skeletons in the closet.
"Sit still," Claire admonished Liza, with a fistful of Liza's hair in hand. Liza squirmed, gripping the sides of the seat as her mother tried to apply the dye onto her hair. The smell was excruciating to Liza and it smelled like her hair was on fire. She hoped that her mother wasn't actually burning her hair.
The reason why Claire was dying her hair was unknown to Liza. Her strawberry blonde hair slowly darkened and finally turned to an auburn brown on her ninth birthday. For some reason, that upset Claire and it bewildered Liza. She didn't do it on purpose, at least she didn't think so. She didn't think it was possible to change hair colour just by thinking about it. Even if it was, she didn't want it to happen.
Regardless, she sat there every couple weeks whenever Claire deemed that she hair needed fixing up. This continued on for years until Liza was a teenager. By then, Liza had gotten used to her blonde hair. Whenever she saw the roots start to show, she would grab her touch up kit and do it herself. Blonde suited her, she thought and Claire thought the same.
"Bethie," Claire called up Liza one day, in the middle of work. This alarmed Liza. Firstly, Claire never phoned, ever. Secondly, Liza hated being called Beth, Bethie, Betty, and anything else that was not Liza. She had pushed back against the nicknames for years before Claire finally got it into her head to call her Liza.
"Beth," Claire repeated. "I came home and your father is nowhere to be seen."
Liza's mind raced. "What do you mean?"
"He's not here is what I mean!"
"Mum," Liza's voice wavered. "I'll be right there."
Claire sat in Liza's car indignantly. "There's nothing wrong with me," Claire protested, throwing her hands up in the air. "I'm perfectly fine."
Liza took a deep breath and looked over at her mother. Since when did Claire get so old? She seemed smaller than how she remembered and her head of hair was almost all gray now. Liza instinctively grabbed a lock of her own dyed platinum blonde hair. She wondered if that meant that she looked old too.
"The doctor will help you," Liza reassured her. "You're getting forgetful as of late."
"Hmph," Claire scoffed, looking out the window. "My mind is in perfect condition. I'm not forgetting anything."
You forgot that dad has been dead for the past five years, Liza wanted to say. But she restrained herself. She wasn't sure what Claire knew or didn't anymore.
"Well," Liza looked around the parking lot, trying to think of something to say. "You're due for a check up anyway."
"Beth, you know I hate dolphins," Claire frowned.
Liza paled. Seeing the look on Liza's face, Claire was surprised. "What's wrong?"
"What did you just say?" Liza asked slowly.
"Liza, you know I hate dolphins," Claire repeated. "They never do anything good for you. They're just pharmaceutical nut jobs who want to pump drugs into you for money."
"You hate… Dolphins?"
"No!" Claire scrunched up her nose. "That's not what I said. I said I hate dolphins, not—" Claire stopped. A wave of realization washed over her face. The two women sat in the car silently before getting out.
It never crossed Liza's mind that her mother might have alzheimer's. It was true, Claire was a bit forgetful at times especially over the last two years. But for it to progress into something like this was terrifying. Slowly, Claire began to mix up words more and more frequently and she referred to Liza as Beth almost exclusively. At a certain point, Liza moved in with her mother. It was getting hard for Claire to do basic tasks and she was always misplacing things.
One day, Liza was getting ready to go get groceries when Claire grabbed her by the arm.
"Where are you going, Elizabeth?" Claire asked sharply. "It's not safe to walk by yourself, especially when crossing those streets."
Liza smiled wearily. When she was younger, Claire always stressed the importance of road safety. She would white knuckle her hand at every intersection, never letting her go once. Even when Liza deemed herself to old to hold her mother's hand, Claire asked to compromise by holding onto her arm.
"You know what happened last time with Peter," Claire said, still gripping onto Liza's arm.
"Who's Peter?" Liza blinked. That was a name she never heard before.
"Your father!" Claire gasped. "How could you not know your own father's name?"
"Ah," She was mixing up words again, this time it was names. Liza shrugged off her mother's hand. "I'll be fine, mum. I've been crossing streets now for fifty years now."
Claire stared at Liza. "How could you possibly? You're dead."
"I don't understand a word she says anymore," Liza said hesitantly. "She calls me by my name but it's like she doesn't even know me."
"Sweetie, I've had my couple of friends who've been down the same path. I know what to expect." Sally patted Liza delicately on the arm.
Liza breathed a sigh of relief. It would be good for someone to handle Claire instead, even if it was just for an hour or two. Sally was a perfect candidate. She had been a college friend of Claire's and Claire always spoke of Sally with fondness. They kept in touch loosely over the years, but Sally was a constant Liza knew her mother had, outside of herself.
