Morning Tea

I like to make a cup of tea every morning.

The kettle is heating up on the stove. We'll just wait until we hear it whistle. I stand staring out of the picturesque window in my living room. My husband, James, is rolling the trash bin to the curb. Immediately across the street is Misty Potters' house. She's standing in her window staring back at me. Or is it James that her eyes rest on? She usually makes a point to meet James for some sort of friendly banter when he's out front, but not today. She avoids me, however. It's the most peculiar thing.

James lingers a little longer at the curb. Misty was typically on time for their curbside meetings. Not today. He walks back up the long driveway slowly, trying his best to find subtle ways to look back at the house across the street. I refocus my attention on Misty standing in her window. I am certain that she is staring back at me now. James takes a pause at the steps leading to the front door. He looks back one last time.

The kettle whistles.

I rush back to the kitchen. I pour a cup for myself. I pour a cup for James. I find him in the living room sitting in a chair facing the window.

"Your morning tea?" as I hand him his cup.

He takes it without acknowledging me. I sit in the chair next to him. James is transfixed by the house across the street. Misty's house.

"Is something wrong?" I inquire.

"Misty didn't come out to say 'Hello' today," he speaks, "that's unusual."

"Well, you must've seen her standing in the window. Why didn't you just go over there?" as I sip from my cup and stare at Misty's empty window.

"You saw her in the window?" James looks at me in bewilderment.

"Clear as day," as I take another sip of the tea.

He takes his first sip and frowns, "This tea tastes awful Mary."

I have another sip, "Tastes fine to me."

My eyes never left Misty's house. My eyes never left her window. James began to speak but I could not hear him. He rose from his chair and left. When he reappears in my line of vision, he's back out front. He's walking across to Misty's house. The tears stream from my eyes as James knocks on her door. I watch him pause and knock again. No one answers. I couldn't see his face, but I could tell that he is curious. I see him peer into her window. My heart stops. My palms are saturated with sweat as they are both clasped firmly to my teacup. I raise the cup to my mouth and have another sip. A long sip. The kind of sip one takes with their eyes closed.

Dr. Morgan stands peering through the observation window of Mary Mason's room. She observes Mary as she sits with her back facing the window, staring at the padded wall in front of her. What was on Mary's mind? She hadn't uttered a word since arriving at the psychiatric facility several months prior. Dr. Morgan racked her brain trying to figure out why such a seemingly sweet woman like Mary had done what she'd done.

According to the police report, Mary had committed a heinous crime against her neighbor, Misty. Ms. Potters was a single woman who had only lived in Mary's neighborhood for a year before her untimely demise. Misty was known to be quite the social butterfly and swiftly found a new friend in her neighbor, James Mason. James, being the man's man that he is, always offered his services whenever Misty needed any maintenance and repairs performed on her home. These services were free of charge because he was raised to believe that women should never get their hands dirty doing man's work. It was innocent but minds began to wonder, especially Mary's. Months later, it had become apparent that Misty was pregnant and far past the point of hiding it. The neighborhood began to speculate about how a single woman is suddenly with child. Mary couldn't help but wonder herself, especially since the only man she had ever seen Misty with was James. Mary found casual ways to ask James if he knew who the father of Misty's child was. He claimed to not know and not care. James wasn't the type to get involved in other's business. That put Mary on edge. It sounded like a lie. It sounded like a convenient lie. The other neighbors had already deemed the father to be James. Mary got looks and whispers everywhere she went. She was so embarrassed. She felt so pathetic. How could she allow this to happen right under her nose like this? How could she live with her husband's mistress and his child right across the street like that? She just couldn't.

Before Mary started her tea on that infamous morning, she went across the street and was promptly greeted politely by Misty. Mary smiled as she was welcomed into Misty's home but left no room for conversation as she strangled Misty with her bare hands as soon as the door was shut. The struggle was intense and filled Mary with enough rage to get a knife and cut Misty's baby right from her belly. Mary carried the blood-soaked baby back across to her home without being noticed.

After Mary's arrest, it was revealed that Misty's baby did not belong to James. In fact, the baby did not belong to Misty. Misty had been relocated to the area by a wealthy family that she had become a surrogate for. Furthermore, James had never had an affair with Misty. The two had never really had much conversation outside of small talk and repair requests. The part that perplexed Dr. Morgan (and landed Mary in the psychiatric facility) was what Mary had done with the baby. It was discovered that Mary had boiled the baby and added the baby's broth to the tea kettle. Then she served morning tea for James and herself like she did every morning. Like nothing had happened at all. 

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