Minerva Day Read online

  Minerva Day

  Christie Keele

  Copyright 2013 Christie Keele

  License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  Table of Contents

  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  PART TWO

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  About the Author

  for

  Christopher

  and

  Nicholas

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank my editor, Page Lambert, for the caring dedication she's shown while helping me write this book. Her honest, tough critique, combined with her gentle touch, helped me feel motivated and inspired. She's a savior and a very nice lady. Thank you, Bryce Dishongh, for my beautiful book cover. I love your artwork, keep it up! A big thank you to my Taos Writer's Conference (Summer, 2012) classmates for their suggestions and insights. It was fun hanging out with creative people in a beautiful place. Thank you Eric Burney and Maralie Belonge, my online writer's group partners, for your helpful comments and edits. Good luck to you with your writing. A heartfelt thank you to my younger son, Nick, for setting up and designing my website. I look forward to continuing working on this with you. You are and have always been a joy in my life. I love you. Thank you, Jim, for being a rock for me while I wrote this book. You printed out many drafts of the manuscript for me, gave me useful advice, listened while I talked and talked about this process called writing, and supported me in all the ways it took to get the book written, edited, marketed, and published. Now go finish your own novel and I will be glad to help you. I love you. And to my older son, Christopher, thank you most of all for helping me write this book. Your editing skills, logical good sense, combined with your own excellent writing skills provided me with what this book needed to be complete. Thank you for the countless hours on the phone, the many texts, and for your visits home, sitting out on the back porch, cigar in your hand, talking with me about my book. My favorite part is getting to spend the time with you. Thank you for creating loving memories with me. We had fun, didn't we? Especially when your eyes got "as big as tennis balls" when you read certain parts of my manuscript! I love you.

  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  Minerva gazed through hollow, dark eyes toward the cold blur of the window while her husband of thirty years struggled to breathe. It was midnight, and all was quiet outside except for the screeches of bare, dead branches from a small tree against the outside window. The icy breeze grew stronger and more snow would fall, leaving the world buried and empty. She sat still, her lips tight and her fingers curled around the old rocking chair in the spare bedroom, the room in which Henry had wrestled with death for the last two weeks.

  The only light in the room was a single fixture attached to the wall. Its soft glow cast shadows of Minerva and her grown twins, Piper and John, on the opposite side. Piper sat on one side of the bed, clutching her father's limp hand, while John sat on the other side, head down in sorrow. No one had spoken for a while and the only sound in the room was the heater grinding on, then off, at regular intervals.

  There was a sharp, raspy noise and Minerva rose to her feet. "Is he...?" Her voice halted when she looked past her son and heard her husband grapple for breath. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders to keep herself from shivering. She blinked hard at the pitiful figure before her; Henry's tall and proud body had shriveled to a pathetic old form.

  She stood and walked into the shadow cast by John, her shoulders stooped. She preferred not to come into the light where she could be seen. "He's not good," John said, his voice barely above a whisper. She stepped around him and saw him look again at his father.

  She frowned at Piper. The raspy sound had startled her daughter, too. "He can't breathe," Piper said. "Let's lift his head a little." She tightened the belt on her robe and leaned toward Henry.

  Minerva knew it wouldn't be long. Henry's face was pale, his lips the color of bursting veins. John whispered something to Piper and she frowned as if something struck her. She felt Piper's steely eyes bore into her, her daughter's body stiff and unforgiving in her presence. She pretended not to notice and refused to look at the way Piper saw her. Instead, she settled into the chair again, staring out the window at the black outside, focused on the scraping of the branches.

  She knew Henry was unaware of her across the room, rocking away in an old chair put there years ago. He was just a sick old man now, curled and wrinkled, a baby again, both of his children by his side. She could smell the excrement in the room and she coughed to keep from gagging.

  She gripped the sides of the chair and pushed herself to its edge, then pressed on her knees to help her stand. She didn't consider herself old like him, but parts of her body ached more when she was off her medication. "I'll be back," she said, her face twisted, feeling as if she was sniffing the air for the first time. Piper ignored her and John responded with a nod of his head.

  ***

  She needed a break. Let the twins deal with Henry for now. Minerva had paid her dues by taking care of him for the last several years. What could a few minutes away from all of them hurt? The twins were thirty-two years old now, not babies anymore. They didn't need her, either. She swiped a hand across her forehead and tugged a strand of gray-brown hair behind her ear.

  The floors of the trailer creaked while she walked down the dark hall into the kitchen. She flipped on the light and looked around for her Chihuahua, Lew. Always when she entered the kitchen and Lew was in her little bed, the dog would roll out on its little legs and yap for attention, but not tonight. The dog laid curled deep in her bed pillow, eyes wide open. She frowned at this, bent over, and hustled the puppy from its warm position. "Come here," she said, her voice gruff. Lew didn't have time to respond before Minerva pulled her to her cheek and kissed her square on the nose.

