Mother's Perogative

Bob Sorensen lives a prototypical suburban Northern Virginia community nestled among countless Civil War battlefields. He is employed as a computer scientist for a large, faceless government bureaucracy located somewhere inside the Capital beltway. His work has appeared in Bewildering Stories, Orchard Press Online Mystery Magazine, Futures Anthology Magazine, Science Fiction Fantasy Horror, the Taj Mahal Review, Skive Quarterly, and Open Spaces Quarterly.

Karl Junior and his sister Tiffany jumped onto Bea's lap, their faces covered with shiny blue icing from a store-bought cake; its meager remains were sitting out on the kitchen table. Bea had already unwrapped their gifts to Grandma: crayon-covered cards and garish potholders made in preschool the Friday before.

"Hurry and open it! What is it, Grandma?" they chimed, voices loud, fueled by the impressive amount of cake and soda they had eaten.

"Well, for goodness sakes, give Grandma a second," Bea said, using the soothing yet authoritative voice she had perfected as a kindergarten teacher for over thirty years.

"I'm not as fast as I used to be. Do me a favor, honeys; go sit on your aunt's lap so Grandma can unwrap this beautiful gift properly."

The children jumped down with a crash and flew straight in the unsuspecting lap of their Aunt Rebecca, who was sitting on the edge of the big chair that was the center of the living room. It was a well-worn leather recliner that had been her father's favorite. No one had even suggested getting rid of it when he passed away a few years ago.

Once the children settled in, Bea unwrapped the gift with nimble fingers, taking care not to rip the paper.

"I can use this pretty paper some other time. Like I always used to tell my class, 'Waste not, want not,'" she explained to no one in particular. Once the wrapping was off and neatly folded away, Bea stared at the gift, a look of confusion on her face.

Erin broke the silence. "It’s a how-to book on home repairs, Mom. When we were shopping last week you said there were a bunch of things around here that needed to be fixed and that you're tired of being overcharged by strangers to do a lousy job. I thought that, maybe, you know, you would want to try it yourself. Kinda like a hobby?" Erin brushed back a strand of hair that had slipped out from her hair clip and looked at Bea with a waning smile.

Bea laughed, "Yes, of course. How thoughtful, darling. God knows there are things that need to be fixed. Not like before your father passed. He liked to keep the house in tip-top condition. Everything was perfect then."

Bea's voice trailed off. She gently rubbed the simple, worn silver wedding band that had not left her finger in over forty years.

"Hey," Rebecca said abruptly, "this is supposed to be a party, folks. Let's not turn it into a memorial service."

She plucked her niece and nephew from her lap and plopped them on the floor. Rebecca looked down at her tailored wool slacks, which now had a blue hand-shaped smear above one knee.

Frowning, she walked into the kitchen and ran a paper towel under the faucet. She tried to carefully blot off the icing.

"Can I bring anyone a beer on my way back in?" she yelled into the living room. Walking over to the refrigerator, Rebecca glanced out the kitchen window and saw a brand-new SUV race around the corner and jerk to a stop out in the driveway behind Erin's aging minivan.

"Oh, no. Looks like the party's over, Erin. Guess who just pulled in the driveway. Lover boy, Karl Senior."

Rebecca pushed aside the lace curtain and peered out the window. "I thought you said hubby wasn't going to show."

Erin's hand went to her face; she ran her hand over her swollen cheek without realizing it.

"It's Saturday," Erin said. "Karl should be home. It's his day to sit in his chair, watch college football, and drink beer until he passes out. I don’t know what he wants." Her voice rose in pitch with each word.

"Don’t get all upset. I'm sure it's no big thing. Maybe he came over to wish me a Happy Birthday."

Just then the door flew open. Karl staggered in, the smell of alcohol entering the room a second before he did. He was tall and looked like he once had been athletic, but years ago.

"Hey" he shouted at his wife, ignoring the other two women. "When you coming home? I said you could come over here but that you had to be back by five. Didn't think you'd make me come looking for you."

Karl glanced into the living room at his kids who were happily fishing through a laundry basket filled with toys that Bea kept next to her upright piano.

