Page 4 of The Witching Hours

There was no part of her that believed staring at the bills would change anything. Perhaps if she plunged into the slow-moving ruination of her family’s prospects, a solution would present itself. She relit the fire, turned on some quiet music that reminded her of Steve, and glanced at the wall to her left that housed the bank of exterior cameras.

He’d loved knowing what was going on outside, feeling like he was keeping his family safe. Every angle of the outside of the house was available on the twelve cameras. She could select any one and zoom in if she liked. It was a nice feature. Brigid supposed his obsession was a result of being in the insurance business and seeing, day after day, all the things that could go wrong in the world.

So why did he forget life insurance?

She and the boys would almost surely land someplace that had no security feature of any kind. She wouldn’t even have the comfort of knowing she wasn’t the only adult in the house. Steve wasn’t the ex-special forces type, but he had gone to Connecticut on football scholarship and she would’ve felt safe in the house even without cameras and alarms.

Staring at static camera angles was an even bigger waste of time than staring at bills. So, she opened them, one by one,continuing to hope that there was some equation, some force of will, some bargain, that could prevent her boys from having the world drop out from under their feet. They’d lost their dad. It would be bad enough if she could contain the loss to that without losing everything else that was familiar.

When she opened her eyes, what she saw was the bank of cameras oriented on its side. Her head was resting on one arm on Steve’s desk while Blake tried to jostle her awake. “Mom. Mom.”

The ever-vigilant, ever-ready mom in Brigid sat straight up. “What is it, hon?”

“I think Kenny’s sick.”

Rising without a word, she headed straight for the stairs that led to the three bedrooms upstairs and ascended quickly. She was thirty-seven, but did regular Pilates, and twice-a-month kickboxing. Steve had loved that she worked in a little time for self-defense and muscle tone. As she hurried through the game room that held the ping pong table Steve had given it to himself two Christmases before under the guise of a “family present”, she asked Blake, “Why do you think he’s sick?”

“He came to my room. He’s hot.”

Kenny was still in Blake’s room. He’d crawled into his brother’s bed and gone back to sleep.

Brigid knelt and put her hand on her baby’s rosy cheek. “You’re right,” she said to Blake. “Would you get me the thermometer?”

As Blake rushed away, Kenny roused and said, “Mom?”

“Right here, sweetheart.”

“I don’t feel good.”

“I know. We’re gonna get you fixed up though.”

“Kay.”

Blake was back in an instant holding out the thermometer. What would she do without him? She realized she’d been relying on him a lot since Steve passed. She made a mental note to refrain from shifting too much responsibility onto him. He was only twelve. Even if he was big.

Looking at the thermometer, she announced, “A hundred and two.” To Blake she said, “I’m going to take him downstairs to my bed. Go wash your hands and don’t touch anything. I’m going to change your sheets before you go back to bed, but I need to give Kenny some medicine first.”

“Okay,” he said.

She carried Kenny downstairs and put him under the covers on Steve’s side of the bed, gave him two baby Aspirin and some Pedialyte, then went back upstairs to change Blake’s sheets.

“Did you wash your hands?” she asked Blake. He nodded. “Okay. Go on back to bed.” He turned away. “Thank you for coming to get me. You did good.”

“You don’t have to thank me. He’s my brother.”

On impulse Brigid grabbed Blake and pulled him into a big hug, forgetting that she had Kenny’s germs all over her. Blake was a good kid. Maybe she was doing some things right.

“Mom!” Blake pretended to protest. His meaning was clear. Twelve-year-old boys were way past hugs from Mom.

“It’s just between us. I’ll never tell a soul I hugged you.” She smiled. “Heaven forbid.”

She put Blake’s sheets and her clothes into the washer and started a load with hot water. By the time she crawled into her side of the bed, she was half asleep. When she reached over and touched Kenny, it felt like he was warm, but no longer hot. That was the last thing she remembered before Blake was shaking her shoulder.

“Mom. Mom. Auntie Grace is here.”

“What?” Brigid sat up, but was mostly asleep.

“Auntie Grace’s here. Should I let her in?”