Black Mamba (Part One)

Frannie hummed as she wiped the new granite countertops. The twins were in bed, and the perfume of night-blooming jasmine drifted through the window. Earlier today she had planted heirloom tomatoes and Thai basil in the tiny front garden. At dinner parties this summer, she would serve the perfect insalata caprese. She decided to polish off the Zinfandel left over from dinner, but just then, Jack strolled into the kitchen and beat her to it.

“Would you mind walking Teddy?” he asked. She watched as he poured the last drop into his glass, not offering to split it, and tried not to be annoyed.

“I walked him last night.”

“I’m tired, Frannie. You have no idea how stressful my day was.” He tossed back the wine.

“Okay, fine. I’ll walk him. Again.” Her attempt to not be annoyed failed. Did Jack ever consider that she might be tired? That being a full time home-maker was not exactly the most relaxing occupation on the planet? She did all the cooking, cleaning, and gardening on top of helping the twins with homework (if she had to assemble one more of those ridiculous dioramas she might actually kill someone). She had her job under control and organized. It wasn’t her problem if Jack couldn’t do the same. Except it was, because now she had to walk the dog.

Jack refused to hire a housekeeper or a gardener. He insisted that the money they could have used for domestic help instead go straight into savings and investments. The 401 K and life insurance premiums. The college fund for the girls. She supposed she should be grateful that he was financially responsible. He frequently asked “What’s more important—a housekeeper or life insurance? Which will you want if I die?” She had to bite her tongue to keep from saying “Both, Jack. Call me crazy, but I want both. Life insurance and a housekeeper, like other normal people in our income bracket.” But that would just piss him off. She was lucky he’d finally agreed to remodel the kitchen.

Jack’s frugality did not extend to his wardrobe. He dressed in designer clothing, a Rolex watch, suits imported from Milan and London. He drove a red, vintage Porsche with a vanity plate that said “ARTERIAL”.  These were necessities, according to Jack. He needed to maintain his image for work.

He put his empty glass in the dishwasher and stared out the window.

“I quit my job today,” he said.

“You quit your job.” Frannie repeated the words, but she knew they weren’t true. Her husband was a conservative, predictable man. A vascular surgeon in a ritzy, private practice. He was not the sort of man who would leave a career with an upper six-figure salary. Who would do a crazy thing like that? She examined the person standing in her kitchen, to be sure it was her husband. Perfectly barbered dark hair, George Clooney face, and those cold gray eyes.   

Although…he had been complaining about work recently. The increased call, the endless paperwork. And just the other day, he had said that he was tired of city living, and wouldn’t it be nice to finish raising the girls in the country? But that was just talk. Wasn’t it? She laughed. “You’re joking, right?” 

Jack wasn’t smiling. “No. I hate my job.”

“No, you don’t. You just had a bad day.”

Jack pressed two fingers to his temple and spoke with an edge in his voice. “Don’t tell me how I feel, Frannie. I want to start over, somewhere new. I’m tired of living like this.”

“Living like what? We have a great life! We just remodeled the kitchen, the twins are happy in school, we have friends…”

“You have friends. I don’t have time for friends, because I’m always working!”

He was getting angry. Frannie glanced at the open window. She hated it when he started yelling. The houses in their neighborhood were only a few feet apart.

“I got an offer.” Jack paced, his Italian oxfords tapping against the imported Moroccan tile floor that Frannie had personally selected.

“An offer? What are you talking about?” Frannie’s voice sounded unfamiliar to her, high-pitched and panicky. 

How many weeks had it been? Six? Seven? Frannie had lost track of time in the whirlwind that accompanied the decision to move. Jack’s decision to move. The sale of the house, packing boxes, farewell dinners given by friends. She hardly knew if she were coming or going. The twins wandered around the house with dazed expressions, watching their world being dismantled.

Jack was thrilled about going back to his Southern roots. He still had friends in the small town where he had grown up, and one of those friends happened to be the administrator of the local hospital. When the hospital’s only surgeon left suddenly and without notice, this friend called Jack to see if he might be interested in a change of pace. “You’re a Southern boy,” he had said. “Come home.”

Frannie made all the arrangements. She plotted their journey along Interstate 40, booked reservations at pet-friendly hotels, hired the movers, found a company to transport the girls’ ponies. The only thing Jack did was to arrange for a white glove service to ship his Porsche. Frannie must have chewed through a case of Tums (wintergreen flavor), because her stomach acid levels were off the charts. It was hard to believe, but she had never been to the South. In fact, she’d never been east of the Mississippi except for one trip to NYC when she and Jack went to his cousin Robert’s wedding. She imagined plantations, slaves in cotton fields, Confederate flags. Oh, fiddle-dee-dee, she told herself. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not like that now. Think about the mint juleps. She wondered if Southerners really drank those, or if that was only in movies. 

