Five(30)

Mrs. Worth thought she had left those awful days of her childhood behind and done something positive with her life to overcome the ruin of Gerald’s madness. But it has never gone away. She managed to have a beautiful child of her own, who became a loving husband and father, and yet, though she has run from it for years, decades, she can never escape that kitchen, with its flypaper and jars and bare bulb, the cutting board, the pins, the bones, and the bodies.

She never had the courage to challenge Gerald, only to leave him, silently, just as she had always followed his orders and adhered to his rules—in silence. She’s in her seventies now, a doctor, a grandmother, and while it’s too late for her to change, too late for her to be anything other than odd and strange and not like other people, she can do one thing that she knows normal people do. She can say the one thing Gerald never said.

“Thank you for seeing me,” Mrs. Worth says, standing in Livvie’s living room.

“That’s all right,” Livvie says coolly, sitting upright, hands folded, legs crossed, on her sofa. “Please sit down,” she says, politely.

“I won’t, I’m not staying,” Mrs. Worth begins. “It’s been some months now, I know, and I should have come earlier. I have something to say to you. Livvie, I am sorry. I know you loved your dog like one of your children. I don’t really understand why or how but that’s not my business. I’m very sorry.”

“Wow, how heartfelt,” Livvie deadpans.

“I won’t say that I didn’t mean to kill your dog, because I can’t be sure about that. But in any case, that’s what I came to say,” Mrs. Worth says. She hears the sound of something metal turning behind Livvie, squeak, squeak, squeak.

“You can’t be sure?” Livvie repeats, “You can’t be sure you didn’t intentionally try to kill him?” In the momentary silence between them, Mrs. Worth hears it again, squeak, squeak, squeak.

She looks down, near Livvie’s feet, to see small metal wheels, attached to a small harness, attached to a small French bulldog.

“Well, surprise!” Livvie mocks, patting her companion on the head. “These are Horatio’s Walkin’ Wheels. French bulldogs have weak hips, you know, hip dysplasia? I’m sure you know about that since you know so much about physiology. The knock from your car certainly didn’t help, so he has to use these sooner than he would need to, but hey, at least he survived your assassination attempt.”

“He’s alive?” Mrs. Worth asks, unable to find her breath.

“Yep, even though you tried really hard to kill him. He made it.” Livvie says, contemptuously, rising from her seat, standing protectively in front of Horatio. Horatio gives a little growl.

“I thought…Why didn’t you tell me?” Mrs. Worth says, desperately.

“Tell you what? That you didn’t kill my dog even though you wanted to? That my kids still have nightmares about watching their grandmother’s attempted murder of their pet?” Livvie says, her voice rising righteously.

“No, no, that’s not—I didn’t want…” Mrs. Worth says, stuttering, words escaping her.

“It’s what you wanted to happen, of course it is, you just said so,” Livvie raises her voice, laughing incredulously, walking toward the old woman.

“No! That’s not right, that’s not what I said, you just listen, you silly stupid girl!” Mrs. Worth yells, clenching both fists, eyes shut tight, face raised upward, Gerald’s voice echoing in her throat.

There is an audible sharp intake of breath from both women, their eyes wide, as they each take in the words. Mrs. Worth hears her father. Livvie hears only Mrs. Worth.

“I see,” Livvie says, taking a step back, calmly, coolly comfortable with her upper hand. “You practice autopsies on my children, you run over my dog, and by way of apology you come into my home and call me stupid.”

“No, wait, I didn’t mean that, you’re not listening—”

“No, I’m not, I’m not listening, MA-TIL-DA,” Livvie says, stretching out the syllables of Mrs. Worth’s name, getting louder with each syllable. “And I’m not going to listen anymore, because you’ve said more than enough. Get out of my house.”

Horatio wheels out from behind Livvie’s legs and gives another low growl of support and barks. Mrs. Worth clutches her handbag, turns on her heel, and leaves.

That evening, when Livvie updates him on the argument, Nicholas once again calls his mother.

“Mum?” he says.

“She will never forgive me,” Mrs. Worth says.

“Not anytime soon,” he says. “But Mum, I tried so many times to tell you about Horatio, we could have cleared this up months ago if you had just talked with me, it didn’t have to come to this.”

“Take care of your family now, Nicholas. I don’t know what to do with a family.”

“What? Mum—?” Nicholas says, feeling impending devastation.

“I’m better with the dead. Take care of yourself. Your boys are lovely. Goodbye,” she says.

And so, when it finally happens, the moment that breaks them apart, Mrs. Worth makes the choice for Nicholas between his mother and his wife, a final act of motherly love.

The first few months are strange, and Nicholas feels his mother’s absence and the sting of her rejection. He keeps trying to call her but then he stops. She went too far this time. He can’t fix it, and honestly, he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t have the energy to chase her. He has too much else to do now, it’s his turn to live his life, with a career and a young family who relies on him. And after a few more months, then a year, life expands to fill the place she used to take up with growing children and a rolling dog and a promotion at work and moving house and changing schools and the children’s sporting events and food allergies and music recitals and Rafi’s dyslexia and Robi’s eczema and regular haircuts and dental appointments and parent-teacher meetings and a global pandemic and homeschooling and Christmas and birthdays and then Livvie starting a new online business and becoming a social media influencer with her own line of specially formulated organic cosmetics.