The Good House Part 44

Thirty-Three.

JULY4, 2001.

SO, WHAT DO YOU THINKyou'd like to do with your life after college, Corey?"

The woman had to ask him twice, because although Corey heard the question, he didn't remember to answer. He kept looking toward the foyer, watching new people come into the house, hoping to see Sean. Corey had been stuck at a movie with his parents yesterday, and he hadn't had the will to leave the house since. He wanted to be near his parents, even if he was only sleeping in his room with his blinds pulled down and his curtains closed tight.

But tonight wasthe night. Within twenty minutes, he and Sean needed to start driving to Portland, or they would never make it to thebotanica before it closed at eight; they were lucky it was open on a holiday. Sean was supposed to come pick him up in his friend's car, but Sean was baby-sitting until his father came home, trying to win enough points to be in his good graces.

Corey didn't know what had happened between Sean and his father, but Mr. Leahy had knocked on Sean's door at eight yesterday morning and told Corey he had to go home. He sounded mad as h.e.l.l, and Corey wondered what Sean had told him. Even without knowing Corey had been out all night, Mom had been riding him from the moment he came home.Where did you leave your jersey? You look like you didn't get a wink of sleep. Why are you so quiet?

Corey felt himself pulling away from his surroundings, his mind floating, which had been happening a lot since yesterday. He gave himself a reality check: He was in the living room talking to a doctor at his parents' party, a woman in her thirties he'd never met. Her hair reminded him of Becka's, so he kept his eyes away from her hair.

"I write lyrics. I think maybe I'd like to work with horses, too, be a vet or something," Corey said, answering her question at last. He was thinking about Sheba.

"My sister is a vet," the woman said. "Let me know if you have any questions about schools."

"Yeah, a'ight," Corey said, but he drifted away from her and her hair, staring toward the door.

He wanted to go back to bed. He didn't rememberever feeling as sick as he felt today. Likedeath warmed over, as the saying went. Every part of him felt wrong, wrecked. Whether it was because of his beating or reasons he didn't want to know, his entire body felt as stiff as a slab of concrete, his stomach worst of all. His mind felt sick. His heart felt sick. He wanted to crawl into his closet and sit in the dark, if he weren't so afraid of what he might see in the shadows, the way he felt afraid whenever the walnut tree b.u.mped against his window.

He wanted to close his eyes and feelnothing.

What he really wanted, maybe, was to be dead. Maybe Mom's mother had known what she was doing when she took all those sleeping pills. No pain. No worries. No guilt. Freedom.

Bad, bad thoughts.

Corey didn't like having such bad thoughts, but he'd given up on having what he wanted. Hewanted to be able to go back to The Spot and change what had happened. Hewanted to take back his wish against Bo. He wanted to stay safe in his house tonight instead of having to walk back into the house of whatever spirits had been toying with him at The Spot. He didn't have a d.a.m.n thing he wanted. All he had was bad thoughts.

And a stomachache.

Corey couldn't be sure, but the bad thoughts seemed to be hatching in his stomach. The stomachache he'd first noticed at The Spot had never left, and it only felt worse after three cleansing baths, even when he followed Gramma Marie's instructionsto the word. Nothing soothed the grinding ache in his stomach. Some of it was a souvenir from Bo, but there was something else hiding inside the pain. Maybe it was thebaka, Corey thought. Maybe this was what it felt like when thebaka crawled inside you.

f.u.c.k that, he thought. He'd rather be dead.

Mom gave him a look from the other side of the room, checking on him. She was talking to a family wearing identical T-shirts in the foyer. Corey smiled, trying to pretend he was having a good time, but he knew it must be one sorry smile. He tried to duck out of Mom's sight on the far side of the living room, where there weren't as many people. The jazz saxophone from the speakers squealed in his ear. Coltrane. "A Love Supreme." Mom played that all the time.

A woman's voice near him broke through the music. He heard her sayElijah Goode.

The woman who was speaking was standing near the piano, with a thin face that could use some sun. "He chose this place because he said the land felt 'blessed beyond all description,' or in any case that's what he wrote to his brother. Marie Toussaint worked for him for a time, and he left her this house in his will."

Gramma Marie worked for him, all right, Corey thought.

"Are you kidding me?" said the man who'd been talking to Mom, the T-shirt man. He lifted his red-haired son to his back the way Corey's father used to give him rides when he was little. Watching, Corey wished he were young enough for his father to carry him again. "I never heard that. I figured it was something to do with Mrs. T'saint and her teas."

