Utterances

a novel

by Jo Michaels

***

Utterances

by Jo Michaels

Copyright © 2017 Jo Michaels

All Rights Reserved

Published December 13, 2017

Smashwords Version

License Notes:

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be copied or re-distributed in any way. Author holds all copyright.

This book is a work of fiction and does not represent any individual living or dead.

Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Cover design by Jo Michaels

Typeset for print and web by Jo Michaels

Edited by Tia Silverthorne Bach

Proofread by Karen Robinson

All of INDIE Books Gone Wild

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.

***

…and they lived happily ever after. Simone closed the book and lifted her eyes.

Frail.

Deathly white and blue.

Breathing shallow and erratic.

Tears blurred her vision.

Her mother’s form was unmoving except her chest, which rose and fell with the hissing of the ventilator.

Tubes sprouted from her arms and neck, and the other machines in the room kept up a steady beeping, trying to create beautiful rhythms to pull back the curtains of morbidity hanging like shrouds on every surface.

Yvette was going to die. After fighting so long, the cancer eating her once vibrant body would complete its deadly feast and release her from the agony.

Simone sighed, and she stood to leave for the evening, eager to wash off the antiseptic scent clinging to her clothes and hair. Carefully, she placed the book of fairy tales in her bag and whispered a promise of something better to read next time, kissing her mother on the forehead and shutting the door softly.

***

Banging ensued as bags were carried through the door and dropped in the foyer on the threadbare mat. Yvette spun around with her arms extended, nearly knocking the few, plastic-framed photos off the walls. It’s so good to be home.

Simone laughed. "It’s good to have you home."

They embraced, and the woman kissed the top of her daughter’s head. I never thought I’d see this musty old apartment again, that’s for sure.

Me either.

Sniffling, Yvette let go, took a step back, and put her hands on her hips. I forgot how dismal it is. At least you managed to keep it clean.

Of course I did. I’m not a slob. You raised me better than that. Simone winked and pulled two slim, red, plastic containers out of her purse. How about you get the movies ready while I order the pizza.

While her mother danced and whistled her way across the living room, Simone carried the bags down the hall, put them in the master bedroom, and slipped into her own room, shutting the door behind her. Carefully, she pulled the old book out of her bag and ran her fingers over the infinity symbol’s embossed edges. She then slipped the thick tome under her pillow before picking up the phone and dialing the pizza parlor’s number.

When she made it back to the couch, twenty minutes later, dressed in yoga pants and a tank top, she was much more comfortable.

Yvette patted the cushion. Sit by me. Did you get the pizza ordered?

Simone nodded as she plopped down and stuck her bare feet on the coffee table.

Her mother frowned.

What?

Have you been putting your nasty toes on my table the whole time I’ve been gone?

Mom. Come on. Don’t start on me the first day you’re home.

One side of her mouth wrinkled back into her cheek a moment before she softened and patted her daughter’s knee. Okay. You’re right. I shou—

A knock at the door interrupted the moment.

I’ll get it. You pour the drinks! Yvette vaulted over the back of the couch, ponytail swinging, and she bounced toward the entryway.

Simone sighed, pushed off the cushions, and headed for the kitchen. As she filled two glasses with ice, tendrils of panic weaved their way up her spine. She checked to make sure her mother was occupied before running down the hall and shoving a hand beneath the pillow, feeling for the book’s leather-bound edges. Satisfied it was there, Simone snuck back up the hall to continue her task—her mind still attached to the feeling of the book on her fingers.

Honey? You coming?

Her hands shook as she poured the soda. Yes!

What’s taking so long? Yvette’s voice was suddenly loud.

Spinning around, Simone threw one hand to her chest, every nerve twanging. Don’t sneak up on me like that!

Sorry. Her mother put her hands up and took a step back, wrinkling her brow. Are you okay?

I’m fine, Simone snapped. Regret hit her instantly. Sorry. Yes, I’m okay. I didn’t mean to snap at you.

Is it the book?

She nodded and looked down the hall toward her room, longing pulling at her insides.

We should get rid of it.

Panic replaced regret and longing. Mom! How can you even suggest such a thing?

Yvette shrugged. If it’s making you this nervous…

Simone wrung her hands. I just haven’t been this far away from it since I found it.

Her mother chewed her lip and seemed to be considering something. After a moment, she sighed and shook her head slightly, lifting her eyebrows and slapping her palms on her thighs. Well, then I suggest you go get it. Not like it’ll interrupt the movie by talking. Just put it on the end table.

Really? A thrill shot through Simone, and the pressure of worry lifted.

Yes, really. I’ll bring the drinks in.

