The Matriarch by Sharon; Hawes Read Free Book Online Page A

cigarette with a wooden match.
    Mommy started walking fast again. “It isn’t that he’s slow,” she said to Daddy. “That sorry state can perhaps be overcome with tutors and the like. But Sweet Christ Les, he doesn’t even look like us!” Lester-Lee heard her slam the matchbox down on the table as she walked by. “You told me he would look like he came from us.”
    “The agency assured me he would. We gave them all those photos, remember?” Daddy’s voice was kind of high. “They said his parents were British.”
    “He looks like a Nazi thug.”
    Lester felt funny. Sort of bad funny. Like Mommy wasn’t happy with him, but he wasn’t quite sure why.
    The thing about these memories … when they start coming to the grown-up Lester, they’re hard to stop. All the comforting, hot and soapy water in the world cannot stop them.
    The next night, the one after the bad-funny feeling he got outside his mommy and daddy’s room, little Lester-Lee’s world shattered completely.
    Daddy was out, and Lester thought he heard Mommy call to him while she was in the tub having a soak. He knocked on the door, because he knew better than to barge in on her. Silence, so he knocked again.
    Laughter. A giggle. He turned the knob slowly and opened the door. The room was kind of dark, but he could see her. “Mommy?” He took a few steps toward her. She lay in the tub, covered with watery soapsuds. There weren’t enough, though, to cover her breasts and the dark place between her legs, so he looked away. He heard her laugh again. He forced his eyes everywhere except on her, and he saw a red candle burning on the edge of the tub. A little puddle of melted wax held it there next to a tall green bottle and a glass of something kind of dark yellow. He thought it looked like a glass of pee. He wanted to laugh but couldn’t.
    “Lester-Lee,” Mommy said, real loud, “look at me.”
    He did as he was told. She was holding something. It was shiny in the light from the candle. It looked like some kind of knife. Watching him, she put it on her arm at her wrist.
    Red…
    It came so fast! The red went into the water and turned pink. The red kept pouring out of Mommy’s wrist and into the pink water. Lester-Lee felt dizzy.
    “See what you made Mommy do?” his mommy asked him with a smile. He sat down onto the bathroom floor. Hard.

    “C’mon, let’s check out the barn,” Frank says after the shooting lesson. Gun belts on, we start off, Louie along with us on a leash.
    Most of the ranch structures are near the house. Their worn wooden facades look blurred, as if coated with golden dust. Several Eucalyptus trees near the house and barn are dropping their leaves and bark, which make a thick ground cover that cushions our steps.
    “Messiest trees in the world,” Frank says fondly. “Don’t they shed a fine carpet?”
    “They surely do.”
    We go through the barn first, Frank pointing out the quake damage as we walk. I keep Louie close; I’m not sure how the puppy will react to these new sights and smells. The building is a source of pride for the old man as he had built it himself. He made sure to include more doors and windows than customary in order to let in more sunshine and fresh air. Since the quake, though, the stall walls are sagging, and the doors and gates are off the square. These are minor things I know I can handle.
    I say hello to Georgie, patting the horse’s dapple-gray rump. I hum a tune to him, and the old gelding does me the courtesy of nickering back.
    “I think he remembers you, Cassidy.”
    “No way, Frank. It’s been a long time. How old is Georgie, anyway?”
    “He doesn’t like me to talk about his age.”
    I smile. “No offense, Georgie.”
    Standing in the roomy stall, Frank puts his hands on the horse’s neck and moves them in a circular sweeping motion. He works up to the head, using the heels of his hands. Georgie stands motionless, eyes half closed as if swooning with pleasure. I feel like a