Izzy was looking at me like I’d lost my mind, like maybe I’d hallucinated the flies.
“It’s the wrong time of year for flies,” Mark said.
“Well, that may be true, but they clearly haven’t gotten the message,” I said.
Mark frowned at me, then turned his gaze to Izzy.
“No food in your room,” he told her.
“But, Dad, I—”
“No buts,” he said.
“No buts, no buts, no buts,” Olivia sang, which quickly morphed into an entirely inappropriate rendition ofI like big butts and I cannot lie. She didn’t know any of the other words, so she kept repeating that line over and over, ad-libbing a few extra lyrics. Then somehow it turned into Queen’s “Fat Bottomed Girls”—a song Mark had played for both the girls on numerous occasions—and Mark and I looked at each other, knowingwe should stop her, but laughing too hard to try. Then Izzy chimed in, joining Olivia in the chorus, banging out a rhythm on the table with her hands. And just for those few hysterical moments, flies forgotten and my mother quietly napping in her room, Mark and I looking at each other across the table, laughing so hard we were tearing up, everything felt right in the world.
FIFTEEN
HOW DOES A PERSONknow something that it’s impossible for them to know?” I asked.
Penny looked at me quizzically. We were out in my studio. It was nearly ten thirty. The kids and Mark and my mother were all tucked in and sleeping soundly (well, probably not Izzy, who was usually up until eleven or midnight reading, working on art and videos, and texting with Theo). I held Olivia’s old baby monitor in my hand. The volume was turned up all the way, and I could hear my mother’s jagged breathing, harsh and uneven—not at all like the soft breath of a baby the receiver had once transmitted.
I’d given my mother the increased dose of Ativan on top of the morphine right before bed, and she was sound asleep. She’d seemed weaker and more withdrawn this afternoon and evening. Just as she was drifting off, she’d asked where Paul was. I told her he’d be back on Friday. “And Benji?” she asked.
I was surprised to hear her bring up my brother. As far as I knew they hadn’t spoken in years. And she hadn’t called him Benji since he was a little boy.
“He’s in California,” I said. “Where he lives.”
Did she know anything about his life there? Did she ever think about him? Ever wonder what he might be like, this adult version of her only son?
My mother had nodded. “Bobbi lives there too,” she’d said. “Laurel Canyon. She says I should come visit again soon.”
She’d closed her eyes and drifted off.
It was cozy in the studio. I’d started a fire in the woodstove and all the lights were on. Through the windows I could see snow falling: fat, fluffy flakes that didn’t look real—more like the fake snow in one of Mark’s Hallmark Christmas movies.
Penny and I were sharing a joint.
This was the only time I smoked: late at night when I knew the kids and Mark were in bed. Mark knew I indulged and was fine with it, though he had no interest in joining me. He was happy with a beer now and then, a splash of rum in his eggnog at Christmastime.
I repeated my question to Penny, rewording it a bit. “Can you explain it? How a person could know something that there’s just no way for them to know?”
I’d been driving myself crazy with this all day, going around and around, trying to come up with a logical explanation for my mother knowing about the bird in the well.
“Like, for instance, how I’m supposed to know what exactly you’re talking about right now?” Penny said, cocking one eyebrow.
“Yeah, like that,” I said, laughing. She laughed with me. Just being there with her made me feel relaxed, like all was well with the world.
We’d been looking over the few sketches I had forMoxie Saves Halloween. I’d hoped going over them with Penny might get the wheels turning, give me a flash of inspiration, so I could make some sort of progress. But my mind was elsewhere. It was back with my eight-year-old self out in the woods, holding a BB gun and looking down into that old well.
Penny picked up a new sketch I’d been working on before she came: a close-up of a thick-bodied fly. She frowned at it. I did too. Why had I even drawn it?
“Do you want to tell me what you’re actually asking me?” She set down the drawing and fixed her hazel eyes on mine.
I took another hit off the joint, let the smoke seep into my lungs, then exhaled, watching it drift up.
“I did something awful when I was a kid. Something I never told anyone about.”
Penny nodded, waiting, keeping her eyes on mine.
