Where You Least Expect It. Tori Carrington
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inside the empty oven, then in the refrigerator. Aside from a half-empty pitcher of lemonade, there wasn’t a crumb to be found.
Where was the ground turkey she had taken out of the freezer and put in the refrigerator to defrost this morning? The fresh salad fixings? Even her homemade yogurt was missing.
“I got rid of it all,” Mavis said, dropping the hammer onto the counter with a loud thud. “All of it. It was messing with my biorhythms.”
“What did you do with it?” Penelope asked.
“Threw it away, of course. All of it.”
Penelope caught herself absently rubbing her stomach where it growled. Biscuits aside, she hadn’t had a thing to eat all day and her body was letting her know about it.
Out of the corner of her eye she watched her grandmother approach the counter where she’d put the biscuits.
“Don’t you dare!” she said, taking the bag from the older woman. She rolled the top of the bag back up, put it on the table closer to her and propped her hand on her hip. “Did you stop taking your medication again?”
Her grandmother waved a bony hand. “Medication, shmedication. I threw it all out with the rest of it.”
Dread drifted through Penelope as she headed to check the rest of the house. As an afterthought, she returned to the table and snatched up the bag of biscuits, her dinner if she didn’t go out and pick anything else up.
Ten minutes later she’d verified her suspicions: Mavis had thrown away everything in the medicine cabinets, including her doctor-prescribed medications and toothpaste, as well as all the cleaners and detergents under the sink and in the broom closet.
Penelope stood dumbfounded, unable to make heads or tails out of the situation.
Well, at least she’d left the garden out back alone. The crooked rows of young vegetable plants were coming along nicely. In fact, it appeared Mavis had even weeded and watered them.
She made her way back into the dining room, where her grandmother was starting on the second wall.
“Have you eaten anything at all today?” she asked.
Mavis waved her hand. “Who needs food?”
“Last I checked? I don’t know. Maybe you?”
“I don’t want anything.”
“Then, maybe I should call the hospital and ask them to hold a room for you, because that’s where you’ll be heading if you don’t eat something.” She glanced toward the living room. “Unless, of course, you’ve thrown the telephone out too?”
Mavis stared at her.
Penelope swallowed hard. “No, I’m not talking about the psychiatric ward.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Mavis climbed down off the stepladder and turned toward her. “Don’t you ever get sick of it all, Popi?”
It had been a long time since her grandmother had called her the pet name. Her doing so now opened up a soft spot inside Penelope. When she was young, she’d thought it meant something pope-like. Important. She’d found out later that it was merely a Greek shortening of her name.
“I mean, the sameness of everything? We get up at the same time every morning—”
“So, sleep in.”
“We eat dinner at the same time every night—”
“So, we’ll eat later.”
“We talk to the same people, do the same things—”
“So, we’ll go out and meet new people, do different things.”
Mavis looked a breath away from hitting her with the hammer again. “Can’t I even have a nervous breakdown without you being so damn calm about everything?”
Penelope smiled. “No.”
Her grandmother hit the wall with the hammer and Penelope jumped.
Mavis examined her handiwork. “I like it.”
Penelope rolled her eyes, wondering how much work she would have to do when her grandmother’s mood ended this time.
This wasn’t the first time Mavis Moon had done something extreme, even by Penelope’s own generous definition of the word. About once a year Penelope would come home to find her grandmother acting strangely. The last time Mavis had planted a crop of marijuana in with the corn out back, determined to do for terminally ill patients what the health care system wouldn’t.
It was all Penelope could do to stop her from being charged. She had, however, been arrested.
She let out a long breath. “I’m going to the store. Do you want anything?”
“A man.”
Penelope stared at her grandmother’s back.
“I can feel you looking at me, girl. Stop it right now.”
“Where would you have me look?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe at yourself in the mirror.” She gave the wall another smack, creating another ugly dent. She gestured with the hammer. “You and me…we’re not getting any younger, you know. This morning I swore I could hear time passing.”
“It was probably your pacemaker.”
Mavis glared at her.
“Do you want anything from the market?”
“I told you what I want.”
“And short of dragging Old Man Jake home with me, it’s not going to happen.”
A thoughtful expression came over her grandmother’s face. Penelope turned on her heel, collected Max’s leash and went out the front door.
She only hoped that there would be a house to return to.
Chapter Three
What could have been minutes or hours later, Penelope stood on the old wooden bridge about a half-mile away, down the road that spanned the Old Valley River. She stared at the water rushing by below and pondered why every now and again life didn’t make any sense at all. Even Max seemed to contemplate the question, lying on the old planks under their feet that shuddered whenever a car drove over. Which, thankfully, wasn’t often.
Penelope had studied the stars last night, trying to map out the future, catch a clue on where things might be heading. The same way she did every other night when there was no significant cloud cover. Only nothing had prepared her for today. She’d seen no hint of Mavis’ latest mood. No sign that she would look into Aidan’s eyes that morning and feel a tingling awareness that she hadn’t been able to shake ever since. No trace that she would be standing at the bridge now, staring down at the river wondering if things would have been different if her mother hadn’t committed suicide by jumping off the other side of this same bridge and landing on the outcropping of rocks there.
The early evening sunlight hit her full on the back and seemed to outline her reflection in the water. She couldn’t make out her own features. The blurry image resembled what little she could remember about her mother’s features beyond those she saw in the countless photos Mavis had of her.
After Heather Moon died, no more photographs were brought into the house. Penelope couldn’t even remember seeing the old camera her mother had once owned. Maybe Mavis had buried it with her.
She recalled the way Mavis had mapped out the old photographs on the wall like some sort of puzzle missing half its pieces, or like a map leading to nowhere. She shivered.
“Cold?”
She looked up, startled to find she was no longer alone.
Aidan