"And I guess you been letting them fill up on junk again too? Some mother you turned out to be. I bet you stuffed your face. Why do you think you're so fat? Why can’t you be built more like your sister?" He leered at Rebecca, who ignored him.

"Karl," Bea said, using her kindergarten voice. "It's my fault. I've been dawdling like an old lady. Erin wanted to leave, but you know how I am once I get talking. I'm sorry."

Karl frowned, hiccupped, and scratched at his stomach through a stained, faded football jersey. He must have been eating chicken wings at some point during the day.

"Yeah, well. I'll let it go 'cause it's your birthday and everything, but don't let this happen again. C'mon kids, we're leaving."

The children started to protest, but a glare from Karl cut off their complaints.

Helping her daughter on with her coat, Bea whispered, "Let me wrap up the rest of the cake for the kids to have tomorrow."

Karl turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him. "I'll be waiting outside. Get a move on."

Bea hugged Erin and said, "Thanks for coming over. Listen, maybe we can get together this week."

Bea grabbed her daughter by the shoulders. "I think that we need to have a talk."

After Erin and the kids left, Bea flopped down into the big chair in the living room. Dan's chair. It still smelled like him.

Bea nodded, "It's not easy for a mother to stand by and just watch awful things happen. And not do anything."

She reached down and picked up the book Erin had given her, hugging it to her chest.

Bea called Erin a few times that week, finally convincing her to meet at a local coffee shop. They arrived from opposite directions exactly at ten, leaving the two woman an hour to talk before Erin had to pick up her kids at preschool.

They waited silently while the guy behind the counter, young and with a ponytail prepared their order.

After they picked up their drinks, Bea led Erin to a heavy scratched wood table in the back; although the place was empty, Bea wanted to avoid any eavesdroppers, especially with what she feared she might have to say.

For a few minutes, neither woman spoke, both sipping their coffee. Finally, Bea broke the silence.

"Erin, it's pretty clear to me that things have not improved since we last talked about Karl. In fact, it seems that it's getting worse."

Erin shifted in her chair, leaning away from her mother as if being pushed by a strong wind, but said nothing.

Finally, Erin spoke, but kept her head down, staring into the depths of her paper cup.

"I know that Karl's not perfect. Truth be told, he's pretty far from it. But he has his good points. I usually only upset him when things are going bad at work. He told me that they're thinking about some layoffs, and on top of that it looks like his boat is going to need a new engine."

"Those aren’t reasons to do what he does," Bea said, slamming her hand down on the table.

Pony-tail guy looked up from polishing one of the espresso machines. Bea saw him, winced, and waved over to him weakly.

"See how infuriating this is. You need to stand up to him. He cannot be allowed to take advantage of you. You are better than that."

"There's not much I can do. I don't have any skills. What kind of job could I get, a college dropout?"

"There are always options. I think between the two of us we can come up with some way out."

"I don't think there is much we can do. Where would I go? What would happen to the kids?"

"That’s the point. You can't just think of yourself. You have the children to consider. Do you really want them growing up with that man as their father?"

Bea reached over and took Erin's wrist. Before speaking, Bea took another deep breath as if she had reached a decision and was glad that the hard part was over.

"Please, honey. There are some things that a mother has to do sometimes. Things that may be difficult, or scary, but they do them because they are mothers. Do you understand what I am saying?"

Erin pulled her arm back from her mother. She reached into her purse and put on a pair of sunglasses.

"I love you. For what you are and for what you are trying to do. I don't know. I guess that I'm not strong enough. Not like you. Maybe I'm not just a bad wife, maybe I'm a bad mother to."

Bea sat for a few minutes, staring off at nothing. Finally, she pushed back from the table, stood, and started to walk out.

When Bea got home, she closed all the curtains and sat down in Dan's chair. She and Dan had bought the house right after getting married, and they had raised their two daughters here. Dan made it pretty clear from the start that he didn’t like Karl. He tried to make their relationship work, for the sake of his daughter, but the men were too different. Bea realized that Karl had gotten worse since Dan had passed away. Dan had done everything he could to keep Erin safe. Now it was her turn.

