Scrapped

Vera was on her way to pick up Elizabeth from Bill’s place when she saw the strange symbol painted in black on her mother’s pink Victorian house. Double take. She slammed on the brakes and pulled alongside the house, leaving the car running as she ran up to the patio, where Cookie was knocking on the door.

“I can’t get any answer,” Cookie said, her green eyes filled with worry. “The door is locked.”

Vera reached under the doormat and found the extra key—even though she had told her mother that this was an unwise place for it. She opened the door, and the two of them searched the house.

“She’s not here,” Vera said. “Where would she be?”

“We had plans to go to the craft show in Charlottesville today,” Cookie said. “She must have forgotten.”

“Maybe she’s at Annie’s,” Vera suggested, picking up the phone.

Sometimes it hurt Vera that her mother and Annie had gotten so close. She knew she’d never be as smart as either one of them, but damn, Beatrice was her mother. That ought to count for something.

“Hello, Annie?”

“Is my mother there?”

“What’s she doing there?”

“She’s fine,” Annie said. “We’re just having coffee and discussing the day’s events.”

“The day’s events? It’s only eight in the morning,” Vera said.

“Yes. Why don’t you come on over?”

“Will do,” Vera said and hung up.

The next thing Vera knew, Cookie was getting in the passenger side of the car. It wasn’t as if either one of them needed to ride the two blocks to Annie’s place. It was just that the car was convenient.

“Oh, bother,” Vera said, remembering that she needed to pick up Elizabeth.

“Give me your phone. I’ll call and tell him to meet us at Annie’s,” Cookie said when Vera explained her predicament.

“How weird to see a rune symbol on your mother’s house,” Cookie said after talking to Bill.

“Is that what that is? I don’t even want to know. All kinds of weirdness going on here these days. I just hope Mama’s okay.”

“I’m sure she’s fine if she’s with Annie.”

When they opened the door to Annie’s bungalow, the two were sitting at the computer and looked up like nothing was wrong.

“Goodness, Mama, you gave us a start!”

“Oh,” Beatrice said to Cookie. “I forgot about the craft fair.”

“I guess I can forgive that after seeing that huge thing painted on your house this morning,” Cookie said.

“What happened, and are you okay?” Vera said, rushing up to her mother and hugging her.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Can’t you see I’m fine? Stop fussing over me. I’m looking for a painter to come and paint over that damned monstrosity and the whole house while he’s at it,” Beatrice said.

Annie smiled weakly at Vera. Annie looked beautiful in her grungy clothes, without a stitch of make-up on. The always made-up Vera marveled silently at that.

“Oh, well, good. You need to get that taken care of ASAP,” Vera said. “Mama,” she added, holding up a brown paper bag, “I brought you some of the poppy seed rolls you like so much.”

“Oh,” Beatrice said, her eyes lighting up. “Let’s have some.”

Annie sliced a roll as each of them claimed their spot around the tiny table. A high chair still sat in the corner, even though Annie’s boys hadn’t used it in years. Her fridge was covered with drawings and memos. Cereal boxes had been haphazardly placed on top of the fridge.

“Oh my God, this is good,” said Cookie, taking another bite. “This is just the way they make it in Eastern Europe.”

“You’ve been there?” Annie said.

“Ah, um, yeah, I was, as a child,” she said, obviously a little uncomfortable talking about herself, as usual. “Where did you get this, Vera?”

“From a little neighborhood bakery in Brooklyn. I try to pick Mom up a roll or two when they have it,” Vera answered.

“I never had it before Vera brought it home. I’m quite taken with it,” Beatrice said. “I’ve only had poppy seeds in lemon poppy seed rolls. I understand you can make all kinds of things with it.”

“We ate poppy seed cake every year for the holidays,” Cookie said, grinning and suddenly looking like she was seven years old.

“Cake? Really?” Beatrice said.

Each of the women sat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying her poppy seed roll and coffee.

“So, Mom, what are you doing at Annie’s? Why didn’t you call the cops?” Vera finally asked.