She hugged her mother briefly, thinking what an amazing woman she was, before sprinting down the hall to retrieve the treasured hardback.

It was placed on the end table near Simone’s side of the couch. Once she could see the book was okay, her evening passed smoothly.

They watched Warm Bodies and World War Z while they ate their pepperoni pie and talked about everything and nothing. When the chattering zombie appeared on the screen, Simone yelped and pulled the blanket over her head, peeking through a tiny slit at the horror. Brad Pitt injected himself, she gasped, and when he walked past the creature, she blew out a breath. "Why do we have to watch these zombie movies? Why not something light, old, and romantic like Dirty Dancing?"

Because it’s been a long time since I’ve been able to watch anything zombie. I was kinda looking like one myself there for a while. Yvette cocked an eyebrow and smirked.

Yeah, I guess I get it. Simone acknowledged the sadness threatening to envelop her and put a hand over her mother’s. I’m really glad you’re better, Mom.

So am I. Yvette’s eyes went to the book for a moment. How’d you keep that thing hidden at work?

I put it in my messenger bag and stuffed it under the register. No one asked.

Oh. I see. Her face softened as her eyes got wide. How are the bills?

We’re good now, actually. Once I got your medical stuff approved through the state, those bills took care of themselves. Daddy’s been paying on time for the last few months, so it’s been less of a struggle to keep up with the monthly stuff. That pizza was the last splurge we can afford until I get paid though.

At the mention of Simone’s father, Yvette’s jaw bulged.

Mom, it’s fine. He’s doing what he’s supposed to. He’d be done by now if he wasn’t behind. I’m eighteen, remember?

Yeah, well, if he’d been doing that all along, we might not be living in squalor in the first place.

Simone sighed. It’s not that bad. It’s clean, and there are no leaks in the ceiling. You gotta let it go. Her thoughts raced to her father as an image of him sitting on a yacht with his arm around his new wife materialized. Everything was tinted just a little bit red. It wasn’t as though he couldn’t afford his payments. He was so caught up in life he missed some. Both mother and daughter needed to let it go, but it was proving to be difficult.

Yvette opened and closed her mouth a few times, sighed, and stared at her hands. As she picked at her nails, Simone thought how stupid her father was for leaving her mother in the first place. She was a stunning woman. Long, auburn hair that curled on the ends, slender fingers, and a heart of gold that made her blue eyes sparkle and heads turn whenever they went out in public. It was as if she exuded goodness through her pores, spraying it on anyone who came near. Right then, she looked like she was miles away, remembering some time or other with her ex-husband—probably when things were still going well.

Mom?

I’m okay, sweetheart. I’ll start looking for a job tomorrow so you don’t have to do all this alone. You’ve shouldered the burden long enough. Why don’t we bathe and get some sleep? It’s been an emotional day.

You sure?

She leapt to her feet. I call dibs! Then she bounded the two steps down the hallway and skidded into the bathroom.

Simone chuckled but played along. Mom! Come on!

Words came back at her through the door. I won’t be long.

It’s okay. Take your time. She lifted the book and hugged it to her chest as she made her way back to her room and lay down on the bed, putting the tome under the pillow again and wrapping her arms around them both.

An hour later, her mother emerged from the bathroom and knocked. Honey? I’m done.

Gee, Mom, did you take long enough? Simone opened the door and grinned.

That was the most fantastic bath ever!

She laughed. Been a minute?

Yvette nodded, her towel bobbing back and forth on her head. Too long.

Hospital showers just don’t compare, do they?

Nope. Not at all. Especially the smell of the soap.

Okay, you go get ready for bed. It’s my turn. I hope you left me some hot water. Simone slipped back to the bed and grabbed the book before heading to the bathroom. She placed the hardback where she could see it from the tub but it wouldn’t get wet, and then she ran the water while she undressed. Repeatedly, her eyes were drawn to the beautiful cover. Lifting it, she stared at the blank page a moment before letting go, turning, and stepping into the warmth of the tub.

As she bathed, she thought how different it was going to be with her mother back home again after another six months in the hospital. Once more, Simone’s eyes panned to the book lying innocently on the vanity, and she let out a sigh of relief.

She stayed in the water until her fingers got pruny. Once out, she wrapped up in her towels and padded across the hall to put on her pajamas.

Mom was sitting on Simone’s bed, waiting. You took it in the bathroom with you?

Clutching the book more tightly, she nodded. Why were you looking for it?

I wasn’t. I was waiting on you, and here I see you come out with it hugged to your chest like a life preserver. Yvette took a deep breath and blew it out, concern clearly etched on her features. Honey, this isn’t normal.

