Page 6 of A Cursed Noel

“You smell of blood,”she says. “Yours and two others.”

“Yeah,” I say. Idon’t deny it. She knows what I do. Like Martin, she doesn’tapprove. I can’t figure out if it’s because she fears for mywell-being or she’s jealous I might die first.

Her brown eyes, once soalive with humor, stare blankly at the photo of her wedding day. Icock my head, noticing there’s a smaller one lying beside it. Thecorners of it curl from handling and the harshness of time.

I lift it, surprised tofind it’s an old photo of me.

I can’t be more thana few months old. Dad’s holding me. I was supposedly a big baby,but I look tiny in Dad’s strong arms. We’re facing each other.I’m smiling. Dad has his head thrown back, laughing.

“He loved youfiercely,” she says. She presses her dried lips tight, as ifswallowing back the tears still left to fall. “Never has a fatheradored a child more.”

I place the picturecarefully back. These memories don’t comfort me. Neither does Mom,given her fragility.

If her death wouldgrant her peace maybe it’d be something I could pray for. Butleaving me young and alone, and knowing I don’t want her to go,peace isn’t something she’ll find in the afterlife.

If purgatory wassomething she could walk through alive, I think this would be whatshe’s experiencing now. Not really dead and nowhere near alive.

“You should eat,” Isay. “For me. Okay?”

“For you,” sherepeats without inflection.

I reach for the fullpitcher of water and fill her empty glass.

“We were blessed tohave you,” she says. Her voice trails as she remembers. Butmemories are now a curse and worsen her state.

Tears spill from hereyes, drawing lines into her pale skin. “Was it wrong to want moreof you?” she asks. “Babies so sweet they’d cuddle and fallasleep against me? Little boys to chase after the way I chased afteryou?” She meets my eyes. “Maybe a girl to dress in prettyclothes?”

My hand clenches theglass. It won’t take much to break it. It also won’t take much tothrow it against the wall. But I won’t upset her further.

What do you want,Mom?

What can I give youto look forward to?

How can I make youhappy?

I slip my arm aroundher back and raise her to me, pressing my lips to her forehead andwishing I could take her pain for her. The bones from her back pressagainst my palm. She doesn’t have much longer.

“Stay with me, Mama,”I tell her. “I can’t lose you, too.”

Her shoulders trembleas she cries quietly. I hold her against me until she stops.

It takes time for herto quiet. It’s okay. I let her. It’s only when I think she’ssettled that I adjust her position in my arms and help her drink somewater. She downs the entire thing, clearly dehydrated and in need ofit. But instead of drinking on her own, she waited for me to give hera reason to.

Just like she’swaiting for me to give her a reason to live.

“I’ll get dinnerstarted,” I say.

She doesn’t reply. Ihurry down the stairs and out of the house, figuring to snag sometrout from the nearby stream.

I hop over the terracejust to freeze when I find Mimi sitting on a stump.

“What do you want?”I ask.

She cackles. We’retalking full-on evil witch; I’m going to eat your little dogcackle. “Now is this any way to treat an old friend, boy?”

“Old friend?” Iask. Like mostweres, I’ve spent my life avoiding her.Nothing good has ever come from cozying up to Mimi. “I think youhave the wrong wolf.”

She responds with awide, semi-toothy grin. Yup. This hag is psycho.

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