Now, here they were, a U-Haul trailer crammed to the roof, and their SUV packed with the kids, the poodle, the two cats yowling piteously in their crates, the caged African Grey parrot, and the leopard gecko in a glass tank. According to the salesman at Reptile World, Gertie the gecko must be maintained at exactly 85-95 degrees Fahrenheit. Frannie had serious doubts that Gertie would survive the move.

“Will we ever see our house again, Mommy?” asked Sophia.

“Of course we will, darling. We’ll come back to visit,” Frannie said, with a certainty she didn’t feel. The cats were amping up their protests. She rummaged in her tote bag for another Tums. Why had she allowed the girls to have so many pets? The interior of the SUV already smelled like cat pee.

Bella sat in the back seat, her face sullen, refusing to talk. Frannie turned to her. “Bella, I promise we’ll come back. Everything will be fine.” Bella remained silent. Frannie knew she was trying not to cry. Her blue eyes were bright with tears, her face toward the window. The trip, Frannie felt, was not getting off to a good start. She was sweaty, her teeth slimy, because she had accidentally packed her tooth brush last night, then couldn’t remember which box it was in. There had been no time to shower, and she was wearing the jeans and tee shirt she’d slept in. She could feel grit in her sneaker where she had spilled the litter box when she was trying to cram it into the back of the SUV. 

Jack stepped out the front door of the house that was no longer theirs. He locked it and put the key under the mat. How did he always manage to look so perfect? He isn’t shoving struggling cats into crates or figuring out where to put Gertie’s supply of mealworms, that’s how, Frannie told herself. He whistled as he slid into the driver’s seat, dressed in linen trousers, a polo, and Gucci loafers, the cedar scent of his aftershave wafting in with him. “Off on our adventure! Are you excited, girls?” He didn’t look at them. 

Goodbye, sweet house, Frannie thought, as they pulled away. Goodbye, sunny California and heirloom tomatoes. Bella abandoned her efforts not to cry, and buried her face in the poodle’s fur. The parrot imitated her sobs.

“We’re not really coming back, are we, Mommy?” Sophia made it sound like a statement, not a question.

“Sophia, don’t be difficult.” Jack said. The muscle in his jaw was twitching. The one that twitched when he was angry. Three thousand miles to go, Frannie thought. A balloon of nausea floated up and lodged in her chest. 

They spent the final night of the trip in Mississippi, a town called Tupelo. Only a  few more hours and they would arrive at their new home. Frannie began to feel excited. Mint juleps, here I come! Everything had gone more smoothly than she’d anticipated.   

Yes, the air conditioning had gone out in Arizona, smack dab in the middle the Painted Desert, a less than optimal location. According to the digital thermometer on the dash, the temperature had been 114 degrees. Even with every window down, it felt like they were being roasted alive.

“We’re going to die,” Bella had moaned from the back seat. 

“Gertie’s definitely going to die,” Sophia said. “This is way out of her temperature range.”

They found a repair shop just over the New Mexico state line, and unloaded the menagerie into a waiting room furnished with oily chairs and out of date Popular Mechanics and People magazines. The icy air conditioning felt heavenly. An elderly couple sat in one corner, staring straight ahead, hands folded in their laps. The parrot, who hadn’t minded the Arizona heat, but did mind the arctic climate of the waiting room, began complaining. “Fuck,” he said, angrily. “Fuck, fuck, fuckety-fuck!”  It was his only curse word, but he used it prolifically and with a certain flair. The couple in the corner glared. The twins giggled. Jack pretended not to hear. 

And there was the time Jack got food poisoning from potato salad at the Cracker Barrel in Amarillo, Texas. He was doubled over in pain by the time they left the parking lot. Luckily, there had been a nearby hotel with available rooms. They stayed for forty-eight hours, until Jack stopped vomiting. The girls loved it, because the hotel had a pool with a slide. Frannie loved it because the bar (with a cute bartender) served frozen drinks poolside. Jack was a bit resentful that everyone was having such a good time while he was sick, but really, what were they supposed to do?