"Oh, no. It's much more than that," the woman went on. "In 1929, three years after Marie Toussaint took ownership of this house, a mudslide destroyed the other homes on this side of town...."

The wordmudslide made Bo's sinking head pop into Corey's mind, and his stomach squirmed, this time with nausea. Why had she broughtthat up? It had to be a bad omen to hear someone talk about the mudslide, today of all days. Thebaka was proud of the mudslide.

Corey didn't want to hear the rest. He slipped past the French doors into the dining room, hoping he could find some quiet. He was in luck. Although the people in the kitchen were louder than he wanted them to be, the dining room was empty, a sanctuary.

Corey walked to the rear picture window, where he could see Dad standing over the grill on the corner of the deck, basting ribs while he talked to three or four guys. Corey wondered if the other men were standing close enough to get a good whiff of his father in the breeze; even though Dad loved soaking in the bathtub, he smelled like s.h.i.t today.

Corey watched his father a long time, pressing his palm to the window. He felt like a prisoner in his new life, locked away from Mom and Dad both. Corey had never known he hated lying so much.

You just have to go to The Spot one more time. Tonight, it's all over.

For once, good thoughts came. Uplifting thoughts. He could do this.

But first things first. He had to give Mom's ring back. Thebaka had ruined it for him.

"...He said it was voodoo for sure," the man's voice floated in from the living room behind him, and people laughed as if he were telling jokes.Art Brunell, that's his name. But he won't think that's funny before too very long. He'll learn some respect. The thought appeared, sure of itself, although Corey didn't know the man's name and didn't care.

Not all of his thoughts were his own anymore.

As he shivered, feeling disoriented, Coreysmelled the mud that had killed Bo, and the smell reminded him of Becka. As soon as he thought of her, dead leaves blew across the dining room floor, fanning near his feet. He heard something fall over inside the china cabinet, gla.s.s toppling. Leaves were in the china cabinet, too, bunched against the gla.s.s.

When Corey gasped, the leaves were gone.

But it was here.It didn't look like Becka anymore-that was onlyone way it could look-but Corey felt something slide past him like a jellyfish, cold and soggy. The smell alone made him take two steps back, covering his nose. One of the dining room chairs skittered to the side, rocking back and forth on its legs before settling again. Corey swallowed, trying to dislodge what felt like a rock in his throat. His heart was pummeling him. Gramma Marie's blessings should have prevented thebaka from walking inside the house, but it was here. Hadhe allowed it to come inside?

The French doors shuddered. The thing was moving into the living room.

Corey burst through the French doors, trying to follow its invisible trail. But there were too many people in here, and how could he track something he couldn'tsee?

He saw Gramma Marie's statues on the piano, the mantel, and the shelves, and suddenly he knew them on sight: They were Papa Legba and Shang and Labalen and Oy and Oshn and Oggn and Simbi la Flambo and Gran Ibo and Ezili la Flambo. Gramma Marie had written about them all. They should be protecting the house. As Corey stared at them, the silent statues seemed to weep.

WE HAVE f.u.c.kED UPBIG.

Mom wasn't in the living room, even if everyone else in town was. Corey thought there must be at least fifty or sixty people crowded in the room, even though Mom had invited thirtyexactly. It wasn't a costume party, but the flock of people standing near the picture window on the other side of the room wore black top hats and tuxedos, their faces covered with masks that looked like grinning skulls. The masked figures fanned themselves with thick, leafy twigs, screeching at each other like ravens. Mom had not invited them. Corey knew that.

Maybe he was dreaming now. Maybe that was it.

"Where'd my mom go?" Corey asked the man in the matching T-shirt, Art Brunell. This man wasn't wearing a mask, but he was laughing as if his head would burst. While Corey stared at the man's laughing jowls, he saw streams of smoke escape from his nostrils although he wasn't smoking.

The man leaned close to him, cupping his ear. "How's that?"

Corey forgot his question, staring up at Art Brunell's son, who was on his back. The boy's lips were purple, his eyes vacant and white as he grinned at him. His neck was ringed with bruises.

Welcome to death, kid,Corey thought, and suddenly the boy looked normal again.

"You seen my mom?" Corey mumbled, remembering his question.

Art Brunell pointed toward the foyer, winking. "Thataway, kiddo," he said.