When Liza opened to door to let Sally into the Claire's room, Claire immediately brightened from her bed. Sally bent over Claire to give her a hug as Liza pulled up a chair next to Claire's bedside.
"Alright, now don't you two get too excited," Liza said as she left the room.
"How are you dear?" Sally asked once Liza closed the door.
"Peaches," Claire smiled, colour rising to her cheeks. "Peaches, just peaches. Hasn't Beth grown into a lovely?"
"You're right, she has."
"Peter loves her so," Claire gushed as she leaned back into her pillows.
"Peter? Not Richard?" Sally asked, surprised. She had forgotten about Claire's circumstances for a moment. The names surprised her. Peter was a name she hadn't heard for quite a while.
"Richard?" Claire laughed. "Why would he? Peter is Elizabeth's father!"
Sally pressed her lips together, suddenly serious. "Claire, let's talk about something other than that for now."
Claire's face crumbled. "Peter's never coming back is he?" She began to sob. Hearing her mother crying, Liza immediately rushed into the room. Claire was inconsolable. Liza sat by her mother, stroking her hair and until Claire finally stopped and fell asleep. Sally sat there all the while, quiet.
"What happened?" Liza whispered as they left Claire's room.
Sally hesitated. She looked down and folded her hands. "I asked about someone I probably shouldn't have."
Claire never forgot about that day. Peter did everything he could to forget it. He blamed himself for it. He had let go of her hand to adjust his glasses. They were sliding down his nose and it was bothering him. He never blamed Claire, even though she was the one who let Elizabeth slip through her fingers. If he was still holding onto her, he would have definitely pulled her back from running into the street. But all they could do was lunge forward in a futile attempt and then watch in horror.
More than anything, Peter wanted to forget those terrible screams that came from Claire's mouth. There were nights where, years later, he would hear her cries of agony in his sleep. Her wails seemed inhuman to him. It was too raw, too animalistic.
It proved to be too much for them. Peter wanted to forget. Claire dwelled. And dwelled. And dwelled. She sat in Elizabeth's room, either crying or just sitting there, staring out into nothing.
It disappointed Peter, how when he said he was going to leave, Claire did nothing to stop him. In fact, Claire had simply turned to look at him, the first time she had looked at him in days, and nodded. That single nod wrung out any bit of love he had for Claire out of him.
And so he left. Packed his bags and went to teach in India. Through the grapevine, however, he heard that Claire remarried eventually—with Ricky, that pretentious bastard—and had a daughter. She named her Ann, her middle name Elizabeth. Hearing that made his heart plummet. He was convinced that Claire never got over it. He never thought she would in the first place.
One time, Peter came back from India for his brother's funeral. He had seen Ann walking downtown with her mother and recognized her immediately. She looked so much like Claire. Conversely, she looked like Elizabeth and heartbreakingly so. Her high cheekbones, her bright blue eyes, and most of all, her soft blonde hair. It hurt even more for she was about Elizabeth's age at the time of the accident. He watched them for a while as they waited at an intersection. Once he saw Claire's tendon-like grip on Ann's wrist, he quickly turned away.
He wanted to forget.
Authors Note:
I had so many scattered scenes that I wanted to include but ended up scrapping almost all of them. This evolved in a lot of different ways.
"Skeleton in the closet" is applied loosely here. More like just a secret.
Also, not spoopy. Not a spoopy person.
Also I shamelessly stole names from a book, bonus points if you can name it.
I feel like I abused the dinkuses but HEY short disconnected scenes are my specialty.
Sally and Peter are pretty random characters but I was at a loss on how to include them.
Original ideas:
Liza meets Sally and Peter at her mother's funeral
Liza is cleaning out a storage unit and comes across pictures of Elizabeth
Claire sneaks off to her hometown to reminisce about Elizabeth and Peter in her childhood home and gets caught by Liza
Claire meets Peter years later after the accident and is so overwhelmed that she throws herself into the road
Claire suffered from post natal depression and seriously harmed herself
Claire was getting old. She could feel it in her bones. No. She could see it in her face. Her skin was no longer smooth. Gray hairs started to peak out from her scalp. No. It was getting harder for her to stand for longer periods. She could no longer run after the train as she approached the station. It was a little uncomfortable for her. She did not enjoy the fact that she was getting older and older. Her only solace was Lizzy. She enjoyed watching Lizzy grow up into a young woman. She joked with friends that her growing older was a result of Lizzy sucking the life out of her.
