The Devil's Punchbowl

CHAPTER 48

Today will be Annie’s first day back at St. Stephen’s, and she seems a little uncertain as we coast down the long drive of the school. I’m not exactly at peace myself. Despite my cease-fire agreement with Jonathan Sands, I’ve warned the headmaster and security guard to be on the lookout for strangers on the campus, and not to be shy about calling 911 if they see any. Chief Logan has prepped the dispatcher to send two squad cars to St. Stephen’s with sirens blaring if there’s even a hint of trouble.

“Are you all right?” I ask, glancing over to the passenger seat. “You seem quiet.”

“I had another dream.”

“What about?” I ask, easing the car right, toward the middle school.

“Caitlin again.”

I glance at Annie, but she keeps her eyes focused forward. “Was it bad or good?”

“Bad.”

“Will you tell me what it was?”

Her face tightens with indecision, but then she says, “I dreamed Mom was alive again.”

This surprises me, since Annie was only four when Sarah died and has few clear memories of her. “What happened in it?”

“I don’t want to say. It was creepy.”

“Everybody has creepy dreams sometimes.”

“Well, we went to visit Mom’s grave, like we’ve done before, but Mom was with us. And the thing is…the creepy thing…”

“It’s all right, baby.”

“Caitlin was the one who was gone. In Mom’s grave. And Mom was with us, looking down at the stone.”

Sensing that Annie is really disturbed, I pull onto the grassy shoulder of the driveway and put the Saab in park. Cars loaded with children glide past, then slow and empty their charges at the door of the middle school.

“Maybe you dreamed that because of the talk we had last night. What do you think?”

“I don’t know. It’s just that the last time I dreamed about Caitlin, me and Gram ended up having to hide out of town.”

I pat her knee, then squeeze it reassuringly. “That didn’t have anything to do with your dream. That was something to do with my work.”

She looks skeptically at me for a while. “Did you talk to her about what we said last night?”

“A little bit. We’re going to talk some more today, I think.”

“You think? Or you know?”

“We’re not sure yet. Sometimes big things like this take a little time to work out.”

She looks down at the glove box and nods with quick assertiveness, as though she knows her voice will crack if she speaks while looking at me. “Did you tell her I wanted her to be my mom?”

“Did you want me to?”

“Did you?”

I sigh in resignation, knowing she can outlast me at this game. “No. I didn’t.”

“Good. I’m worried it might scare her.”

“No, no. Why would you think that?”

“Well, she’s going to want her own babies and stuff. She may not want to think of herself as my mom.”

Annie’s fear of rejection brings tears to my eyes. I squeeze her hand. “I’ll tell you a secret. I think Caitlin’s always wanted to be your mom.”

Annie looks up at me and blinks three times, her eyes wide and vulnerable. “Really?”

“She’s tried to do all the things Mom would have done, if she’d lived. I think Caitlin worries that you’ll think she’s trying to take Mom’s place.”

Annie’s mouth falls open. “But I don’t think that!”

As perceptive as she is sometimes, it surprises me that Annie doesn’t see the relationship of her dream to what’s happening in our lives. “Well, that’s the hard part about these kinds of situations. People are scared to say what they really feel, and sometimes they wait too long to do it.”

“Have you done that? Waited too long?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I think we’re going to get everything worked out.”

Looking up, I see no more cars at the door. One of the teachers looks up the hill at us and gives a friendly wave.

“You’re going to be late, baby.”

She takes my hand and squeezes it. “It doesn’t matter, Dad.”

“No. I guess it doesn’t.”

“Let’s go,” she says brightly, as though everything has been resolved. “Like Gram says, ‘One way or another, everything’s going to be fine.’”

I laugh and drive down to the door of the school. Annie leans over and kisses my cheek, then lifts her backpack from the floor. When I start to speak, she presses her finger to my lips.

“You don’t have to tell me not to worry, or not to talk about any of this. I know how things work.”

With that, she smiles, gets out, and disappears through the door of the school I loved as a child, the school that made me what I am, the school that my daughter will soon be leaving forever.