— He has a name!—
—I’d rather not say it aloud. Might attract bad karma, you know.—
—His name is Bael, and he doesn’t rule flies.—
—No, he rules the damned. Take care you don’t fall within that boundary.—
—Bastard!—
I felt him redden, a slow anger pulsating from him.
—What did you call me, Leigh Ann?—
I took a deep breath. —I’m sorry. Just please don’t prejudge Bael.—
—He’s already been judged, love. That’s what I can’t get through your thick head.— Disgust ringed his words.
—Then I may just open up the case. Now be quiet. Ginnie’s here!— “Toast is ready, Gin. So’s the coffee.”
“Thanks, Leigh Ann. Want me to pour you a cup?”
“Please. Danny’s taking forever to drink his bottle.”
Ginnie brought butter, milk and the sugar bowl over to the table. She poured two cups of coffee and carried them over, then placed her toast on a plate and got cutlery from the drawer. She plunked herself down opposite me, sliding a spoon to me. “So when are we going mall shopping?”
I propped Daniel’s bottle under my chin to hold it and added sugar and milk to my coffee, pulling a napkin from its holder on the table. “When I get a job and some money.”
“Oh, come on, Leigh. You don’t have to buy anything. Just come along. I need a new pair of dress jeans, and we can check out the spring clothes together. We can go this Saturday.”
“Oh, all right. Danny will probably like an outing.”
Our mother came into the kitchen, followed by Dad and Fred, the kitchen suddenly crowded.
“Good morning, moppets,” Dad said, unfolding the morning paper. “Did one of you make the coffee?”
“Leigh Ann did.”
“Good. Saves your mother time. Now you can get to work on an order of eggs and toast, Miriam.”
Mom had already taken the frying pan out. She held it menacingly. “Do you want anything else?”
“I’ll take a glass of juice, fresh squeezed, of course.” His eyes twinkled; he winked at me.
Mom put the pan down and grabbed a stack of small plastic tumblers from the upper cabinet. She pulled a pitcher of orange juice from the fridge and plopped tumblers and beverage on the table. “Processed. You want fresh squeezed, get up early and squeeze them yourself, Bill.”
“Hey, but that’s what I have a wife for.” He grabbed the prepared juice and poured himself a glassful.
“Mmn. What do you want for breakfast, Fred?”
“Just some cereal, juice and toast. I’ll make the toast for Dad and me.”
The family ate hectically, Ginnie and Fred finishing and rushing off to their respective schools. Dad lingered over coffee. Mom finally sat down with her own cereal and coffee.
“So, Leigh Ann,” my father said, “have you made any decisions since the weekend?”
“Find a good day care for Danny. Find a job for me.”
He glanced at his grandchild. “I hope he doesn’t turn out like his father.”
“Dad . . .”
“I mean it. I’m almost tempted to tell you not to work, to stay here and raise him properly. But we really can’t afford to keep you both. You’ll have to make your own way. If you’re going to live here, you have to contribute your share of the household expense. Ginnie’s going to discover that, too, after she graduates nursing school.”
“I intend to. But first Danny needs day care.”
“I agree. Miriam?”
My mother held her cup thoughtfully, quietly. “Your father and I have decided to let Danny stay here when you find a job. I’ll babysit him until he’s old enough for preschool, or unless you and Richard patch up your marriage and he finds decent employment to support his family. Considering how shaky that prospect is, it can’t hurt for you to learn self-sufficiency. You may need to rely on yourself alone, Leigh Ann, in the long run.”
I sat very still for a minute. “I don’t expect the marriage to work out. Not after everything that’s happened.”
“Your father and I figured as much. We just wanted to be certain. Well, a divorce in your case will be cheap enough. No property or other finances to fight over.”
“I just want my freedom.”
“Freedom,” my father mused. “Nothing in life is free, Leigh Ann. Just make sure you don’t barter away the things you value and the things that make life valuable on another useless, self-centered mistake.” He rose from his chair. “I’ve got to get going. Pete and Jerry are picking up the new water heater we’re installing at Smokey’s Bar on Walnut Street. They’re meeting me downtown.” He tapped his newspaper. “Start looking for a job, kiddo. Don’t wait for Richard to magically transform. You’ll be lucky to get child support from that guy. Depend on yourself.” He kissed Mom and gave me a quick pat on my shoulder. “See you girls tonight.” He headed out the side door.
Daniel finished his bottle, making air bubble sounds through the nipple. I pulled it from his mouth. “My, you’re hungry today.”
He let out a huge burp and some of his formula with it.
“Ugh.”
“It’s all over your nightgown, Leigh Ann.” Mom went to the sink to wet a dish rag.
As she handed it to me, I caught a mental burst of laughter and a glimpse of Bael’s amused expression. I carefully wiped the spit-up off the bodice of my gown, taking equal care not to acknowledge his presence and wondering if Terence was also still there.
—No. He appears to be afraid of me. Ran like a spooked puppy. What do you see in him? His music? Well, I suppose one could forgive him his faults for that. Though he screwed it up far worse this time than his last stint as a classical composer.—
I didn’t answer, using a clean section of the rag to wipe Daniel’s mouth and chin.
—You might as well not regret his loss to the world. That singular recording, talented though it be, will soon be forgotten as new stars mount the horizon. His other work will never be recovered. His last girlfriend was particularly spiteful, when she found he left no will and his family snubbed her at the funeral.—
I knew Bael was deliberately intriguing me. Terence never spoke of having unpublished, unperformed music, nor of any other lifetime as a composer.
I also wondered why Bael was chancing my mother’s notice, blabbing on this way.
I heard another stabbing laugh from him as I put Daniel back into his swing. Mom squeezed the rerinsed dish rag out and draped it over the faucet to dry. “Now, I don’t want you to feel pressured,” she said, sitting down again. “Find a job you think you’ll like, possibly one with extra benefit perks like tuition reimbursement if the course relates to the job.”
I picked the paper up gingerly, turning to the help wanted pages. “A job, huh? Let’s see. I’m a high school grad, no college, but I type well, was always good at English and have about two years of experience as a typist. I suppose I’d qualify for a secretarial job. Here’s one. High school grad, typing, filing and receptionist duties. Willing to train. Girl Friday.”
Mom smirked. “I’ve never liked that title. Is it full-time?”
“Doesn’t say. I’ll have to ask them. Mom?” I decided