Bea let the warm comfort of the chair envelop her; she felt closest to her husband here. It was like visiting with him for a little time. But she had work to do, and like she used to tell her kindergarten class, "There's no time like the present." She got up and walked down the hall into her bedroom. Next to the nightstand was the home repair book that Erin had given her. She picked it up and turned to the table of contents. She had a general plan in mind and knew that the answer was probably in the book somewhere. It was just a matter of finding the right tool for the job.

The next Saturday morning, Bea woke up at five AM, early even for her. Although she had retired almost two years before, she'd never mastered the habit of sleeping late.

She skipped her morning shower, something that she hated doing, but it was a necessary part of the plan. She was too nervous to eat, then decided that she would need to have a clear head. She forced herself to make a cup of tea and cut herself a small piece of coffeecake, raspberry, her favorite. She ate silently at her kitchen table. Chewing, she looked around the room, remembering the summer that she and Dan had put in the new cabinets and countertops. They had joked that if they could stay married after that, they could make it through anything. Bea drove the image from her mind. Don’t get soft now, old woman, she thought.

After tidying up the dishes, she picked up the home repair book from the counter where she had left it the night before and walked into the front hall. On the right was the door down to the cellar. She opened it and flicked on the light switch, which cast a thin yellow glow on the rough wood stairway and the unfinished basement below. Bea moved down the stairs and walked over to Dan's workbench, which was crammed with tools. She gathered up everything she might need: flashlight, screwdrivers, black electrical tape, a utility knife, and wire cutters. Piling them on top of the repair book, she walked over to the small utility area in the back corner, where the gas furnace and the gas hot water heater sat.

The first thing Bea did was reach up and pull out the plug of the hot water heater. The repair book had detailed a number of explicit warnings about working around a gas water heater, filled with threats of fire, electrocution, or carbon monoxide poisoning. Working from the diagram in the book, Bea flicked on the flashlight and pointed it at the small panel on the front of the heater. Reaching for a screwdriver, she began her task.

It took her less time then she had planned to get the job done, but when she finished she was sure that everything was right. After she replaced the front cover, she plugged the heater back in and returned the tools to the workbench. She hid the repair book on a nearby shelf. Finally, she took one last look around the basement, checking to see if she had left any evidence that could arouse suspicions.

Upstairs, Bea killed some time by pretending to read the newspaper, and she made a half-hearted attempt at working the crossword puzzle. When she could wait no longer, she ran over in her mind one more time what she was going to say and then picked up the phone.

Karl answered on the second ring. Bea was not surprised; lately he didn’t like Erin talking on the phone and was answering it himself.

"Hi, Karl. It's Bea. How are you doing today?", she said in her sweetest voice. Don’t over do it, she warned herself.

"What is it?" Karl snapped, not taking the trouble to hide the impatience in his voice.

"It's my hot water heater. I got up this morning and when I went to take a shower all that came out was cold. It must be on the fritz. I don't know any thing about that stuff. Do you think you could swing by and take a look?"

Karl muttered something under his breath, then said, "Why don’t you call a plumber?"

"Plumbers are so expensive," she said. "And the place I called said that they couldn't get someone out here until Monday, maybe even Tuesday. It would really help me out if you could come over. Maybe poke around a little. I'm sure someone as smart as you could figure this out. You're so good with mechanical equipment."

Bea placed the receiver back in its cradle. She didn't know whether to be thrilled or terrified.

A couple of hours later Karl arrived. He banged impatiently on the door and walked right by Bea when she opened it.

"Got a flashlight?" he asked going to the cellar door, throwing his jacket on the couch on the way past. He had been in the basement once or twice, making a big deal about moving boxes or putting down an ant trap.

By the time Bea got to the basement, Karl was already kneeling in front of the water heater; he had found the flashlight and was shining it on the heater's front panel.

Bea bought him one of each: a flat head and a Phillips. She didn’t want to slip up now, having Karl wondering how she knew which type of screwdriver to use. But she was starting to realize that her precautions were needless. Karl was not, after all, the brightest of adversaries. But as she always told her students, "It pays to be prepared."