  She liked the satiny feel of the dog. She moved Lew's warm body across her cheek and almost smiled. Anytime she needed a hug, Lew was there for her. Lew never failed her like humans did and she reveled in the dog's unconditional love. "You hungry, little one?" she asked. She imagined a reply and opened the fridge. She scooped a finger in a bowl of leftover mashed potatoes and brought it to the dog's lips. Lew tipped her nose to the potatoes and shut her eyes. Minerva concluded she wasn't hungry and wiped her fingers on a wadded towel on the counter.

  She gently laid the puppy back in her bed and covered her with a miniature blanket she had knitted herself. She thought she saw Lew smile when she did this and smiled herself. She patted the blanket and switched off the kitchen light.

  Minerva stepped from the kitchen to the living room and sat in semi-darkness in Henry's chair. A light filtered into the room from the back bedroom where Piper slept. John's rumpled pillow, sheet, and quilt covered half the
couch across the room. It had been a long time since the twins stayed at home; they had come two weeks ago when Henry turned for the worse. "We will be here as long as it takes," they both had said, almost at the same time. She was relieved they were there to help with Henry, but nervous. Her frequent headaches and fuzzy thinking caused her mood to plummet, and she didn't really want anyone around causing trouble.

  Her lips pursed and her heart raced while she worried about her daughter's attitude. She adjusted her bottom deeper in the seat and laid her head back. She thought of Piper and how close she was to Henry. His death would affect her harder than it would John.

  She lumbered out of the chair and stepped back into the kitchen. She bent to her knees, placed the palms of her hands face down, and lowered herself to the tiled floor by Lew's bed. Holding the dog close to her face, she said, "Please God, Lew and I have been through so much. I think it would be best if you'd just let Henry go so we can get better. Henry has suffered enough."

  While she spoke, a tear escaped down her cheek and she promptly wiped it off. She kissed the top of Lew's head. "Please God, be with us—help my children be respectful toward me through this. Help my kids know how to treat me." Minerva was going to say "especially Piper" but stopped herself. Many times she had prayed for it and gotten nothing. But god damn it she hated all this undue stress.

  ***

  She thought Piper and John were mumbling to each other when she entered the room. She wondered what they were saying behind her back, but didn't ask. Instead she ambled to the rocking chair and sat back down in it and folded her hands on her lap. "Any changes?"

  Piper pulled the blanket to her father's chin and smoothed his brow but said nothing.

  John sighed and said, "He's trying to breathe and—"

  Minerva jerked upright on the chair. "Miss Piper," she said. Both Piper and John jumped. "Is there a reason you won't answer me when I ask a question?" She balled her fingers into a fist and spewed her words. "What's wrong with you?"

  "Mother, please," John said, looking at his father. "It's not the time to get upset." He turned and faced Minerva. "Please, just let Dad rest."

  "Oh my god," Minerva said, "not you, too." She rolled her eyes and swept a hand through her hair. "Now you're turnin' on me, too." Her finger poked the air while she talked. "I'm not standing for none of this from either of you. You hear me?" Her eyes narrowed and a small dot of spit formed on her lower lip.

  Piper slipped off the bed, opposite Minerva. John sat on the bed on Minerva's side. "What's wrong with me?" Piper asked. Her voice trembled and she braced herself up against the wall. Minerva began rocking in the chair and she tapped her toes on the green carpet. "What's wrong with me?" Piper said again, crossing her arms, trying to make her words seem strong despite her shaking knees.

  She knew John urged Piper to speak up for herself, but Piper always learned the lesson the harder way, keeping quiet and stewing about perceived injustices. She sat rocking, unfolding her short legs and tapping her toes. She saw John look up under hooded eyes at his sister while she struggled for words.

  "Why? Why was Daddy so sick all the time?" Piper asked accusingly. Minerva caught the twin's eyes locking on each other. Piper's widened and she hesitated before continuing. "No, I want to know what happened to Dad, John. We have a right to know."

  "Piper," John said, his hand extended toward his twin, "this isn't the time. We can talk about it all later." He moved his hand toward their father. "This is what's important now, only this."

  Minerva stopped rocking and stood near the chair, her hands gripping her hips. Her finger pointed to the door. She didn't like the suspicion and anger. "Get...out," she said through clenched jaws. She stepped into the shadows at end of the bed, closer to Piper.

  Piper moved along the wall toward the adjoining wall, stopping when she encountered the corner.

  Minerva moved another step toward Piper. "Get your shit and get out of here," she said, keeping her voice low, almost a growl. "You will not—"

  "Stop it!" John said. He stood up and his large, imposing figure seemed to fill the space between her and Piper. She swiveled her head toward John. Piper let out a deep breath and moved to the head of Henry's bed. Minerva opened her mouth to speak but John's hand flew up between them, blocking her words. "Don't say anything, Mother." He held his hand there while he continued. "Get a grip on yourself. You're losing it."

  Minerva started to speak and again John interrupted her. "Not a word from you! Can't you see what's happening here? Our father, your husband, is on his death bed. We can't start this right now."

