The Wormwoods: Last Supper
Dr. Richard came home later that evening to a wonderfully home-cooked meal. Mom had made it for him from scratch, she'd been doing all the cooking during her house arrest. I couldn't eat it. I wasn't sure if my nausea was because of the tension in the house or the possible ill-intent of the meal. BritBrit kicked Byron under the table when he tried to take a mouthful. "P-O-I-S-E-N!" she hissed in his ear.
Mom took a big plate of everything and began to silently choke it down. She paused mid-mouthful and asked, "Why are you watching me chew? Eat something!" We weren't very hungry. The babies started to wail. The doting parents gratefully escaped the dinner table. I was trapped.
"Did you have a good day, Richard?"
"Oh a fine one! Thank you for asking Renee, you're doing so well with your empathy."
"I was thinking, Richard, that I might want to start writing an autobiography about my life. I'm terribly fascinating. I've got my days at the Pleasure Emporium, my multiple doomed love affairs and of course my charming wit. I think it would be a hoot. I could even make it fiction and use a pen name like my favorite romance writers. "
Dr. Richard paused, chewed on his food and then choked out a smile. "Why my dearest Renee, why make a mockery of your vivid life history? You should have a serious writer share your story with the world. A serious writer like myself."
"Oh darling, you're so right. We could start working on it right away. We could call it Renee Wormwood: Portrait of a Lady. I'm so inspired I'm going to go take a bath with my favorite scented oil and then I want to see YOU in that bathroom in about a half an hour."
"Yes ma'am! I love the y'lang ylang."
What was Mom up to? I poked at my food. "Aren't you scared of her Dr. Richard?"
"I love your mother, she's going to be the best thing that ever happened to me. I know it."
"She's your patient. You have to keep her secrets confidential right?"
"Oh she's not technically my patient. It would be too complicated for your brain Adela, but she's not my patient. She is my muse. My light. My Renee. Now pardon me, I have an angel in the abattoir. That's French for bathroom."
"No. It's not."
Abattoir was French for slaughterhouse.
I heard something fall with a heavy thud in the master bathroom.
Mom was standing in a puddle of sticky red blood, smiling. "Oh hey Adela! I guess I was trying to fix the shower head with this wrench and it slipped out of my hand and hit Richard in the head about ten or fifteen times! What a shame, I really did like this tile and now we'll have to regrout. Well there's no helping it now. Careful, it's slippery."
"Mom... what have you done?"
"Oh I fixed the problem! If anyone asks I wasn't home at the time."
"MOM. You are under HOUSE ARREST! That pretty bracelet on your ankle isn't for fashion! Jesus, Mom..." I was going to throw up. I couldn't see Dr. Richard's face any more. Mom wasn't cured, obviously, I was such a fool.
"Oh we'll think of something. If anything we still have Brittany and her trust fund, just wait until after she gets to be of age, then we'll be able to use that money to fly to some place exotic with bronzed muscled native men. Just the three of us."
"Six of us. You forgot BritBrit and the babies--"
Mom just smiled at me, shrugged her shoulders and my blood froze. "Oh they're not invited. There's so many accidents that take place in the bathroom, you know." There wasn't any room in her world for anyone that she didn't push out. It was time for the back up plan. "I'll go get a mop. Stay here Mom."
"Oh sure, I don't want to track blood and icky bits on the new carpet. Good old Richard, you always had so many brains. Now I can actually see them!" She giggled and poked her toe into the skull of her lover. "Adela, hurry up with that mop! If the blood sets, we'll have to scrub extra hard! Now where is that scowlly daughter of mine? This is taking forever. What is that sound? Are those sirens?"