I DIDN’T EVEN BOTHER GETTING DRESSED ON Thanksgiving. I didn’t go downstairs and ask if Aunt Bette needed my help in the kitchen.
But that’s where I find her now. At the sink, doing the Thanksgiving dishes.
Or, should I say, lack of dishes.
I never expected Aunt Bette would make a turkey, because she is a vegetarian. Thanksgivings with her usually mean a whole lot of vegetable sides. Sugar squash, green beans with almonds, roasted beets, creamy mushroom soup. But tonight she only made a salad. For herself.
She’s spent the rest of the day in the attic. Painting. Alone.
“So I guess there are no leftovers,” I say, snarky.
Aunt Bette freezes. After a second she drops the dish back into the sudsy water. Then she spins around to face me. I can tell she’s mad too. “I didn’t make a lot of food, Mary, because you don’t eat!”
It wounds me, her pointing this out. This is supposed to be a day of giving thanks, of being with family. It’s all wrong.
I fall into one of the kitchen chairs. “My parents should have come. I don’t know why they’re punishing me like this. They never call me. Never.” Aunt Bette bites her lip, like she wants to say something but second-guesses herself. “What? Did they say anything?” Have they been calling and Aunt Bette’s not passing along the messages?
She sighs, and I can tell she’s trying to choose her words carefully. “I don’t know this for sure, Mary, but if I had to guess, I’d say your mom’s still upset that you left in the first place.”
“I didn’t do it to hurt them!”
“Maybe not, but it did. You’re her only daughter, Mary. She’d do anything for you! I used to fight with your mom and dad because I thought they spoiled you something rotten. Gave you everything you asked for. I said it wouldn’t be good for you. But they didn’t listen. They’d bend over backward to give you what you wanted. So can you blame your mom for missing you? You were her whole world!” She turns back around, probably because she can’t face looking at me.
“I’ve been better, though. Since Halloween. Since you took that weird stuff down and quit with your weird spells.” I say it, even though it isn’t exactly true. I haven’t had any more freak-outs, sure. But other weird things have happened.
Aunt Bette looks at me pityingly and whispers, “You don’t know what you’re capable of, do you? You don’t even know what you are.”
A shiver rolls down my spine. “Then tell me! Tell me what I am! You’re scaring me!”
Aunt Bette shrinks. “You need to calm down.”
“You’re the one who’s making me upset!”
Aunt Bette heads to her room. I follow her, but she’s fast. She goes to her room and slams the door. “Go to your room, Mary!” she calls through the door. “Go to your room until you calm down!”
I do the exact opposite. I strike out into the night.
Main Street’s pretty dead. All the stores are closed; everything is except for the theater. A few of them are already decorated for Christmas. As people pile out of the theater, I stand by the double doors and watch. Am I really not like them? Am I not normal?
Maybe something happened to me when I was in the hospital for all that time. Even when I try to remember, I can’t. Did they do something to me there? Electroshock therapy, or worse? Some kind of experiment or drug that messed with my mind?
Just then, I see Reeve and Rennie come out of the theater. He’s walking behind her with his arms slung around her neck, and she’s laughing. “Reevie, I told you that movie was gonna suck! You owe me another movie.”
He shakes his finger in her face. “Nuh-uh. You still owed me for that cheering movie you made me watch this summer.”
“Then we’re even,” she says. She turns her head and kisses him on the cheek.
I stand there stock-still as they make their way down the street to Reeve’s truck. He opens her door first; then he goes around the other side to unlock his. Like a gentleman. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Is Reeve two-timing Lillia the same way he did me?
I feel the anger, the jealousy rise up in me. Instead of being scared, I decide to try and focus it. I’ve spent too long trying to ignore what’s inside me. To dismiss it. If there is something going on with me, if there’s any truth to what Aunt Bette is saying, I need to know.
I stare at the lock on Reeve’s door. I stare hard and imagine myself pressing it down.
Reeve struggles turning his key. He can’t get the door open. “Ren,” he calls through the window. “I think the lock is frozen.”
Rennie slides across the cab into the driver’s seat and tries to open it from the inside. “I can’t get it!” she whines.
Reeve tries his key again. This time I feel the force of it fighting against me. My chest is burning. It’s like arm wrestling. I’m losing. I feel myself losing. And then, suddenly, the lock pops up.
I fall against the wall exhausted.
Aunt Bette was right. I don’t know what I’m capable of. At least not yet.