Bea winced when he pried off the front panel and started poking around; he hadn’t bothered to disconnect the power.

Bea nodded. "The furnace was working fine all morning. And it uses the same gas line." As if to verify her claim, the furnace clicked on, its blue flame visible though a tiny window in front.

"Well, I can't find anything wrong. Must be busted. I guess you'll have to call a plumber after all."

"Thanks for coming over," she said. "I really appreciate it. If you can’t fix it, then I guess it must be serious."

"Please, Karl," Bea said. "You've done so much. Let me at least get you a beer."

When Karl came into the kitchen after cleaning up, Bea had poured him a beer in a frosted mug; she knew he liked it that way.

Bea smiled through gritted teeth. "Why don't you sit for a few minutes? I think there's a game on. Watch for a bit. A man like you needs time to relax and unwind."

"Nonsense, you worked hard, now you deserve a break. You can sit in Dan's chair. It's really comfortable."

Karl shrugged, "Why not? At least those noisy kids won't be running around so's I can't hear the game."

For the next hour, Bea made sure that Karl's mug was never empty. As fast as Karl could drink, that's how fast she refilled it, and neither were taking their time. After the first few, Karl stopped pretending that he wanted to go.

Bea was pouring the last drops of the ninth can when she heard a quiet snoring from the living room. Karl had finally fallen asleep.

Bea knew she had to move quickly; there was no time for mistakes. First, she took the phone off the hook; she didn't want any unexpected caller waking up Karl. Next she grabbed his jacket off the couch and ran downstairs. She went over to the hot water heater and pulled the plug. She took the flashlight and screwdriver that Karl had left lying on the floor and removed the front panel. Reaching behind the insulation, she searched for the loose wire that she had disconnected earlier that morning. It took her only a minute to reconnect it. She replaced the cover and left the tools where Karl had dropped them. She reached up and pulled out the hidden the home repair book. She had a bookmark tucked into the relevant page.

According to the book, all flammable objects needed to be kept at least three feet away from the bottom of the heater, otherwise when the unit clicked on, flame from the gas jets could ignite nearby combustible material. Taking Karl's jacket, she put it on the floor next to the heater and neatly tucked one of the sleeves under the water heater. She then lugged over a pile of old newspaper and magazines that she had found next to Dan's workbench a few days back. Those she stacked next to Karl's jacket. On top, she put the repair book. When she was satisfied with the set-up, she reached up and plugged in the heater.

Going through the living room, she checked on Karl; he was still sleeping soundly, a bit of drool running down his chin. She felt a moment of regret, but reminded herself, like she had always told her students, "Do unto others..."

She put on her coat and grabbed her car keys. Walking over to the kitchen sink, she turned on the hot water and let it run. After a minute of two, she heard the water heater click on in the basement.

"Open this one next, it's from the kids and me," Erin said, handing Bea a large box, wrapped in flowered "Happy Birthday" paper and topped off with a giant bright red bow. Bea took the gift, a contented smile on her face.

Bea, her two daughters, and her grandchildren were sitting in the great room of the new house. The construction company had given Bea the keys only two weeks ago. Bea was amazed how far the insurance money from the fire had gone.

It was almost a year since Karl had died, killed in a horrible accident. The fire marshal's report had concluded that after having repaired the hot water heater, Karl had carelessly left his jacket too close to the gas jets. While Karl slept--or as the coroner had put it, passed out due to an elevated alcohol blood level--the house had burned to the ground. Karl's remains were found in the ashes of the giant recliner.

Everyone agreed that it was plain old bad luck that had kept Bea, who was out buying beer for her son-in-law, from returning in time to have woken him up or call the fire department. By the time a neighbor had noticed the flames, it was too late to save either Karl or the house.

After the fire, Bea had moved in with Erin while the new house was being built. And since it didn't make any sense to have both women watching the kids, Erin had taken some of Karl's life insurance money and gone back to college. That left Bea free to spend as much time with her grandkids as she wanted.

"C'mon, Mom. Loosen up for once," Rebecca said, sitting on the couch sipping a glass of wine.