Claire shook her head, not wanting to look Liza in the eye. Richard never knew and never suspected. Everyone assumed Peter was long out of the picture by then, and Claire had started seeing Richard so soon afterwards. If it wasn't for that drunken night, there would have been no question who Liza's father was. It was a relief when Liza was born,for she was as pale as Claire. But Liza had deep set eyes,just like Peter's. If anyone saw the resemblance, Claire never heard of it.
"Why didn't you tell him?" Liza whispered. She had never felt so betrayed on behalf of someone else before.
It was at the intersection that Claire did not attempt to look both ways. She went straight into the road, not thinking twice about it. A part of her knew exactly what she was doing. Another did not anticipate the force of a car slamming into her.
That day, when Peter left for India, shattered Claire. It was not unexpected. They had been fighting more and more the months before it happened. Peter was fed up. The feeling was gone. All the excitement of having a child and a new wife, was gone. He wasn't sure that he loved Claire in the first place. She had gotten pregnant and the right thing to do was marry her, of course. He thought he loved her. Why else was he dating her?
But when Claire started to break, it was clear that she was not right for him. Peter did not know how to handle crazy. He didn't sign up for this.
Liza. He did love Liza. That, would never, ever change. But Claire was not unstable enough for Peter to even try to sue for custody of Liza. What court would be in favour of a man bringing his own daughter to a faraway third country where he was going to live like a pauper? No, Peter decided that Liza was best to stay with Claire.
Claire absolutely believed that her love for Peter peaked during those early days of Liza's infancy. She would sometimes walk into the living room to see Peter sprawled out on the couch watching TV with Liza fast asleep on his chest and the world would seem almost perfect.
Those were the good days.
The bad days were terrifying.
When Peter started going back to work, Clarice forgot how to function. She would watch Peter drive away and then turn to look at Liza with dread. Clarice loved Liza, no doubt about it, but it felt like every ounce of her was getting sucked away. It was like every waking moment was dedicated to Liza. Even when Peter came home and he took over, Clarice could not rest. She wrung her hands over every single cry and fretted over the feeding schedule.
Her hair started getting dry and brittle and she would go days without showering.
One day, she was on a walk with Liza, pushing her in her stroller. She had stopped at a crosswalk and stared out into the road as cars whizzed by. A thought crept into her head. What would happen if she just stepped out into the road right then and there? If she were to end it, would it be quick and painless? Would Peter be able to take care of Liza by himself?
But at the root of it, Claire wanted to throw herself into traffic. It was a terrifying thought. She entertained the idea for far too long. Immediately, she turned back around and speedily walked home. As she pushed the stroller, she was hyper aware of every single step she made on the way there. Every step was controlling her, every muscle propelled her forward. Why in the world was she still alive?
Once she got home, she plucked Liza out of her stroller and put her in the crib. She went over to the kitchen and picked up the phone. She paused, her fingers hovering over the numbers. Who would she call in a moment like this?
Her first thought was Peter. But was it appropriate to call him at such a time? He was at work. He surely couldn't be bothered to attend to Clarice at such a time. She was just having a mental crisis, no need to pull him away from his job.
As those thoughts left her mind, Claire's fingers started to work in auto-pilot. Sally. Sally would know what to do, right? She, too, was a mother. Her little one was just shy of a year.
However, it had been so long since Claire had talked to Sally. They had parted aways after college, and although they promised to keep in touch, they slowly drifted apart from each other.
That didn't stop her from hitting the call button.
Claire put the phone to her ear and hoped that whoever on the other side that picked up was her.
"See you soon. Bye," Sally chirped, a little too happily for her liking, and hung up the phone. She looked back to Clarice who was now sitting at the kitchen table, kneading back the feeling into her hands.
"Who was that?" Clarice asked curiously.
"It was your daughter," Sally turned around to turn on the kettle.
"What?" Clarice's voice was sharp.
"She's asking about you," Sally shrugged. "said you've been gone for several days. You forgot to tell her about your conference?"
Claire didn't answer. When Sally turned back around Claire was slumped in her chair, cupping her face in her hands. Sally looked on sadly. Even in her old age, Claire looked so pretty sitting there.
"I can't believe it," Claire mumbled. "I forgot to tell her. Ever since Richard's been gone, I've become more forgetful."
Sally smirked to herself. In her opinion, Claire was becoming less careful, not forgetful.
"You better think of something quick because your daughter is on her way," Sally said, setting down the cup of tea in front of Claire.
"She's coming?" Claire screeched. "Here? what do you mean?"
"Don't you think she has the right to know?"
"No!"
Claire looked down at the table furiously. well. Maybe she did need to know. But she didn't want it to be like this.
"She's just worried about you. You know? Disappearing suddenly after Richard..."
Claire said nothing. She knew Sally was right. But.
"How could I even start?"