The Lockhart mystery

Chapter One: Shush, Baby. No Questions Please.

I grabbed a box from the car and stepped out on the road. The Virginia sun was merciful as always, a cool breeze passing me by and the clouds gathering around the autumn sun. Soon, the breeze would become a chill and I hurried in to the house where my parents were inspecting the kitchen.

I liked the house. I liked its size, how everything we did echoed, the sound of our bare feet on the wood making these slight slapping sounds and I have no idea why I liked it, but I knew I was on the verge of loving it. The wood was not ordinary, I knew, but my mother insisted that I was being silly again.

I put the box down on the kitchen counter. The kitchen itself was large, and the aisle took much of the space. It was the kind of kitchen any mother of this century would absolutely fall head over heels for, and I could see the glints of pleasure in my mother's eyes. I was happy for her, I truly was, but my father did not seem so very pleased himself.

“It's too big, Catherine.” he complained again.

“It's perfect.” my mother counterattacked and as always my father slumped his way out of the argument and helped me unpack the box.

“Last one?” he asked, putting his hand on my head and slightly patted me, an awkward gesture. He was my father, but he was not fatherly.

I nodded and grabbed the plates to put on their designated spots.

“Oh, Cathen. Let me look at you,” my mother suddenly said and the cups I were currently holding were taken by her and put on the aisle. “You okay with this, honestly?”

This question had, by my calculations, been asked on the average six times every day in two whole weeks. And my answer was still the very bluntly, untrue and simple lie.

“Yes, of course. I wanted this too, you know.”

My mother, being herself, got quite emotional and took me by surprise as she kissed my forehead. Her soft lips met my skin, and a slight good chill went down my spine. She stepped back and, oh, she was so very beautiful, my mother. At once, at that moment, I was speechless. The sunlight that escaped the curtain of the big window in the room hit my mother's face and made her always present beauty escalate sky high. Her high cheekbones were graced with freckles, her very light hazel eyes were glowing, her midnight black hair fell in waves, a small little river running down her back.

“Mom, are you okay with this?” I asked her, putting my palm against her cheek. “I mean, I won't ask why we had to move, but you're fine, right?”

My mother was quiet, a smile playing on her pink lips, her eyes not wavering.

“I am just fine, dear Cathen.” she gave me a hug. “I am just fine, you'll see. We'll all be fine.”

I did not quite understand, but I was too lost in the fact that this hug seemed to wipe away every little worry I had and I dedicated my very being into this very embrace.

I woke up the next morning with the slight hint of a headache and I was scared it would escalate into those migraines I had whenever I would fret or stress over some stupid event or something. I told my mother this when we were eating breakfast downstairs. Dad had to go show up at his new work early to get settled in, and so it was only my mother and I, and the slightly increasing headache.

“Bring some painkillers with you and if it gets worse, call me.”

“You'll just stay at home today?” I grabbed the spoon and slurped the milky cereals containing what I believed was Gods very own blessing. The sound, as always, made my mother cringe, but she did not say anything. She never did.

“Yes, seems so. I think I will just stop by grandma and help her. She's been having this terrible ache in her foot, you see.”

“Was it her idea?” I looked at my mother, her beauty had not even diminished though it was morning and she obviously had not slept well.

“What do you mean?” mother grabbed her cup of tea and read her newspaper on her phone.

“Moving here, right next to her.” I continued. Seeing that the last cereals would not let themselves get caught by the wrath of my spoon, I grabbed the bowl and greedily drunk. The bastards had no chance, and they knew it.

I looked at my mother, noticing how she had put her phone and her cup down, hands now cradling each other. The knuckles had become white. But her face held her usual carefree expression and I tilted my head, confused.

“Cathen,” she whispered and her voice was shaking. “I'm so sorry.”

I was incapable of giving a proper response, but I did not have to. Mom seemed collected when she continued.

“I know you never wanted to move, I know, baby. It's okay. And I know it seems rather selfish of us for not telling you the reason, but we will. One day, when it seems appropriate enough.” she sighed. “And I am so glad you went without a fight, you make our lives so much easier, Cathen. I am so proud and I love you very much. But here's the thing, whenever someone asks why you moved here, you need to tell them that your dad had gotten a job or something like that.”

My mother grabbed my hand and held it firmly. “Stick to one story, Cathen. Please, just stick to one story.”

The haze of confusion that covered my sense of reality and good judgment lifted slightly. “You're asking me to lie.”

My mother made a slight noise, a sad kind of laughter. “Yes, I am, honey.”

“Okay,” I nodded. That was easy enough. “I trust you, mom. I do. It's okay.”

I kissed her forehead, feeling the little devil in me revolt by the act. Yes, I was not very happy with what my mother had just told me, but what could I do other than accept and move on?

My mother smiled and I left her like that, sadly smiling. I made myself ready, and started the short walk to my new school, Lockhart High School.