Aside from those glitches, the trip had gone well. Incredibly, all the animals were still alive, even Gertie. The girls had stopped talking about California. Frannie watched them run in the grassy strip beside the motel, golden hair flying as they raced. At ten, they were on the cusp of adolescence. 

Bella jumped over a bush. “I’m an Appaloosa,” she said, tossing her head.

Sophia galloped past. “I’m a Friesian, and I’m running away to join the circus.”

Another year or two and they won’t sit on my lap for a story, Frannie thought. They’re already too big to pick up easily, tall for their age. She was sad that there would be no more babies. She had wanted at least one more, but Jack refused. “I want to retire at fifty-five,” he said. “Travel the world before I’m old. We don’t need another kid.”  Frannie noted the way he said “I”, not “we”, when discussing his plans to travel. 

“How much longer until we get there?” asked Sophia. 

“Why is it so hot?” Bella demanded.

Both girls were flushed and sweaty. Barely nine a.m. and the heat was already stifling. This was not the dry heat of the west, but a sticky, wet heat. “We should arrive by early afternoon,” Frannie said. “Plenty of time for exploring.”

“Will it be this hot at our house?” Bella persisted.

“I’m afraid so,” Frannie said. “This is the deep South. It’s hot everywhere. We’ll just have to sit on the porch, fan ourselves and drink iced tea.”                 

“Sweet tea,” Jack corrected her. “It’s referred to as sweet tea.” 

 Jack was such a know-it-all. Frannie noted with satisfaction that his hair was not doing well in this weather. He loved his hair, and spent a good portion of every morning fixing it just so. Now, it was stuck to his temples in moist hunks, and rivulets of sweat dripped onto his tee shirt, leaving dark blotches. 

“Fan ourselves? There better be air conditioning,” Bella said. “Look at poor Teddy!”  The poodle was panting, his pink tongue flopping out. Frannie made a mental note to shave him as soon as she found the box with the dog clippers.

Jack drove the final stretch, in high spirits. “On our left, ladies and gentlemen, we have a cow! To the right, a field of corn!” Frannie couldn’t remember the last time she had seen him so happy. Maybe her misgivings about the move were unfounded. He must have been more miserable in his job than she had realized. This career change would be good. She and the girls would adjust. They would make new friends and settle into a relaxing, rural lifestyle. She hoped there was some decent shopping nearby.

The SUV slowed and turned into a white gravel drive lined by crape myrtles with watermelon blossoms and peeling cinnamon bark, their upper branches entwined. 

“Look, Bella, all that pink! Our favorite color,”  Sophia said, bouncing in her seat.  A velvety expanse of pasture stretched on one side, enclosed by split rail fencing. At the far end, a red barn. The drive wound up a hill and through a small woods, into a clearing. There, shaded by an enormous oak, was a farmhouse with cedar siding, a green metal roof, and a wraparound porch. The girls jumped out, Teddy at their heels. The movers had left their boxes stacked on the porch. Jack’s Porsche was in the garage. The ponies would arrive next week.

Sophia rushed onto the porch and ran all the way around. Bella approached tentatively, looking at everything. Blue hydrangeas, viburnum, and zinnias bloomed in the front garden. Raised beds, perfect for vegetables. A damp smell of earth, and fecundity hung in the air.

Frannie opened the cat crates. “You’re free, kitties!” She picked up the bird cage. 

“Jesus H. Christ,” the parrot said, fanning his tail feathers and constricting his pupils.

“I know, it’s been a long trip,” Frannie said. She parked his cage inside the front door and went back for Gertie, putting her tank in a shady spot on the porch. 

 “Come out back,” called Sophia. “There’s a pond!”

The pond was at the bottom of the hill, its water a murky brown, the surface  flat and still. Frannie wondered how deep it was, thankful the girls were good swimmers.

“Look at that–we’ll get a boat and I’ll teach you to fish,” Jack said. He started singing, “I’ll get a line, you get a pole….”  But the girls were already in the house, running up and down the stairs, calling to one another, their footsteps echoing in the empty rooms. 

The pond worried Frannie. “Doesn’t the South have water moccasins?” she asked Jack.

“Water moccasins, copperheads and the occasional rattlesnake.” He pretended to be a snake and hissed, flicking his tongue at her. “Don’t worry, ninety-nine per cent of the snakes are non-poisonous. Garter snakes and black snakes, mostly. Maybe a few corn snakes.” 

Frannie hesitated, not wanting to spoil his good mood. “But what about that last one per cent? Maybe the girls shouldn’t go barefooted.”

The twins were now running down the hill, barefooted, toward the pond, throwing sticks for Teddy who ran with them, barking.

