Mrs. Kenneth James Stevens Wants A Baby by Leanne Dyck (Ch 13)

 Chapter twelve: Aster's toxic relationship with Devin continued until Aster lost control of her classroom and herself and--and now she must deal with the aftermath. 

photo by ldyck

Chapter thirteen

Periodic pounding disrupted Aster's sleep. She opened one eye. "Too bright!” She spat at the light pouring through the window. Forcing open her other eye, she brought the fuzzy digits on the alarm clock into focus. 1 PM. 1 PM? Aster was still in bed in the middle of the day. Humiliation prompted her to move. Pushing herself to rest on her elbows, she swung her legs off the bed and lowered her feet to the floor. Everything—from the part in her hair to the toenail on her big toes—hurt.

The knocking continued.

She shoved her feet into her slippers and threw her robe over her nightgown. She walked past the bathroom without stopping to brush her hair or teeth. Good grooming mattered to A— But not today.

Bunny grinned awkwardly through the window in the back door. Bunny—of all people.

Aster unlocked the door and pulled it open a few inches.

“Aster, I've been so...” Bunny stepped into the gap. “We've been so worried about—.” 

Aster placed an arm on the door frame and held onto the doorknob. “I’m not accepting visitors.”

“Oh, I understand. It's just that you left a few things behind. And I thought you might want them.” Bunny tried to push a cardboard box through the gap. Aster's 'World's Best Teacher' mug rested on top of the pile in the open box.

“You can leave that box over there on the porch.” Aster pointed with her chin at the Deacon’s bench.

“Aster, would you like to ta—.”

Aster closed and locked the door. She walked over to a chair, wrapped her arms around her torso, and lowered her gaze to the floor. Footfalls crossed the porch and went down the stairs. A car door closed. A car engine started.

Aster raised her head, looked out the window, and watched the car drive away. She continued to watch until Bunny was out of sight. 

She sat there, only breathing, trying not to think until she realized she had to get away. She had to go somewhere, do something—anything. But what? 

“I’m going shopping,” Aster announced to the walls.

***

Eton Garden Mall pulsed with the ebb and flow of shoppers. Knit brows, hard eyes, frowning lips were all that Aster saw. Did they know what she’d done? Did they judge her, hate her?

Aster sped through the mall, passing store after store until she stood at the threshold of her favourite shop. She breathed in deeply. Dresses fashioned by British designer Daphne Wenworth beckoned to her. Aster stepped into the shop, picked up the hem of a dress in a spring flower print, and ran the fabric between her fingers.

“What about this necklace, Mama?”

A familiar voice... Elizabeth Joy? Aster’s mood lifted.

The girl stood beside her mother a few feet away. Their backs were to Aster.

“Hello, Elizabeth J—.”

Without a word or even a nod, Victoria grabbed Elizabeth Joy’s hand and they left the shop. 

photo by ldyck

Mrs. Kenneth James Stevens Wants A Baby

Chapter fourteen

Aster is trying to live through the aftermath of her actions but isn't doing a very good job. A worried Bunny finds Aster still asleep in the middle of the day. Bunny offers friendship but Aster rejects her. Needing to get away, Aster decides to go shopping but everything she finds in the mall only reinforces how she feels about herself.

Is the Reverend Dead? Ch 13 (a mystery inspired by remote island life) by Leanne Dyck

 chapter twelve: Mrs. Hazelton brings the evidence she has collected to the police station. Officer Boyd tells Mrs. Hazelton that she's under suspicion of murder and orders her not to leave the island.

photo by ldyck

Is the Reverend Dead?

Chapter Thirteen

Hot water and dishwashing soap mix together forming a foam of bubbles in the sink. I add the lunch dishes, beginning with the cutlery--knives, forks, and soup spoons.

My radio show will be on in a few minutes. I flip the switch and catch the tail end of the news: “The trailer is sky blue, with a flap you flip up to sell food. It’s old—from the 1960s or 70s. There’s moss growing on the roof and walls. It hasn’t been used for years. My idea was to do an article on it for my blog. Plumper Island’s entertaining past—that kinda thing.”

Plumper Island? Someone from our island is on the news. That’s a once-in-a-decade event.

“I’m a blogger. I have a blog. Did I tell you that? Pumped on Plumper. You know like gas. Only this is island events and history and—all that stuff. Cool name, eh?”

Did he say that he was a blodder? What’s a blodder?

“So that’s what I was doing—checking things out. I tried the door. It was hard to open. I thought it might be locked. But one good shove and I was in. Oh, it stuck so bad, worse than old socks. But someone had cut a trail through the slim. I followed the footprints to a new, blue trap. It covered something lumpy. I picked up a corner and found a body, a guy—some of his body parts were missing.”

A heart? A finger? An eye? It had to be the Reverend’s body.

“Could you tell what he’d been doing there?” The interviewer asks.

“What he was doing? Who? The body? Not much, he was dead.”

“Were there signs of a struggle?”

Conner comes into the kitchen. He’s too young to hear all that so I turn the radio off.

“What’s a blod?” I ask him. “Pumped on Plumper was on the radio.” It’s a catchy name.

He grabs three cookies. I taught him that when he was little—one cookie for each hand and one for your mouth. “Oh, yeah, I know that blog. A blog is a bunch of articles you can read online.” He suppresses a chuckle, when he says, “And no, not a clothing line. The Internet.”

“I know about the world wide web, Sonny,” I say in an old lady voice that makes him laugh.

“Pumped on Plumper is all about what we’re doing on island and sometimes what we shouldn’t be doing. What was he talking about?”

