Edward Lee - Succubi

“I have more right than you. What do you know about spirituality? You’re a lawyer, remember? You’re more concerned about litigation and lawsuits than your own daughter’s upbringing.”

Ann stormed off. She fled down the stairs and out into the backyard. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run away.

Yes, it would be nice to run, to run away from everything.

It took her hours to cool off. How could her mother have said such things?

But when the anger wore away, a grayness set in. It always did after a deliberation. Here, or in court—it didn’t matter where. At the end of the confrontation, she was always left to wonder if the opposition was right.

“You’ll always be at odds with her, Ann,” Martin said a little later. They were going for a drive. “I don’t know why, that’s between you and her. The best way to deal with it is to try to understand the reason.”

“She’s a contemptuous bitch! That’s the reason!” Ann yelled.

“Listen to yourself,” Martin said. “You’re going to have to be more reasonable about this than that. You have to come to terms with your mother’s bitterness, and your own.”

“My own!” she objected.

“Ann, you just referred to your mother as a contemptuous bitch. That sounds pretty bitter to me. I don’t understand how you can be so cool and objective about everything, but the minute your mother’s involved, you fly off the handle.”

Ann seethed in the car seat.

“All I mean is that the way you and your mother deal with each other isn’t working. It never has, and never will. You’ll have to find another way to deal with each other.”

“Yeah, how about not dealing with each other? That sounds good to me.”

“I think that’s been the problem all along, Ann.”

“I can’t believe you’re siding with her.”

“I’m not siding with her, Ann. She’s not exactly my favorite person, you know. But it happens every time. You two can’t even be in the same room without going at it like a couple of pit bulls. It’s tearing you up, and it’s not a good thing for Melanie to be exposed to. Someday you’re going to have to resolve this, and the resolution isn’t going to come from her, Ann. It’s going to have to come from you. Your mother’s obstinate and stubborn. She’ll never change the way she perceives you. You’re going to have to adapt to that.”

Good Christ, she thought. How could she adapt to her mother’s contempt? Was everyone against her?

“Just forget it for now,” he suggested. “Let’s go for a walk.” Ann frowned as he parked the Mustang in front of the town hall. It was a pretty day, warm but not humid. At the end of the great court, the white church loomed.

It made her think of what her mother had been telling Melanie. Why should a woman so incognizant of religion put the topic of death in such terms? And that question made her think of Dr. Harold, who’d suggested that the occult trimmings of Ann’s nightmare reflected a subconscious guilt from raising Melanie in a neutral religious atmosphere.

Martin put his arm around her. “Let’s get an ice cream cone.”

“There’s no ice cream parlor in Lockwood.”

“Ah, well, it’s bad for us anyway. What’s that?”

NALE’S, the big sign read. “It’s the general store,” Ann told him.

“They sell generals there?”

“Funny, Martin. Stop trying to cheer me up with bad jokes.”

“Okay, how about a worse joke? How do you sneak up on celery?”

“How, Martin?”

“Stalk.”

“You’re right, that is worse.”

The scent of spices and ginger greeted them when they entered. Nale’s was more like a country gift shop than a general store. Lots of knickknacks, dolls, homemade preserves, and the like. From a long rod hung hand dipped candles. Evidently, everything here was handmade: quilts, pot holders, utensils, even some chairs and tables. Ann remembered Mr. Nale, the nice old man who ran the store. He made his own licorice and would give all the kids a piece on their way to school.

“Would you like some ice cream?”

Ann and Martin turned. A rather short woman smiled at them from behind the counter. She was roughly pretty, sort of rustic-looking, and had thick straight brown hair to her shoulders. “I’m Maedeen,” she said.

Martin laughed. “You must be psychic. We were just wondering where we could get an ice cream cone.”

Maedeen opened a cooler and gave them each a vanilla scoop on sugar cones. “I make it myself,” she said.

“Thank you,” Ann said. “I’m—”

“Ann, and you must be Martin,” Maedeen told them. “And, no, I’m not psychic. Your mother told me you’d be in town.”

“Does Mr. Nale still work here?”

“No, he died several years ago. I run the store now.”

Martin looked the place over. “Quaint,” he remarked. “They sure don’t have stores like this in the city.”

“Everything in the shop is made by yours truly,” Maedeen informed him. “Ann’s mother said you’re a writer?”

“Yeah, or at least I try to be. I have four books out. Out, as in out of print.”

“It must be exciting, to be able to perpetuate yourself so creatively. I’ve always wanted to write but could never seem to get anything down.”

“Don’t let that stop you.” Martin laughed. “It hasn’t stopped me. But you’re right, it is exciting to actually have something you’ve written published and put out into the world.”

Ann felt faintly jealous of this short and rather spacey woman, but then Maedeen addressed Ann directly. “Melanie and my daughter, Wendlyn, seem to be hitting it off very well.”

This took Ann by surprise. “Oh, I didn’t even know—”

“They met yesterday, she and Rena—that’s Milly’s daughter.” Maedeen smiled. “I hope they all get to be good friends.”

«« — »»

“She seems nice,” Martin said when they drove back to the house.

“She seems weird,” Ann elaborated.

“Why do you say that?”

Ann finished her ice cream cone. “I don’t know. It’s just weird how she knew about us.”

“You’re right about that. It was the same way last night at the bar. I’d never met any of those guys before, but they all knew about me and you. It’s like your mother announced our coming to the whole town.”

Ann nodded. “And it’s strange that Melanie didn’t mention anything to me about meeting Maedeen’s and Milly’s daughters.”

“Well, at least it’s good that she’s found some kids her own age.”

“And I didn’t particularly care for the way she was looking at you.”

“Who? Maedeen?”

“Yeah, Maedeen.”

Martin let out a laugh. “It’s not easy being God’s gift to women, Ann. Women can’t resist me, which is understandable, considering my vast intellect, indisputable charm, and obvious good looks.”

“Martin, you’re so full of shit you need a toilet brush to clean your ears.”

“Hey, look.” Martin pointed. “Is that Melanie?”

“It better not be,” Ann said when she looked across. Three girls and a boy were going into a house. The boy wore jeans, combat boots, and a leather jacket with buttons on it. His black hair was very short on the back and sides but so long in front that some strands hung past his nose. And one of the girls looked like Melanie.

The four went into the house and closed the door.

“Jesus Christ,” Ann commented. “Is there no end to it?”

“Here we go—”

“Did you see that guy, Martin? I thought Sid Vicious was dead. Just once I’d like to see her hang out with someone normal.”

“Normal by your standards, you mean.”