She always took off her bird-shaped wedding ring when she baked because she feared she'd get it dirty with the batter. I loved seeing the white imprint that her ring had rubbed onto her skin....... Like a dove tattooed above her knuckle.
I tried not to think of Ma when Clover heated the coca and I stirred the gingerbread batter, then shaped and baked them. It was mid-summer and the old-black stove heated the cottage till the stench of our sweaty bodies overpowered any discomfort we felt at being home alone. I forced down the gritty, spiced cookies and scalded my throat on overly sweet chocolate water without complaint. I figured by letting Clover ease our hurt, it could take a bite out of her throbbing lip and gums. With full bellies, we got opened the windows to let in the cool scent of pines and mountain air. When it came to time to sleep, Clover and I stripped down our beds and put Trent atop the pile to tell him stories. I started with Frankenstein, I always liked the idea of people giving up their parts to make a new person. Maybe I was too graphic about the blood and gory, because Clover turned as green as a plant she named after and Trent as stiff as a tree. A shame my story scared Trent so much. He moaned for not coca and a happy fairy tale. And Clover -with the charm of her fat lipped lisp- did just that.I fell asleep after the storytelling ended that night, listening as a snore whistled through Clover's empty tooth sockets, wishing that somehow her story would come true.
In the years that followed, I came to understand why they say be careful what you wish for.
YOU ARE READING
Stitches
Mysterie / ThrillerThe first time the wrens sang at night was three years ago, when I used a rusty saw to cut off Pa's left foot. The birds drowned out his screams. Wrens don't normally sing after sunset, but I wasn't surprised by it. I soon came to realize that the r...