“Sophia, Bella! Watch out for snakes!” Frannie yelled, leaning over the porch railing. If the twins heard, they gave no sign.

Annoyance crept into Jack’s voice. “Stop worrying, they’ll be fine. Besides, the hospitals have antivenin for anything poisonous. It’s not like we have black mambas here. Now that’s a snake to worry about. One bite and you’re dead in less than a minute.” He snapped his fingers and laughed at the look on Frannie’s face. “Relax—they’re only found in Africa. Come on, let’s look inside.”

They had purchased the house based on photographs. It had belonged to Jack’s predecessor–the surgeon who had left town so abruptly. Frannie poked around in the kitchen. It wasn’t her style, too generic, lacking personality. White synthetic countertops and ugly oak cabinets. Still, there would be plenty of space for everything, and she could remodel, eventually. Jack would resist, of course, but she would wear him down. The main floor was open; the kitchen, dining and living areas merged. The master bedroom was on the main floor, and two sunny bedrooms were upstairs for the girls.

“Check out these floors,” Jack said. “Solid Brazilian cherry, the realtor said.”  

Franny examined them. “Looks like laminate to me,” she said. She had become something of an expert on flooring during the kitchen remodel in their old house.

 Jack frowned. “Damn it, I think you’re right!” His jaw started twitching.

Stupid. Why had she said anything? Now he would obsess over the floors. “With the dog and the kids, I think laminate makes more sense. Easier to clean.”

“Maybe,” Jack said. But Frannie knew he wasn’t going to let it go. “I wonder what else that realtor lied about.”

A stairway off the living room led to a ground level basement. Through sliding glass doors, Frannie could see the girls and Teddy in the pasture. Another bedroom, bathroom, and laundry down here. “Let’s take a look at the barn,” Jack said.

“You go. I’ll finish unloading.”  

It was quiet in the house, an almost creepy silence. The cats padded cautiously around corners and into closets. Frannie put Gertie in Sophia’s bedroom, and stashed the mealworms in a corner of the closet.

The twins wanted pizza for dinner. “I want pepperoni on my half,” Bella said. 

 “It can’t touch my half, because I don’t want meat germs,” Sophia said. “Meat is bad for the environment. You are bad for the environment if you order pepperoni.”

Frannie could feel an argument looming and her head started to ache. Mercifully, Jack cut it short.

“Let’s drive into town and see what’s there,” Jack said. “You can each get your own pizza. Want to come, Frannie?”

Frannie was lying on the floor with her feet propped on the wall. She had read that elevating the legs for fifteen minutes daily would prevent varicose veins. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I’m exhausted.” 

After they left, she lay motionless, watching a spider walk up the wall. So many bugs. That was okay. She could deal with anything as long as it wasn’t a snake. She decided to take a walk. It wouldn’t be dark for few more hours. Keeping an eye out for anything slithery, she went down the hill and around the pond. Liquid bird song spilled  from the trees. “Pitoo, pitoo,” called a cardinal, feathers bright as blood. She was enclosed by the woods, in another world. The leafy canopy screened the sunlight, casting shadowy dapples; invisible insects chittered. Along the trail, Frannie noticed conical mounds. She nudged one with her sneaker and a horde of fire ants swarmed out, seeking revenge. Jesus, there must be millions of them, she thought, retreating to wipe her shoe in the dirt. 

At the end of the trail, she found a tiny, unpainted shack tucked into a jumble of blackberry bushes. The yard was bare dirt, swept clean of leaves and debris. A sheet was tacked up inside, covering the single window. Frannie was certain she was still on her property; the boundary was marked by surveyor stakes with pink tags tied to them. So what was this shack? 

“Your man a fool to come here.” The voice came from behind her, and Frannie nearly jumped out of her skin. A wrinkled old woman in a flowered cotton shift and long gray dreadlocks wrapped in colorful rags had spoken. Her feet were bare, and in one hand she carried a plastic bucket filled with mushrooms and plants.

“Oh! You startled me. Do you live here?” Frannie asked. 

“Me and my granddaughter lives here. You the mistress of the house on the hill, ain’t you?”

“We’ve just moved in recently, yes. I thought I was still on our property, I didn’t mean to trespass.”

“Oh, you not trespassing. This your property, but I got legal rights to live here till my time come. I been here my whole life.”

 “I didn’t know you lived here. Nobody told us. At least nobody told me.” Possibly Jack had been told of this woman and forgot to mention it. What had the woman said about her ‘man’?

