Veronica traced patchy pastel chalk flowers and moths into the lifeless concrete of the sidewalk. It was easier to grow these than the ones in the garden. She would watch the neighbor kids play on these over her morning coffee. Her hand rested on her stomach and she closed her eyes. Her own children would not be among them; the lathe accident shredded Parker and those dreams.
Veronica walked through the front door of the colonial revival home. Every brick and 2x4 in it weighed on her. Yes, it was in good shape, but the roof only had so many years left. The PMI and Mortgage were manageable on two incomes, but one? Christ, why didn’t he buy life insurance?!
Her sun catcher sent shimmering rainbows to overlace the white wall painted gold by the setting sun. Sitting next to that window sounded nice. Veronica heated water in the microwave, pulled the mug from the spaghetti splattered appliance, and then plopped in her kava tea.
She cleared the sympathy cards off her end table and set the tea down. Veronica grabbed the remote and her Ambien before easing into the recliner. Tulip poplars and oaks outlined the perimeter of the property, swaying and groaning in the breeze. Their browns seemed blue and purple against the bloody crimson of the sky. Beneath them were four raised squares.
A passerby may mistake them for untended gardens choking on weeds. Veronica knew them as her husband's butterfly garden, though she swore they swayed counter to the wind now. Milkweed, ironweed, Asteraceae, whatever brought the squirming, rotund worms to their doorstep.
Parker would sit and coo over the writhing larvae as they devoured their greens. Sure, they became butterflies, and she loved those, but she had tolerated the caterpillars for him. Like night turned to day, those vermin became beauties and those flowers became brown, dead stalks.
The first sip of tea was hot and bitter. A tear streamed down her face and landed on her hand. She set it down and turned away from the garden, from the ashes of Parker. Cooking shows were on; the cooking shows had no conflicts or drama or death. She watched them until the rainbow died and the only light was fireflies. The mug was empty and her Ambien was kicking in. The gentle darkness of night, the oblivion of dreamless sleep was at hand.
She was dozing off to a pot roast when a thud rang out from the sliding glass door.
“Parker?” She searched herself for why she’d ask that.
Veronica muted the TV and scanned the backyard, straining to make out its source. She stood up and turned on the LED in the backyard. A black, fuzzy creature lay stretched out and twitching on the doorstep. There were several more bats swarming just at the edge of the light, taking moths out of the air. Moths that grew up in Parker's garden. Rats with wings, Rabies carriers, another disgusting creature. The porch light went out.
Veronica flipped the switch several times. Thud. This one made her jump back. Dizziness kicked in and she sprawled over the back of the couch. The first was an accident, the second made her skin prickle. She crawled onto the couch and laid down, trying to turn her attention back to the home-cooked meal on the screen. Thud. The woman was making a gravy to serve with stuffing, but Veronica could only hear her own heartbeat.She pulled a throw blanket over her head. Thud. The room plunged into darkness.
Veronica laid for a moment, listening to the room, head spinning and heart racing. She stood up only to sit back down. The whole space felt like it was warping and waving under her. Grasping around on her belly, she found the end table and the remote. Click. Nothing. Click. Click. Click. Thud.
“Please, please, please turn on. Turn on you son of a bitch!” The remote clattered to the floor. She didn't want to be here anymore. She had to get upstairs,away from the back door. All she wanted was for Parker to hold her close and protect her.
She staggered and fell to one knee. Damn these drugs. The wall helped her up and the next steps were more certain. And then there was light. The TV blared at maximum volume. Veronica froze. It was a documentary about bats, playing tracks of their ultrasonic noises. Thud. Then there was darkness. She slid to her knees and cried like a little girl afraid of the dark. This had to be a dream or a hallucination; this couldn't be real.
Sandalwood and leather filled her nose and her body reacted before she understood, flickers of hands running over her, of the warmth of another. A sensation welled up from her loins to her chest in an instant and disappeared just as fast. Her breathing relaxed and her shoulders slumped. This was Parker's cologne.
Thud. Thud. Thud. White noise and light screeched from the television. Veronica looked back, not even bothering to wipe the drool and snot from her face. She put one hand over the other and slid up the wall, determined to return to the living room, to see who had been knocking. The porch light was back on and a heap of black fur rested underneath it. A Luna moth fluttered on the sliding glass, winking its eye spots with each flap.
The smell grew stronger with each step forward. Cold white light cast distorted shadows off the furniture and into the kitchen. The thermostat next to her read 59. Thud. The bat missed the moth and tumbled down. Veronica made it to the corner and stopped just before the unnatural light of the television. This was it. She turned the corner and smiled. A man's silhouette stood out of the static; there was nothing to be afraid of because Parker was here.
“I love you.”