just that . . . I think some big dog has been tromping around in the front yard planters. You go in with the kids. I’ll be back in a second.” Joe opened the front door slowly and peered out into the night. “It’s okay,” he said, turning back to his wife. “Just stay inside.” He disappeared through the door and shut it behind him. Marcia looked out the window and watched him as he left the front walkway and moved slowly toward the side of the house. She straightened the curtain and returned to the living room.
Jay and Vickie were stacking several books into a tower that would keep the camera steady. When Marcia walked in the room, they were both giggling about some shared joke. “Good job, you guys. Dad will be back in a couple of minutes. Let’s not let him negotiate this photo shoot!”
“No problem, Mom,” said Jay. This is going to . . . what the heck is Dad doing?” The sound of water being turned on at the front spigot was familiar, followed by splashing as Joe hosed off the front porch. Jay rose and walked to the front door, opening it with caution. “Hey, Dad. What’s up out here? And jeez—what is that smell?”
Joe turned off the water and rolled the hose back into place. “Uh, it must have been some big dog. Probably had something dead in its mouth and was looking for someplace to bury it.”
“In our house?” Jay looked down at the wet porch. “Dad, what’s that under the porch light? Is that blood?”
Joe looked up at the smear that he had missed. He turned the hose on again and sprayed the side of the house until the spot was clean. “Stupid dog probably tossed its dinner around before it took off.”
“Wow. I didn’t know dogs did that kind of stuff. No wonder they have bad breath,” said Jay.
Vickie came up behind Jay and looked over his shoulder. “Was it a dog, Daddy? Can we get a dog?”
“If we do, it can sleep with you,” said Jay.
“We’ll talk about dogs later,” said Joe. “Let’s get back in and take care of that picture.”
Joe stepped inside and closed the door, checking the locks twice.
When the three of them returned, Marcia was already in place. “Can we take this picture while we’re still in the same room? Vickie—do you think these slacks make me look fat?”
“No, Mom,” said Vickie, “You look great. People will think we’re sisters!”
Marcia laughed, tossing her shoulder-length brown hair back. “You know, Vick, I think you’re my favorite daughter.”
Joe looked down at the camera resting on the stack of books. “Hmmm. Good idea. Okay, get ready.” He focused the camera and set the timer. “Here we go! Everybody in place!”
The four of them moved into position, looked toward the camera and smiled. Marcia kissed Joe on the cheek. “Good work, Mr. Protector.”
“Eyes on the camera!” said Joe. At Marcia’s words, his smile returned. The light flashed and everyone cheered.
It was three days later that Joe’s body was found.
N
Marcia turned from the hallway pictures and walked to Vickie’s room. She opened the door—closed, apparently, against all intruders—and stepped inside. She hugged her arms to herself and looked around.
The walls were adorned with posters from dark, violent-looking rock bands and reprints of movie art illustrating vampires. The only one she recognized was from the silent movie Nosferatu, a classic that even she knew something about. Her heart sank at the darkness of the room. Gone were the snapshots that used to decorate her daughter’s walls and mirror—pictures of soccer teammates and of Vickie and Joe fishing at the lake. It was all angry and dark, like an infected sore.
Marcia’s eyes fell on something stuffed between Vickie’s bed and the wall. She carefully reached across the bed and pulled out a stuffed animal—a sock monkey that she had made for Vickie’s third birthday. Marcia began to cry as she clutched the toy to her chest. Just knowing that this remnant of a happier time was in Vickie’s room gave Marcia hope for her daughter.
She thought to herself, Maybe the story isn’t done being written.
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