“I say he a fool,” the woman said.

“What?” Frannie was flustered. Had she spoken aloud?

“This land cursed. You love your man, you pack and git out.” She cackled, her whole body shaking with laughter. “Course, iffen you don’t love him, maybe then you stay.”

“Fraaaanneeee!” Jack’s voice, from the house. 

“Coming,” she called. After she walked up the hill, Frannie was dripping with sweat. It trickled down her back, between her breasts and into her eyes. She licked salty beads from her upper lip. The girls were eating pizza, the  boxes on the table. The kitchen smelled of cheese, yeast, and oregano.

“Look what I got,” Jack said, holding up a bottle of chardonnay. “Pizza Shack sells wine by the bottle—and it’s cold.” It was also half empty. He gestured toward a paper bag. “Plastic cups in there.” 

Frannie remembered a time before she and Jack were married, when he had cooked her a dinner of handmade squash tortellini and delicate asparagus spears. There had been sunflowers on the table, and pale pink candles. He had filled her glass with a pinot grigio, white peach and honey on her tongue. 

The moon glittered, hovering in the leaves of the oak outside Bella’s bedroom window. “Sing ‘Puff the Magic Dragon’ to me,” she said, half asleep. “Like you did at home.”

Frannie sang. Would the girls ever feel that the farm was home? Would she? It was beautiful at night. A different set of insects began a chorus as dusk settled, and the frogs in the pond joined in, peeping and croaking. Millions of stars, that seemed close enough to pull down and put in a pocket. The heat of the day lingered, wrapping itself around the darkness like a layer of cashmere. Frannie kissed Bella’s head, and inhaled the scent of shampoo.

She wondered if the fact that she loved her children best when they were asleep, or just about to fall asleep, meant she was a defective mother. It was so peaceful when they weren’t screaming at her or each other. No one was ripping out hair or being bludgeoned. In the other bedroom, Sophia was also asleep, hair tangled on the pillow. Frannie sang the same song, in a whisper. Gertie blinked inside her glass tank.

The sunlight fell through tree branches, a shifting pattern on the bedroom floor. Jack’s side of the bed was empty. Frannie stretched, her back cracking. She should find a yoga studio. Pulling on a pair of shorts, she stepped over the cat sleeping in a patch of sunlight. The kitchen was deserted, no sound from the girls’ rooms. On the porch, Jack motioned. She went out, closing the door quietly so the girls wouldn’t wake.

“Farm girl–have some coffee!” Jack had plugged the coffee maker into a porch outlet. He hadn’t brought a mug for her, no surprise, so she went back in the kitchen to get one, then rejoined him.

“Isn’t it spectacular? Look at those woods, the pond–all ours!”  Something green was caught between his front teeth, and he hadn’t shaved. He was wearing baggy pajama bottoms and a stained Harvard tee shirt. Frannie sat in a wicker rocking chair and sipped her coffee. She hadn’t mentioned the old woman in the woods to Jack. After she got the twins in bed, she was so exhausted she’d forgotten. “Jack, did the realtor mention anyone  living on the property? Some sort of lifetime lease?” 

“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that. Some old woman who’s going to die any day. She’s ancient.”

“I saw her yesterday.” Frannie decided it was best not to mention the woman’s comments about Jack.

“She won’t be a problem. Her granddaughter lives with her and takes care of her, according to the realtor. After she dies, the granddaughter will have to move, and I’ll tear down the house or whatever it is she lives in.”

 Frannie wondered if the granddaughter had a place to go. It really wouldn’t matter if she stayed there in the woods. What use did she or Jack have for that bit of land?      

Her thoughts turned to snakes again as she gazed at the pond, still as brown and murky as yesterday. Maybe they could hire someone to clean it. She tried to remember the reasons she had agreed to move. Had she agreed? It seemed like one day she was content in California, and the next thing she knew, she was packing boxes. Now she was here. She was just a leaf swirling in the slipstream of Jack’s life. 

I could have had a career, she reminded herself. I made the choice to stay home with the girls. Although, it wasn’t really much of a choice. The girls were eight weeks premature and had to stay in the hospital for a couple months. Breathing difficulties. How could she go back to work leaving her teacup-sized infants with a stranger? Every time she looked at the news there was another story about a negligent nanny who had let a child get run over, an angry au pair who had shaken a baby and caused brain damage. It just wasn’t worth the risk.

