SALEM
SWEETHEARTS
“Don’t
you think we ought to take her to the shrink or something?” Dan leaned on the
kitchen counter and watched his wife chop vegetables for pasta salad.
Sue
glanced at him; then looked back down at her cutting board and sharp knife. Wouldn’t
do to lose concentration and bleed all over the veggies before they even made
it into the salad.
“Well,
no.” She kept chopping, avoiding eye contact. “I mean, she’s just got the imagination
of a four year old. It’s probably something she heard on TV. Just relax.”
Dan
leaned over, snagged a chunk of green pepper, and popped it in his mouth. “When
you were at the store the other day, our daughter pretended to have a baby on
the living room floor. For something she ‘saw on TV’, the words—the
actions—well, let’s just say she’s got a pretty damn good imagination AND vocabulary.
I wish I had recorded her.”
Sue
sighed. “I wish you had too. I’d see what exactly you were talking about. I’ve
never seen her do anything like that.” She tilted the cutting board and the
vegetables slid down into the bowl. “Hand me the Italian dressing,” she
ordered. Quit standing around watching
me. It’s creepy.
He
shook the salad dressing, twisted the cap off, and handed it to his wife. “You
weren’t here. You didn’t see what I saw or hear what I heard. Unless you’ve
been watching one episode after another of “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant” or
“You Gave Birth Where?” your daughter has picked up this information somewhere.
And why has she started to wear a witch hat all the time? It’s summertime.”
“Can
you please hand me the pasta now?” If
you’re going to be in my kitchen while I’m trying to make dinner, at least make
yourself useful, jackass. She poured the dressing on top of the chopped
veggies, diced pepperoni, and tiny cubes of cheese, and looked at him
expectantly. She didn’t address the hat.
He
was holding the drained pasta hostage. “Are you listening to me? You’re talking
about a kid who still has a little bit of a baby lisp. It takes her five tries
to say the word ‘dictionary’, for crying out loud. Yet there she was, lying on
her back on the living room floor, screaming that the contractions were coming
every three minutes. And another thing—she should be watching Dora, not asking
to watch “Hocus Pocus” all the time.”
Sue
leaned forward, grabbed the colander of pasta, and dumped it into the bowl. She laughed. “Don’t you remember her
preschool teacher just came back from maternity leave? I’m sure she heard her
talking to one of the other teachers about the birth.” She sighed and stirred
the assembled ingredients. “And Hocus Pocus is an adorable children’s movie.
Honestly, Dan, what’s the problem?” She shot him a pointed look. “Is the grill
ready?”
He
brandished the package of hot dogs at her. “It’s just freaky, is all. Our
daughter used the words ‘contraction’ and ‘pushing.’ But yeah, you’re right.
Probably something she overheard.” He shook his head in disgust as stepped out
on the patio and slammed the sliding door.
Sue
covered the pasta salad with foil and put it in the fridge. “Bethany, can you
come in here please?” The little girl’s blue eyes met hers from in the living
room and she nodded obediently. She took off her earphones and placed them on
top of her iPad, hopped off the couch and trotted into the kitchen.
“Mommy,
I’m hungry.”
“Dinner’s
almost ready. Can I talk to you about something?”
“I’m
really hungry though, Mommy.” The little girl spun around in a circle on her
heel. Her black hair spun out behind her, under her black pointy hat.
“Bethany,
look at me.” The little girl obeyed immediately. “Daddy said the other day that
you were pretending to have a baby on the living room floor. Do you remember
that?” The little girl nodded.
“Remember
what Mommy said, though? That if you were to remember something important and
grown up that you were supposed to tell Mommy, not Daddy?” Sue watched as her
daughter processed this information.
“So
when I remember stuff about the place we used to live, I just tell you, right,
Mommy?”
Sue
gave her a genuine smile. “That’s right.
That’s my angel. You’re remembering more and more every single day, I
can tell! Just remember that Daddy doesn’t understand. Only share with Mommy.
He’s bothered that you pretended to have a baby.”
“I
wasn’t pretending. I was remembering when I had Rose. Mommy, do you remember
her?” Bethany clapped her hands, eyes shining.
“Of
course I remember Rose, sweetie. She was your beautiful daughter.” The original
Rose had been born in Salem 325 years ago to the day that Bethany “birthed” her
baby in the living room. Pretty Rose. My
granddaughter.
Sue
watched her daughter absorb the long ago memories. Bethany’s blue eyes now
shone with intelligence beyond her years and she stood a little taller. Sue
observed proudly as wisdom, knowledge, and thoughts of revenge settled on her
young daughter’s shoulders. It had begun.
“Mama,
where’s Rose now?” Bethany’s hand
reached for hers.
“Rose
will be joining us again in a few months, darling.” Sue smoothed her palm over
her expanding baby bump. “Then you, me and Rose…we’ll be together again, like
before.”
“Like
our Salem coven?”
“Exactly.
And when it’s time, we will finally take our revenge on the judge who sentenced
us to burn at the stake so long ago.”
Bethany
turned to look out the patio door. Her eyes gleamed. “Does Daddy remember that’s
who he was?”
They
watched Dan turn the hot dogs on the grill.
“No,
sweetie. But he will.”
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