Mom wasn't in the foyer, but she'd probably gone through the butler's pantry to the kitchen, her favorite route. Corey paused before walking inside the butler's pantry. He gazed at the door to the wine cellar beyond him, at the end of the hall. He heard a clanging noise beyond the cellar door. Where Corey was standing, the floor shook as if a train were racing past.

h.e.l.lbound Express, he thought.

He must be going crazy like his grandmother, Dominique. But there was one thing about his grandmother Dominique worth admiring, Corey thought: When it came to demons, she'd had the last laugh, hadn't she?

Curiosity almost made Corey open the cellar door, but he had to find his mother first. He had something important to do. Something to give her.

There were no strange smells or sights waiting for Corey in the kitchen, and he breathed with relief. Gramma Marie was strong in this room. This room had not yet been overtaken, and people seemed to know it, because the room was bright, crowded, and full of laughing. Corey saw his mother standing over the sink with a winegla.s.s, digging into the sink for ice. She yanked her hand out of the sink, cursing. Gramma Marie was trying to talk to her, to warn her.

"Mom? Can I talk to you? I have to give you something."

Mom's eyes studied him. Even with Gramma Marie so close, Mom didn't know how to listen. But she would, one day. Gramma Marie would teach her.

"Baby, how's your stomach?" Mom said.

"Whatever, it's a'ight," he said, his first of many lies. As soon as he'd walked into this room, his stomach had begun screaming. He had to go back to the foyer, near the wine cellar. He had to shut up his stomach. He led Mom where he wanted to go, away from the people, away from the pain.

"Mom, I did something, and I have to make it right. It's been heavy on my mind."

The sound of his own voice, so controlled and rational, surprised him. He'd been trying to think of what to say-trying to rememberwhy he wanted to talk to his mother-but luckily, his mind knew how to speak for itself. The ring was in his hand, ready. He opened his palm so his mother could see it, and the joy in her eyes helped him fight the feeling that he was melting away like the ice in the sink. Melting like the Wicked Witch of the West.

"At first, I was gonna play like I'd seen it at a yard sale or something, and say, 'Hey, Mom, look what I found, it's just like Gramma Marie's.' But it's the same one." Corey was proud of how lucid he sounded. He must not be as crazy as he felt. Besides, so far, he was telling the truth, and the truth felt good."I threw the brick and broke your window, Mom. It sounds dumb, but there was this girl I liked, right?" Before he knew it, he was telling her all of it, how Sherita had refused to give the ring back, how he'd panicked. His stomach still complained, but Corey's heart loosened, freed.

TAKE the ring, Mom. TAKE it,he thought, because he was fighting the urge to pull it away from her, not to let her touch it. Whatever had invaded the house did not want Mom to have the ring because it might serve as a weapon for her later. Whatever had invaded the house was creeping into his thoughts again, making him wonder why he was so eager to banish thebaka when thebaka had always done as it was bidden.Why not throw the ring down the bathtub drain where it belongs?

"How'd you get this ring back?" Mom whispered, taking the ring at last.

He almost told her, because he enjoyed the freedom from his lies. The new lies he'd invented refused to leave his mouth, so he glanced away from her. But then he imagined Mom sinking into a pool of mud, screaming and flailing her arms, and he told Mom what he'd rehea.r.s.ed: He had written to Sherita, and she'd sent the ring back to him. Voila.

He visited his old life for a minute or two with her mother, actuallytalking to her the way she always complained he wouldn't; even joking with her(Like they say on TV, I cared enough to give the very best). When he saw in her face how much he'd hurt her by stealing her ring, he suddenly didn't care about anything else. He was sorry. He would rake leaves, pick up trash, and pull weeds all summer without complaining, just to make things right.

"I know you're mad at me, huh? Well, I've been thinkin' about a punishment-"

"Corey..." Mom cut him off, touching his chin. There was something about being able to rest his chin in her warm palm that made Corey feel more like himself than he had since before Dad moved away. "I don't know if you remember, but not long after you took this ring, everything fell apart for us. Your daddy and I lived in separate houses, in separate cities, and we forced you to choose between us. I think maybe that's punishment enough. What do you think?"

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.The longer Mom touched him, the more he was sure he would lose himself to sobs. He could curl up in her warm palm and sleep, safe and free.

"Come here, baby...," Mom said, and she hugged him.

Corey clamped himself tight, stiffening. He could barely let himself listen as Mom told him how he'd grown into a young man, how proud she was, how much she loved him. If he couldn't keep his emotions under control now, he never would. Not in time to go to The Spot.