Jack slapped at his ankles. “Damn it! We need insect repellent. These bastards are out twenty-four/seven.” He glanced at Frannie. “They don’t seem to bother you.”

Her legs were bare below her shorts. “No,” she said, “I guess they don’t. Maybe they prefer Ivy League blood.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Always a mistake to tease Jack; he had no sense of humor, and to joke about his precious Harvard was tantamount to sacrilege.

He shoved his chair back and went inside. “Girls! You awake up there?”  Frannie could hear him yelling though the glass door. On the far side of the pond, she caught a glimpse of Teddy running on the trail.

Jack returned, slamming the door. “Why aren’t those kids up yet?”

“I saw Teddy.”  She pointed. “The girls must be in the woods.”

He squinted in the direction she pointed, then shrugged. “I’m going into town for bug spray.”

“You think the girls are okay? Maybe we should look for them.”

“For Chrissake, Frannie! Quit worrying, you’re getting on my nerves.”  

“Sorry. You’re right, I’m sure they’re fine.” She forced a smile and watched as he got into the Porsche, still wearing the pajamas. It was odd how he seemed to not care about his appearance anymore.

As soon as he was out of sight, she slipped on flip flops and followed the path the dog had taken. It was so hot. At the foot of the trail she paused. “Girls! Hello?”  Teddy ran around a bend, furiously chasing a squirrel. She could hear Sophia and Bella calling him, and waited. 

The twins trotted down the path, laughing. Their hands and mouths were stained red. Blood, Frannie thought. Then she saw the basket of berries they carried.

“We want blackberry pancakes for breakfast,” Sophia said. 

“How did you know where to find blackberries?”  Franny asked.

“The lady at Pizza Shack told us. She lives at the end of the trail.” Bella gestured. “They grow wild all around her house.”  

“Her grandma lives there, too. We met her. She can talk to animals,” Sophia said.

“What do you mean?” asked Frannie.

“She can hear what they think,” Sophia said. “She showed us how with her pet snake. He’s a friendly snake.”

Poor woman, Frannie thought. She must have gone batty in her old age. “Well, as long as he’s friendly,” she said.  

They heard the Porsche before it came into view. Jack got out, lugging plastic bags.  

“I bet Dad will want some pancakes.” Sophia said.   

“Why is he wearing pajamas?” Bella asked.

In the kitchen, Jack dropped the bags onto the countertop. His shirt was soaked with sweat and he was breathing heavily. He stared at his wife and daughters. “You’re filthy!”  His gaze dropped to the floor. “And you’ve tracked mud all over the Brazilian cherry!”

The floor was covered with dirty foot and paw prints. “Sorry, I’ll clean it,” Frannie said. Why was she always apologizing? “Anyway, it’s laminate, remember? Want some pancakes? The girls picked blackberries.”

“I already ate,” Jack said. He wiped the sweat from his eyes with a sleeve. “I guess we’ll get used to this heat and humidity.”  He glanced at his watch. “I think I’ll take a shower.”

And please, do not put on that hideous shirt again, Frannie thought. She would get rid of it the next time she found it in the laundry.

Sophia cracked eggs into flour. “I’ll save you some pancakes, Dad. They’re going to be excellent.”  

“I said I already ate!” Jack snapped. “Are you deaf?”

“Jack! What’s wrong with you?” Frannie could tolerate Jack’s rudeness with her, but not toward the girls. 

His shoulders slumped. “Sophia, honey, I’m sorry. I’m tired.” He tried to hug her but she jerked away. He stood there  for a moment, unsure, then went to the bedroom, closing the door behind him. 

Bella made a face. “Dad’s got his cranky pants on.”

“Cranky pajamas, you mean,” said Sophia.

“He’s just tired,” Franny said. “His loss, because these are going to be to-die-for pancakes.”  She watched Bella drop berries, one by one, into the yellow batter. A moth fluttered into the skillet and struggled briefly. Frannie removed it with the edge of the spatula.

The house started to look like home. Boxes were unpacked, clothes put in closets, furniture arranged. The ponies arrived, and settled into their new pasture. Frannie planted yellow squash, snap peas, and three varieties of tomatoes in the raised beds– Pink Brandywine, Sungold and Orange Roma. The relentless heat continued.

Frannie filled the bird feeder on the porch and checked the thermometer. Ninety-five degrees at seven am. Another scorcher. Maybe she was acclimating–she no longer had difficulty breathing when she walked out of the air conditioning and into the heat. It was July. Three weeks since they had arrived. 

“Girls! Time to get up if you want to ride your ponies.” No response, so Frannie let them sleep. It was probably too hot already.

