Jude considered him. She had no reason not to tell him but found the words wouldn’t come.
“Not today. But call me when you get some information and I’ll tell you everything.”
His eyes lit up.
“Over dinner?”
She frowned and slid off his desk.
“Over coffee. I’ll buy you a cup that won’t burn a hole in your intestines.”
Hattie
A pounding on Hattie’s door made her jump and nearly drop the porcelain cup of tea in her hand. A splash of peppermint tea scalded her wrist, and she cried out. She placed the cup back on her kitchen counter, grateful she had not dropped it. It was one of her mama’s cups. Not part of a set, her mama wasn’t the kind of woman who liked things to match.
“We’re all one of a kind,” she used to say. “Every pebble of sand, every leaf on the tree has its own distinct self. Never forget how special every breath is, Hattie.”
It was funny what Hattie remembered of her mama. Fleeting moments, bits of wisdom, the light spinning through her golden hair. Sometimes Hattie sat for hours, staring out the window, trying to conjure those memories back to life.
She opened the door to find Jude waiting impatiently on her little porch.
“What took you so long? I almost peed my pants!” Jude raced passed her.
Hattie heard the rush of pee through the open bathroom door.
“Don’t you want some privacy?” Hattie asked Jude who sat on the toilet with an expression of relief, her skirt bunched around her waist.
“If I can’t pee in front you, my little sister, the world really has gone crazy.”
Hattie smiled. Honestly, she liked when Jude left the door open to pee. Though sisters, the years between their births had often caused a rift of sorts, as if the threads of family grew further apart over time.
“I needed that,” Jude told her. She walked to the kitchen table where she had discarded her purse and a paper sack. “Breakfast,” she announced.
Jude pulled out a small box of donuts and a glass container of apple cider.
“My favorite,” Hattie stammered, hardly believing her eyes.
As children, their daddy had a Sunday ritual of buying donuts and cider or milk, and taking the kids fishing so mama could sleep in. After his death, Gram Ruth insisted that donuts were trashy food full of sugar. Jude, focused on staying fit, also scoffed at anything chocolate covered. Hattie hadn’t eaten a donut in years.
“Don’t cry,” Jude growled, opening the box and handing Hattie a cherry donut with chocolate frosting. She took a glazed for herself. “I’m sorry about the other night. I wasn’t mad at you.”
Hattie took the donut and stared at it. Cherry with chocolate, her absolute favorite. A tear rolled down her cheek. She sat in one of the little wooden chairs next to Jude.
“Oh Hattie, what am I going to do with you?” Jude asked, handing Hattie a paper napkin. “Take a bite. A good blast of chocolate will have you speeding toward reality in no time.”
Hattie ate part of the donut and savored the sweet confection. She loved sugar. In her mind, or maybe her heart, a thousand memories contained the gossamer drifts of sugary happiness: pancakes with her parents and Jude and Peter - cupcakes on her birthday. The dark chocolate torte that her daddy made Mama for their twenty year wedding anniversary - a laughing Peter had said it looked like one of Hattie’s mud pies.
Jude took a sleeve of paper cups from her bag and poured them each a glass of cider. She slipped a copper flask from a garter on her thigh and added a shot of whiskey to her own. She held the flask out to Hattie and cocked an eyebrow, but Hattie shook her head no. Alcohol made her dizzy and the few times she had imbibed, she fell into a deep sleep shortly after drinking.
“So, you’re not mad at me anymore?” Hattie asked, taking a sip of her cider.
“No. I was never mad at you. I mean, don’t get me wrong, a late night barn raid only to find a bunch of moth-eaten clothes was not exactly my idea of a good time, but I knew it wasn’t your fault. I get angry. You know how I am.”
Hattie nodded. Jude made her opinion known, yelled, a time or two she even threw things. Hattie remembered Gram Ruth once running from the kitchen in shock when Jude threw a serving ladle at her.
“I have other stuff on my mind too,” Jude added. “And seeing that article about Mom. I wanted to hurt someone. I still do, but I’m trying to play it cool, at least for now.”
“You want to hurt Gram Ruth?”
“She’s at the top of my list, but let’s not forget all the scumbags who put Mom away. I mean, seriously? Our mother would not crush an ant. Remember? She used to let them crawl onto her hand so she could release them outside.”
Hattie smiled and took another bite. She remembered and understood. Hattie killed nothing. If the monks could do it, so could she.
“I have a friend at the newspaper looking into the murder.”
“Do you think Mama is still alive?” Hattie asked, avoiding Jude’s eyes.
Jude sipped her cider, her face thoughtful.
“Because I do,” Hattie added quickly. “I feel her. I never thought about it before. I always assumed she was dead, but now, when I think about her, I feel her.”
Jude pursed her lips, but gave a slight nod.
“Not that I’m buying into your moony visions, but maybe. There’s something,” she spoke slowly as if trying to put her finger on a feeling that raced into the shadows every time she tried to look at it. “I don’t know if it means she’s alive and if she is,” -she balled her fists on the table and a look of fresh bitterness turned her face dark- “I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Hattie stood and retrieved her tea. She traced her fingers on the delicate yellow flowers that decorated the cup.
“I just want her back,” Hattie said. “Nothing else matters. I want her back.”
Jude
They arrived at the asylum after dusk. The immense grounds rolled with fragrant green grass. Soaring oaks and maples stood in rows along a small stream. The Northern Michigan Asylum rose, monolithic, out of the surrounding nature. Massive and sprawling, the buildings of white brick towered over the long paved drive. Lights blazed in the windows casting long menacing shadows across the lawn.
“It’s gigantic,” Hattie whispered, staring in awe at the beautiful, and eerie, property.
“It’s a prison,” Jude said. She experienced a sudden, and strange, desire to rub a lucky rabbit’s foot or sign the cross. Squashing the sensation, she hit the gas and her little car shot forward along the winding road that led to the asylum.
“Let’s go over the plan one more time,” Jude told Hattie who continued to stare out the window with huge glassy eyes. “Hey,” she snapped her fingers and Hattie turned, blinking. Jude fought the urge to criticize her.
“We are students at Michigan State, studying psychotherapy. We are here, on our professor’s orders, to interview several patients. He already cleared it with Dr. Staten.”
“Who’s Dr. Staten?” Hattie asked.
“I got his name from the staff directory. I made two patient names up, the third is Mom. You,” Jude pointed at Hattie, “hang back and let me do the talking. If we run into an issue, you create a diversion.”
“A diversion,” Hattie agreed, her eyes already wandering back toward the window.
“Hattie, I need you to come back to earth for this okay? I need you with me.”
Hattie blinked and returned her gaze to Jude, checking back in.