Bills paid, spam shredded, Beverly
Dear Ms. Theodora Knightly,
This letter is to inform you that the
management of Beulah Pines Cemetery has changed from the City of Beulah Pines
to that of Haberno, Ltd, but rest assured your loved ones’ places of internment
will continue to be cared for.
According to our records, you hold the
title to a four plot section: Chrysanthemum Lane
The rest of the letter blurred. Beverly
‘Your
adopted mother’ Dr. Eoghan’s voice whispered down the hall.
Jolene’s car pulled into the
drive. Bev panicked and shoved the
letter into her purse. She plunged her
fingers into the zippered compartment that used to hide her smokes, hoping
against hope that just one remained.
She trembled and took a deep
breath. The door flung open as Beverly
“You look like you could use a
doctor,” he began tentatively. “Or a
cigarette.”
“I quit smoking,” she straightened.
“No, people like you and me don’t quit
smoking. We just choose to not smoke for
a while. We could start up again
tomorrow, or not have a cigarette for years.
Me? It’s been seven years.”
“You’d still smoke again after seven
years?”
“In a heartbeat. But every step I run up and down those bleachers
is a way of – I don’t know, pacifying the demon? What about you?”
“I quit smoking,” she assured him
firmly, “four months ago.”
“And how long have you been running?”
Here she had to drop her eyes, “Ten
years.”
“Since your husband died.”
“That’s my job.”
“What made you think I was not my
mother’s child?”
“When you and your mother were
admitted to the hospital after the car accident, ten years ago, you both were
given to Dr. Figaro as patients. Since
you admitted you’d never been to a doctor before, he had the lab run all the
usual tests, including blood type. You
have type Z, your mother is type X.”
“Maybe my father’s blood was type Z.”
“No.
No matter what type the father had, if the mother has type x, each and
every resulting child will also have type X or C. Always.”
“I am very sorry to have been the one
to tell you. It was incredibly –“ he
paused as she speared him with her blue eyes.
“She’s your mother, no matter what eggs and sperm started your life.”
“You know,” he sat beside her. “”You
have a very wry sense of humor that could almost be described as vicious.”
Her lips fought the urge to grin as
she met his gaze. He didn’t resist and
bestowed a magnificent grin on her.
“I want you to be my doctor.”
He blinked. “Are you feeling ill?”
“I’m fine. Really.
I don’t want you as my doctor for medical reasons. I need a confidant. You’re not allowed to divulge patient-doctor
information, right?”
“As long as there is no danger of
injury to yourself or others.”
“Present or future tense? Not that I know of.”
“Past tense?”
He nodded.
“I’ve never had a doctor before. Not even when I was married. As a child, my mother refused to take me to a
doctor – she said it was for religious reasons, and other than getting
immunizations at the local clinic, that was it.
No major illnesses, breaks, surgeries, nothing until the car
accident.” Her eyes filled with
long-borne grief. “And none since then.”
“But your mother uses a doctor now.”
“What is it, Beverly
She nodded. “I was going through my
mother’s mail, paying her overdue bills.
I found a letter from a cemetery in Beaulah Pines,” she said.
“Beaulah Pines?” he seemed startled.
“Yes, you know it?”
He shrugged. “Sorry for the interruption. Continue.”
“Keeping me away from doctors had
nothing to do with religion. She didn’t
want anyone to know that I’m not Beverly Knightly. Maybe a doctor would have a way to track
something like that. Ways that lost
children can be identified. Ways that
fake birth certificates can be challenged.”
Eoghan tilted his head. “I don’t understand. How did the letter from a cemetery tell you
about not being who you thought you were?”
Excerpt from
Close
Your Eyes
© Evelyn Rainey
Available for publication.
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