Jack ambled into the kitchen, trying to straighten his tie, his hair damp from the shower. He was scheduled to begin work today. She noticed that his hair was beginning to recede at the temples. When had that happened? His shirt looked limp, even in the air-conditioned house, and his shoes were scuffed. She counted nine mosquito bites on his face and neck. “Coffee?” she asked.

 “I’ll take it with me,” he said, scratching his neck. “Don’t want to be late on my first day.” He sounded tired, his voice flat. The heat was taking a toll on him. Frannie felt a flickering of contempt. Males were the weaker sex in so many ways.

 After Jack left, Frannie unloaded the dishwasher. The girls clattered down the steps, arguing. “Mom! Tell Bella to stop taking stuff out of my room–she steals my clothes!” Sophia stomped around the kitchen, grabbing cereal and a bowl.

“I didn’t take your dumb clothes.” Bella said. “You can’t find anything because you’re a pig. If you’d clean your room, you’d find them.”

“If anyone’s a pig, it’s you. You even look like one.”

“Then so do you, retard, we’re identical, or did you forget?”

“Then if I’m a retard, so are you—RETARD!”

Frannie sighed. It was going to be a long day.

Jack’s first day of work had gone well. Frannie sat on the porch with him, watching  bats flit through twilight. An orange glow reflected from the surface of the pond and hovered above the tree line. Fireflies flashed randomly, tiny flying lanterns. From the dairy farm behind the woods, mournful cattle called.

“Damn it!” Jack slapped at his neck. “I can’t even sit on my own porch without being attacked!” He slapped again, squashing a blood-filled mosquito. It left a dark smear across his throat.

The doorbell chimed.  “Yoo-hoo!  Anybody home?”  

Jack and Frannie looked at each other in surprise. 

“Back porch,” Jack yelled. 

Footsteps sounded, and a middle-aged couple appeared. “Hi! We’re your neighbors,” the woman said. “I’m Peggy Sue, and this here’s my husband, Boogie. I feel terrible we haven’t been over sooner.”  

“Nice to meet you. I didn’t hear a car,” Jack said, standing and extending a hand. “I’m Jack, and this is my wife, Frannie.”

“We came in the golf cart,” Peggy Sue said. “There’s a path through the trees. I brought y’all a batch of my famous butterscotch cookies.” She was a pudgy blonde, wearing too much makeup, silver jewelry, and big hair. Pretty, in an artificial, self-conscious sort of way. Boogie, a moon faced man in saggy jeans and a John Deere cap, looked as though he’d rather be somewhere else. 

“Thank you,” Frannie said, taking the Tupperware container Peggy Sue thrust toward her. “They look delicious.” She went inside for drinks, and returned with four sweet teas. 

“You don’t know what happened to the Hendersons?” Peggy Sue was saying, her voice incredulous. “Why, I don’t think that’s legal– is that legal, Boogie? Failing to disclose pertinent information?” 

Boogie shifted in his rocker. “Peggy Sue—this ain’t none of our business.”

“For Chrissake, just tell me what happened!” Jack said.  

“There is no call to take the Lord’s name in vain,” Peggy Sue said, scrunching her face in disapproval. Jack glowered, and Frannie sensed imminent disaster. 

 “Would you like some mint for your tea?” she asked. “I found a patch in the front yard. It adds a lovely complexity. Oh, that reminds me — you wouldn’t happen to have a recipe for mint juleps, would you?”

Peggy Sue smoothed her denim skirt that was really too short for a woman her age, and recrossed her legs. “As a matter of fact, I do. Have a recipe, that is. Now, I’m going to tell you because I think you have a right to know. About the Hendersons, I mean. Boogie, don’t look at me like that. Somebody was bound to mention it.” Peggy Sue took a sip of her tea, silver bracelets jangling. Not real sterling, Frannie decided, taking a closer look.

“Bill Henderson, or Dr. Bill, as everyone called him, bought this farm from the Cephas family. They’re black. African-American, I guess we’re supposed to say, not that I see how that makes any difference. Anyway, the story is that the Cephas family was given the land generations ago, after the War between the States. The lady who gave it to them, Emily Pinkney, lost three sons and her husband in that war. Tragic.” Peggy Sue paused, allowing her audience to absorb this information.  

 “Mrs. Pinkney didn’t have any family left in these parts, so she went back North to live with her sister. She gave the farm–the whole kit and kaboodle–to the former slaves. She felt real bad about how Mr. Pinkney had treated them. Legend says he had an awful temper. He beat those slaves if they blinked the wrong way. Beat them until the ground ran red with blood.” 