  She stared at John, too shocked by his sudden change in behavior to respond. John Peter, the twin more like his father, was always outspoken without being confrontational. The stronger of the twins, he had stood up to her often over the years, but this was different. She stared in disbelief, and felt her resolve began to wither. She glanced over at Piper, huddled by her father on his deathbed, then over to the crooked-hanging clock on the wall. It was three a.m. Minerva turned on her heels and stomped out of the room.

  ***

  Minerva pulled a blue sweatshirt over her gown, tugged on black sweatpants, and yanked Henry's rubber boots over her bare feet. When she opened the door to go outside, Lew yapped to go with her but she ignored her. She had some thinking to do.

  The gray face of the moon failed to break the darkness. A streetlight shone dimly across the snow-laden front yard. Wayward snowflakes drifted to the ground. Minerva gripped the rail on the porch and eased herself down the steps. Her boots scrunched in the snow while she moved to the pickup truck. The door was unlocked again and she swore out loud. She hated forgetting to lock the vehicle. Often she lost her mind and forgot simple things when she refused to take her pills. She climbed inside and closed the door.

  She didn't feel the freezing air outside, or the stark temperature in the truck.

  She thought of Henry. He had been sick off and on for the last two years and she was bone tired from caring for him. No more hospitals, no more nurses. It was waiting time. But Henry was determined over the last two weeks to cling to the life he was being denied, and the end was taking longer than she originally thought. The twins had arrived two weeks ago, and each of them took turns watching him throughout the night. John mainly had this task, as Minerva voiced her position early on. She was too tired to sit with Henry without falling asleep. After all, she watched him during the day while John and Piper slept.

  Not only that, being in the room at night made her sick and she developed headaches as soon as she entered there. Henry deteriorated. Death grasped him and turned him into a barely-alive corpse. She flinched every time she entered the room. Henry's greenish face taunted her while she cleaned and cared for him and now it was haunting her even when she wasn't there. She wanted to scream out, to ask for mercy from this merciless task of caring for a dying person, but she knew no one would hear her. Until death they did part. She had to care for Henry, her poor, suffering husband.

  People might talk if she didn't.

  She rolled the window down and drew several fingers through the snow on the windshield. She couldn't see far into the yard — what light there was filtered in behind her and blurred everything. She stooped forward to see through the clearing. It was almost like being in the spare room with Henry, only the stench of death wasn't present. My god, why doesn't he go ahead and let go?

  Something large and black moved in the yard—a figure, or a hazy shadow. Minerva hunkered down and peered over the steering wheel. Her heart pounded in her chest. Beads of sweat popped up on her forehead. Panicked, she rose a little more above the wheel and squinted through the window, moving her head from left to right.

  She knew she had seen something lurking right before her, huge and threatening. She couldn't make out the looming shape, but it seemed like a big...monster, or a ghost. She sat and took a deep breath, trying to slow her pulse, swiped a hand across her forehead and wiped her palm on her sweatpants.


  She pushed the dial on her watch and a green light illuminated its face. Three forty-five a.m. She would rather be inside with her undeserving children than here, facing some strange apparition, or worse, a demonic killer. It was time to get the hell out of there.

  ***

  Morning dawned but the sun was bleak and dim. The snowfall through the night already made the day look defeated. No one expected anything.

  But Henry's condition worsened early in the morning. John woke Minerva and Piper from their brief slumber. They gathered in Henry's room.

  "I've called Pastor Averil already and he's on his way," Piper said while she straightened her father's covers.

  Minerva heard her own loud sigh echo in the room. "I don't think he's needed, Piper. He's been here once already and besides, what can he say that he hasn't said already? We don't need no preacher right now. In a little while we'll be calling the coroner."

  Piper was looking at her from the corner of her eye. "Daddy would like it, at least," she said, almost inaudible.

  Minerva started to say something in response when John entered the room and handed her a cup of coffee. She sipped the coffee and smacked her lips. "This is good, thank you." She set the cup on the dresser and began rummaging through it. "We need to change Henry's pajamas and give him a bath."

  "John, Pastor Averil will be here soon. Will you make sure there's plenty of coffee for him, too, please?" Piper said. She glanced at her mother. Minerva said nothing but slammed the dresser drawer a little too hard.

  A palpable heaviness weighted the atmosphere while the family prepared themselves. No one ate breakfast except for John, who reached for a peanut butter cracker from a pack left on the table.

  Piper stayed in the room with her father, only leaving for a bathroom break. John was in and out, instructing his sister to call him in if there were any other changes. He sat on the couch in the living room and stretched often as if trying not to fall asleep. The TV and radio were kept off at John's insistence. "This is no ordinary day. We don't need The Price is Right blaring in right now," he said to his mother when, earlier, she bent to click the TV on. John pulled a small couch pillow and put it behind his head, crossing his ankles at the same time. Minerva stood and ambled down the hall.