Corey didn't think he could pull himself away from her hug. She would doanything for him. Maybe she could help him tonight, somehow. Maybe she knew more than she'd let on. Maybe she already knew about the curse. Corey imagined going to The Spot with his mother to finish the banishment, and his heart soared. They were stronger together than they were apart, he realized. With their spirits combined, it would be harder for thebaka to bother them.

How hadn't he seen it before?

"Mom, did Gramma Marie tell you stuff about the ring? Like, those symbols. Did she tell you what they mean?"

Nothing showed in her face. "It's West African, she told me. She got it from her grandmother, and I forget how far it goes back before that. At least another generation. I guess she thought it was a good-luck charm."

He had to make her understand what he was asking. Corey paused, taking a breath. "But what about the symbols? She never told you anything about them? Like..."Like Bo Cryer being sucked shrieking into the mud. "...if they're supposed to have powers or something like that?"

Mom's face was all ignorance. "Powers?"

"You know," he said. "If they could...make things happen?"

"What kind of things, Corey? I don't understand."

Corey felt his heart breaking. She didn't know. Gramma Marie hadn't told her anything, so it was all on him. No one else could carry this weight tonight. Even if he tried to tell her now, there wasn't time to make her believe him. He had run out of time.

"Nothin'. Forget it," he said, whispering.

Mom seemed to feel bad then, as if she'd failed him. He hadn't meant to make her feel bad, so he tried to throw her a bone or two, teasing her about how Dad was sneaking to her room at night. When he said that, her face nearly flushed, and he realized how pretty she must have been when she was sixteen. No wonder somebody had climbed the tree to ask her to the prom.

Then, Corey felt his stomach lock, as if someone had a wrench and had tightened his insides. The pain dazzled him, making him forget what he'd been saying, something about trying to fix mistakes. But some of them couldn't be fixed. He knew that now.

"Corey, you look awful," Mom said. "Are you sure you're all right? You don't have to help with the fireworks if you want to lie down. I'll explain it to your dad."

With the arrival of the pain, his mother's voice tortured his ear. He wantedquiet. He had to get himself together. His thoughts were rolling around him, hard to capture. He was sinking in his own mind, like Bo had sunk into the ground.

"I'mfine, dag," he heard himself say.

"Then do me a favor and go to the cellar and bring some sodas up, okay? They're stacked in the corner. Bring up a couple cases. And you might as well bring up the fireworks, too."

Why was this f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h always telling him what to do? Why couldn't he stand still and have one f.u.c.king moment of PEACE AND QUIET?

"I have to go to Sean's," Corey said. He had his own plans tonight, and that was that.

His mother's mouth began nattering again, making excuses, saying I-told-you-so, giving him orders.She never listens-she only talks. If she doesn't shut up, I'LL LOSE MY MIND.

Maybe losing his mind wasn't such a horrible thing, Corey thought. His problem was, heneeded to lose his mind. His mind was holding him back. He should have celebrated when that fat-a.s.s redneck got sucked into the mud, because even if Becka had lied, that didn't mean Bo wasn't a waste of air. He and Sean had acted like punks after it happened. What was all the drama about?He'd WANTED it to happen, so why had he been crying?

Again, the mind-twister came to Corey: Since thebaka had been so good to him, why did he want to banish it? Exactlywhat was the point of that?

The logic was f.u.c.ked up. No matter how much Corey turned the question over in his mind, he could not think of an answer that made sense. Thebaka could give him anything he wanted. That was thepoint of having a word stolen from the G.o.ds.

It was so obvious, Corey couldn't fathom how Gramma Marie had missed it.

Mom was looking at him with her puppy-dog eyes, so desperate to know if Corey loved her even if she didn't give a d.a.m.n about him. If she did, she wouldn't have let him move out. She fought for everything else, but this time she'd shed a few tears and let him go. Well, f.u.c.k her for not trying. f.u.c.k her for deciding not to be his mother.

Corey gave his mother the smile he knew she wanted from him, all sweetness and sunshine.

"I'm gonna take care of you good, Mom," he said, winking. "You wait."

Becka was waiting for him in the wine cellar.

As he climbed down the stairs, he saw her sitting naked on the floor, her shiny blond hair hanging gently across her shoulders. Her bright areolas gaped like bloodstains against her pale skin. Corey knew he was mad at Becka, although he couldn't quite remember why. He didn't let himself feel glad to see her, even if he wanted to be.

The walls in the cellar were thickly overgrown with vines. The bearskin rug-or whatever kind of skin it was-lay across the entire floor, just like in his dream.