I know. Look, can we not talk about it, please? Simone gently put the book on the bed and hung her towels over the footboard while she got dressed and started working the tangles out of her hair.

Let me. Her mom took the brush and pulled her daughter down on the bed. I know you’ve been through a lot the last couple of years, but I’m home now, and by some miracle, I’m not sick anymore.

It’s fine. Really. I’ve been doing okay.

I’m just saying.

I know, and I love you for trying. But I had to be my own grownup around here, and I’ve changed in ways I can’t explain. Dropping her head, Simone played with her fingers. She couldn’t exactly come out and say how she’d struggled to make ends meet or whine about not being able to hang out with her friends on the weekends—how most had abandoned her, calling her a downer or simply forgetting to invite her to go when they went somewhere. It wouldn’t do to stress her mom out when she’d just gotten home and was feeling better. Besides, Simone knew nothing could be done to repair the giant hole ripped through her life when her father took off because he couldn’t handle the stress, leaving his only daughter to fend for herself. She hadn’t had help from anyone else for a long time, but she’d survived.

Not having a regular teen life wasn’t something she regretted—she wasn’t the one who nearly died. Having her mother back was the best gift imaginable, and playing the victim would never happen. So, rather than cause stress to the woman sitting behind Simone by telling all the truths running around in her head, threatening to trip off the end of her tongue, she turned around, grabbed the brush, and gave her mom a fierce hug. You’re back now, and that’s what matters.

When they parted, Yvette smiled and pushed her daughter’s hair behind her ear, cupping her chin in a damp palm. You’re right.

They shared the moment for a long while. Finally, Yvette grinned, her eyes sparking with mischief. How about I go make some popcorn, and we stay up all night talking?

Simone couldn’t help but return the smile. I’d love to, but I have to be at work tomorrow at seven.

Okay, then half the night. Her mother stuck out her bottom lip. Please?

Oh, don’t do that! I really need to get some sleep, and you’re making me feel bad about it.

Even if I promise just an hour?

Fighting the urge, Simone felt her heart break. She did need the rest, but her mom looked so eager to spend time with her daughter. Relenting, she held up a hand. "Okay, but you only get one hour."

Yvette squealed and leapt off the bed, zooming down the hall to the kitchen.

Once she was out of earshot, Simone muttered, But I know you’ll take three. Goodbye sleep! Her eyes fell on the book, and she offered up a silent thanks to whatever power decided she should have it.

Hours later, the women were sporting braids, new pedicures, and circles under their eyes.

Simone yawned and stretched. Seriously, I need to get to sleep. It’s—she turned the clock around—three in the morning! Mom…

Okay, okay! I’ll leave you alone. Yvette stood and smiled. I love you, kid.

I know you do. I love you, too.

She finally left, the door click sounding like a mousetrap springing on its prey.

Simone winced. Once she was sure she wouldn’t be bothered again, she grabbed the book and stuffed it back under her pillow before lying down and closing her eyes. Sleep came quickly, and so did the alarm that jolted her awake just three hours later.

***

A yawn escaped as Simone dragged a box of cereal over the scanner, and she chuckled softly. There would be copious amounts of coffee consumed on break, but the night before, the time with her mother, was so worth it. She’d never talked about her childhood, and Simone had eaten up every word.

That’ll be sixty-nine twenty-four. She smiled at the elderly gentleman as she took the cash and made change. Thanks for shopping at Buy-Right. Have a nice day!

With no more customers in line, she hit the buttons to lock the register and motioned to the manager to indicate she was going on break. He nodded and waved at her.

She snagged a cup, filled it with coffee, stirred in a ton of sugar, and sat at one of the cafeteria-style tables in the break room. While she sipped, she got the book out of her messenger bag and pulled open the cover.

Still blank. Not a single page had text on it.

She’d never figured out exactly how it worked. As if by magic, words had appeared, as though begging to be read, when she presented the pretty volume to her comatose mother in the hospital as a gift. Not that she would’ve been able to read anything, but it was the thought that mattered.

So, Simone decided she would read. Every day for a week, in that stinking hospital room, she orated the stories that bloomed in fine, scribbly lines, with the machines beeping in time to the spoken beats. Each day, her mother seemed healthier. Day two, she was able to sit up and eat. On the fifth, her hair reappeared overnight. By the seventh, she was cured.

Doctors called it a miracle, said the chemo had worked…

Hey, you!

Lilian’s voice snapped Simone out of her memories, and she smiled. Hey.

Dang, girl, you look tired as hell.

She yawned again and took another sip of her coffee. Yeah, I was up late with Mom.