Frannie thought Peggy Sue was enjoying the story a little too much. Her eyes sparkled and she sounded excited as she recounted the beatings. Frannie wondered if her new neighbor liked to be spanked.

 “What does this have to do with us?” Jack asked. Frannie noticed with relief that he sounded calmer. 

“Well,” Peggy Sue leaned forward. “One of them slaves–a boy named Jem– old Mr. Pinkney beat so bad he killed him. Jem’s mama, she placed a curse on this land. Said any white man who lived here would die. Along with his male children.”

Jack gave her a look. The one that said ‘I have a Harvard education, and clearly, you don’t.’ “That’s superstitious nonsense.”

Peggy Sue drew herself up, indignant. “Believe what you will. But old Mr. Pinkney and all three of his sons were dead before the year was out. That’s a fact.” She took another sip of tea. “If that’s not proof enough, how do you explain the Hendersons’ boy killing himself? Just sixteen years old.”

“Where? Here?” asked Jack.

“Yes, indeedy,” Peggy Sue said. “Dr. Bill and his wife were smart to leave this farm before the curse got Dr. Bill, too.”

Boogie looked uncomfortable. “People say that boy weren’t right in the head.”

“Boogie, that is not true!” Peggy Sue turned to Frannie. “He liked to go deer hunting with our son D.J. He was one hundred percent normal. And in church every Sunday.” This last statement delivered with a sidelong glance at Jack. 

“Why did he kill himself if he was so normal?” Jack asked. “Are you saying it was something other than suicide? Murder?” 

Peggy Sue spoke slowly, like one might speak to a person not quite right in the head. “The curse, Jack. Any white male living here is going to die.”

Frannie looked at the oak, the one she could see from Bella’s bedroom. She saw a boy swinging from a rope, in faded jeans and a red shirt. His bare feet dangled, pale and vulnerable. The porch fan turned overhead and a buzzing filled her ears.

“It was there, wasn’t it?” she said, and pointed at the oak; her voice sounded far away, as if someone else were speaking.

“So you did hear about it. I didn’t think they could sell this property without telling you.”  Peggy Sue was disappointed. She liked being the first to divulge shocking information. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to talk about it. Personally, I could never live in a place with such a history.” She shuddered. “Not to mention the curse. Speaking of which, steer clear of that old witch living back in your woods. People say she does black magic.”

“Peggy Sue, that ain’t something you need to be saying,” objected Boogie. 

“Well, I’m sorry, but it’s common knowledge. Why else would she be hiding back there, not even running water or electricity. She’s no decent Christian, I can tell you that much.”  

They sipped their tea, and Frannie avoided looking at the oak again. She changed the topic to the weather. She didn’t want to talk about curses and dead children. “Do the heat and humidity bother native Southerners? Or is it something they don’t notice?” Frannie asked.     

“Oh, it bothers us, but not so much as it does newcomers,” Peggy Sue said. “Y’all get used to it after a while. Of course, some never adjust. Those folks generally pick up and go back to wherever they came from.” 

The twins came out and were introduced. “Aren’t you just the cutest things,” Peggy Sue gushed. She looked at Sophia, then Bella, as if trying to decide something important. “I have a question,” she said. “Which one of you girls is the oldest?” 

“I have a question, too,” Sophia said. “Guess how tired we are of having people ask us that?”

“Sophia!” Frannie said. 

Peggy Sue’s smile froze. 

“Can I have a cookie?” Bella asked. “We’re exactly the same age,” she added. “These look good.”

The conversation stalled. A few more pleasantries were exchanged, and then Boogie and Peggy Sue climbed back into their golf cart and departed, the black woods swallowing them.

“Sophia, you were rude to our neighbors!” Frannie said.

“She’s stupid,” said Sophia.

“You should have been nice to her,” Bella scolded. “Now she won’t bring us any more cookies.” They grabbed another fistful and ran inside.

“The realtor never mentioned a suicide, Frannie. How did you know? And why didn’t you tell me? I looked like a fool!” Jack sounded angry again. 

“I don’t know, Jack. I can’t explain. I just saw him–imagined him hanging in the tree. Until that moment, I had no idea that someone had died here–of course I would have told you!”

 Jack stared at the tree. “You must have overheard something, subconsciously, in town.”

“I guess I must have,” Frannie agreed. But she knew it wasn’t true.