I wonder if this blogger boy can help me. Maybe he saw Ms. Matthews acting suspiciously. Mind full, I say, “He found the Reverend’s—.”

“I didn’t know that the Reverend was lost.”

“Bod—.” I bite down on the word.

“His body? Is the Reverend dead?”

I’ve scared him. I have to… “No, of course not.” I can’t lie to him. “Except that maybe he is. He collapsed in the church, 40 days ago. It was the first day of Lent. He was sermonizing. He could make sinners weep. He could call out the devil and spit in his eye. He could—.”

“40 days ago?”

“He fell right in front of—.”

“Granny, did the Reverend have a pacemaker?”

“Yes, he had heart surgery a couple of years ago. We were all really worried about h—.”

Conner runs down the hall and slams shut his bedroom door.

He's so upset. And I didn’t even realize that he knew-- had known Reverend Paulson.

photo by ldyck

Chapter Fourteen

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The Other Side (short fiction) Ch. 13 by Leanne Dyck

 Ch. 12 Unnerved by Becky's impending visit, Mara visits Windy. Windy tells Mara that she doesn't have to buy what Becky is selling and asks if Mara's friendship with Becky is worth the energy she's spending on it.

photobyldyck

The Other Side

Chapter thirteen

After cleaning and tidying the house, I went outside to lose my worry in the blue sky. I noticed some leaves had blown in from the neighbour's yard. Everything had to look perfect for Becky. I found the rake and was making a tidy little pile when...

The sound of car tires crushing gravel announced that Becky and her gang had arrived.

I leaned the rake against the fence. Rusty came bounding through the pile of leaves, heading right for me--teeth first. My legs felt like jelly. He growled. I started to tremble. But then I heard Windy. It was like she was right beside me. And I just repeated everything she said.

"Hey, dog-gie, mellow out." My voice was calm.

His growl became a whimper. Rusty tilted his head slowly from side to side. He wagged his tail; he licked my hand.

"Mara, what are you doing to my puppy?" Becky rounded the corner of the house. "Poor, old Rusty." She massaged his left ear. "What was she doing to you?" She looked at me with steel eyes. "Well, let's see this precious house of yours."

Rusty led the way up the stairs, I opened the kitchen door and he raced inside.

Becky stood in the doorway and stared at my brand new stove. "That stove looks new."

"Yes, I think--."

She left the kitchen and went into the dining/living room. "Yeah, I guess it's okay."

O...kay. From her, that was a huge compliment.

"But, honestly, Mara. Even you can do better than this. A futon...? And... Where are the binoculars? I want to watch TV," she snickered.

"You do?"

"Wake up. No. The TV's tiny and it's all the way on the other side of this enormous room. Are you a college kid? Is this a dorm room? And what's up with these walls? You need to paint them, immediately." She ran two fingers down the wall. "You choose this putrid colour?"

"I...um...I thought it contrasted nicely with the carpet."

"Contrast? What do you know about contrast? Please. Do you think you're an Interior Designer?" She snickered. "Trust me, you're not." She signed. "But don't worry. I'll help you." She picked up an end of the futon and pulled it into the room. "See, it looks better already. Angling furniture minimizes space. Meaning, it helps a large room appear smaller. And in this cavernous barn that's what you need."

Laughter drifted up from Owen's office. At least, the guys were having fun.

In the middle of the stairs, I called up to Becky. "Let's see what our husbands are doing?"

"But we've just begun to transform this space. You do know how much you need my help, don't you?"

I heard Windy say, you don't have to buy what she's selling. "Hmm...a...not really. I mean not right now." I felt so good, so free, that I bounced down the stairs, into Owen's office.

What sounded like World War III erupted from the computers. 

Tom grabbed his chest. "Oh, you got me."--and laughed.

Triumph was written all over Owen's smiling face. "What's up?"

"Becky and I just--."

"What's down here?" 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Becky heading down the hall to the laundry room.

I raced after her. "Nothing. You don't want to go in there. It's so boring."

Soon we were all standing in the laundry room.

Becky had an enormous grin plastered across her face. "It looks like a boring laundry room now but we know it's history. Don't we, Tom?" She swept her hand at the ceiling. "Remember the grow lights hung there?"

"Grow light?" Owen just stared at the ceiling. "We were told that the racks were for storage."

"I knew this house looked familiar," Tom said.

"Do you believe it? Straight edge Mara's dream home was a grow op." Becky laughed.

I fought back tears. "How do... How do you know?"

"How do I know? Because, duh, I bought MJ here." The words bubbled out of her like champagne.

"MJ?" I asked.

"Marijuana," Owen said, "So that's why we got such a good deal on rent."

"That's why." Her smile stretching from ear to ear to chin to forehead. "I can't wait to tell Linda and Colleen and Angie and Heather and... and... Oh, we'll be talking about this for years."

I squared my shoulders and stood up straight. "It doesn't matter what this room, what this house was," I told all four of them. "Now it's my home. And I like... No, I love living here."

"What was the name of the woman who ran the grow op?" Becky asked.

"Huh. It's been too long," Tom said, "Michelle?"

"No, that's not it. Didn't her name start with a 'W'?"

"Wendy," he guessed.

"Close."

"Windy," they said in unison. "Because she farted all the time." They laughed.

"Huh? I wonder what happened to her?" Tom asked.

Where was Windy? Only I knew and I wasn't telling anyone.

photobyldyck

Chapter fourteen 

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The Other Side

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Tom Robbins