I figured. Never seen you sporting braids before. How’s she doing? Lilian stuck a sandwich in the microwave and hit start before sitting on the edge of a nearby chair.

She’s good. Great, actually.

With wide eyes, Lilian said, That’s amazing. Bet you’re happy to have her home, huh?

Simone nodded. You have no idea.

I probably don’t, but I couldn’t ima— A ding interrupted, and Lilian retrieved her lunch, unwrapping the steaming package and waving a hand over it. Like I was saying, I couldn’t imagine my mom getting that sick or coming so close to losing her. She picked up the sandwich and took a huge bite.

How do you eat that stuff? Simone asked.

Lilian swallowed. "Same way you drink that stuff." She grinned.

Touché. Chugging the rest of the coffee, Simone tucked the book back in her bag, stood, and slung it over her shoulder. Break time’s up. Sorry I missed our usual chat today. Back to the grind.

Be safe! It’s a jungle out there. Lilian chuckled and waved a hand.

Don’t I know it.

By the end of the shift, Simone was worn out and eager to get home and into bed. Fate, it seemed, had other ideas. As soon as she walked through the door, her mother started talking. She yammered and gushed about her day and how she’d found a job as a waitress already. Trying to be the good daughter, Simone made an attempt at listening and being excited. Her head lolled to one side, and her eyes slid closed while she was still sitting upright at the table.

Honey? Get up and go to bed.

Groggy, she lurched to her feet and stumbled down the hallway to her room where she collapsed in a heap.

Simone’s eyes snapped open in the middle of the night, and panic filled her. She was sure she’d left the book in her messenger bag—hanging off the back of the kitchen chair. Frantically, she shoved a hand under the pillow to feel around, hoping she’d brought it in with her through the haze of exhaustion.

It wasn’t there.

Heart racing, she bolted from the bed and shot down the hall, feet sending vibrations through the subfloor.

No bag on the back of the chair.

Positive she was about to have a heart attack, her hands vibrated as she spun in circles, eyes darting around the room.

Where could it be? Where did I leave it? I’m sure it was right here!

What’s all the banging about?

Mom! Did you see my bag? Simone whisper-yelled.

With wide eyes, Yvette shook her head. "This is out of control. I’m really worried about you. Being attached to something is one thing, but this is an obsession. Don’t you see what that book is doing to you? What it’s done?"

Tears formed, and Simone snaked her arms around her body, trying to hold herself together. Her mother didn’t understand. How could she? A single, fat drop rolled down Simone’s face. She whispered, Please? Did you see it?

Wrapping her in a firm hug, her mother finally answered, I put your bag in your room. I didn’t touch the book. It’s there, and it’s safe.

Simone wiggled away and raced down the hall.

Simone!

I’ll be right back!

Wrenching the doorknob, she still had her hand on the metal as her eyes scanned the room.

There.

Yes.

She darted across the room and snatched her bag up, plucking the book out and cradling it to her chest. Calm enveloped her.

A throat clearing behind her made her jump, and she spun around to find her mother leaning in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes hooded. We need to talk.

Now?

Yes. Now. Yvette spun away toward the living room.

Simone followed, a new kind of fear rising inside. They sat on the couch, and she put the book in her lap with one hand on top. Mom, I know what you’re gonna say—

No, you don’t. Yvette dipped her head so she could look her daughter in the eye. I know what that book means to you. I know what you think it’s done, but, honey, it’s just not possible.

Anger flared. "It is. You were there. It happened to you! Simone huffed and pressed her lips together. Even the doctors couldn’t explain it."

I’m in remission. The drugs worked.

Seriously?

That’s all that makes sense.

She ground her teeth together. Oh yeah? What about your hair, huh? Did the drugs magically make it grow back? Out of thousands of people, you’re the only one that happened to? Really?

But, sweetheart, a magic book? Yvette put a hand on her daughter’s. There’s no such thing.

Simone’s frustration grew, and she stabbed the cover of the book with one finger. Yes, there is. It’s right here.

That’s not a magic book.

Then explain why there are no words on the pages anymore.

Maybe they faded.

That’s bullshit, and you know it. It saved your life.

"Simone, that’s not a magic book. There’s no such thing. This is out of control, and you have to stop. Yvette’s eyes widened, and she shook her head. The stress is killing you. You look like you’ve aged a few years in the last couple of months."

That happened when I read to you.

Honey—

Holding up a hand, Simone said, "Look, I don’t expect you to believe me. How could you? You were on the verge of death and probably don’t remember much of anything. But I know what happened. I saw it, and this book is the only thing I have that’ll guarantee I won’t