Robert C.J. Graves

Mother Hilliard

 

 

The house was dimly lit and smelled of lemon wood polish. “Mother,” James called. “I’m here.”

 

“It’s about time, Jimmy,” Mother Hilliard yelled from the kitchen. James grimaced and made his way to the kitchen.

Mother Hilliard was standing over an enormous pink piece of meat with a mallet in one gloved hand. She wore a white apron smeared with blood.

 

“Hello Mother.” James forced a smile that he hoped didn’t look forced. Mother Hilliard rolled her eyes at him and put her hands on her wide hips. She looked him over as if he were still eight and had just dressed himself for church.

 

“Stand up straight, Jimmy. You look like some hen-pecked shell of a man slouching around like that. Be a man, Jimmy. Have some pride.” James pulled his shoulders back and thrust his chest out. “I swear that woman has made a laughing stock of you, Jimmy. Now, come to Mother and give her a hug.” James gently embraced his mother, and she grabbed his face with her bloody gloves then kissed him on each cheek. “That’s a good boy. Now pour me a glass of wine and get yourself some milk.” James got the drinks and took them to the breakfast table. Mother Hilliard discarded her gloves and sat down next to James. “Have you ever done anything about the affair Heidi’s been having with that, um, man?”

 

“Have you seen them together again?” James asked.

 

“No, I can’t say I have, but who knows where they go or what they do. You ought to get rid of that woman; she’s no good for you.”

 

“And you won’t either, mother! That is, you won’t see them together again. I took care of that.” James grinned.

 

Mother Hilliard lit a cigarette then blew the smoke out over James’ head. “Did you now?”

 

James coughed weakly and took a drink of his milk. “Yes, Mother, this gentleman you saw and I settled it man to man: mano a mano.”

 

Mother Hilliard rolled her eyes and sipped her wine. “Oh really? Hand to hand? Tell me more, James, I’ve never known you to win a single fight with man, woman, or child.”

 

“Huh, let’s just say that he’s learned his lesson, and I came out of it without a scratch.” James sat up straight and took another swig of milk. “You really do underestimate me, Mother.”

 

“Perhaps. Are you so sure it’s the man I saw Heidi with? He was a tone swarthy fellow and clearly a thug. Reminded me of those dick-grabbing rappers.”

 

“Yes, Mother, you’ve described him and all his urban details to me on several occasions. It was him. I’m sure of it.”

 

“Well, it wouldn’t surprise me if that tramp you call a wife had more than one fellow on the side – that’s why I ask. You know what they say about women who find a taste for that sort. You should have listened to me, boy, when I told you not to marry that girl.”

 

“Mother, please.”

 

“Please, nothing. You ran off and got married and left me in this big house alone. That’s right son: all alone if not for your sister, who is a saint and a mother and yet finds the time to fulfill her obligations to me, but you couldn’t even give me a respectful daughter in-law who could bear me a single grandchild.” Mother Hilliard took a swig of wine. “Hell, if she got pregnant now, I’d seriously doubt that it was in fact my grandchild. He’d probably come out black as night and try to put the nurses to work out on the corner of the maternity ward.”

 

“Mother, really!”

 

“Oh don’t you get indignant with me, Jimmy. You’ve written this book; I’m just reading it.” Mother Hilliard turned her

eyes to the ceiling as if in prayer. “Why, Lord, why didn’t I have two daughters instead of a son?” She fixed her stare on James. “You know what they say, Jimmy: A daughter is a daughter for life, but a son is a son until he has a wife.”

 

James nodded impatiently. “Yes, Mother, I believe I’ve heard that pleasant little rhyme before. I’ve heard it quite often, actually.”

 

“That’s because you keep proving it to me no matter how badly I wish to disbelieve it. And don’t take that tone with me, boy.” Mother Hilliard crushed her cigarette out in a triangular crystal ashtray. She carried her glass of wine over to the counter where she had been pounding a thick cut of beef and dumped the remaining wine on the meat. “So, who was he then?”

 

“That’s really not of any consequence, Mother.”

 

“Why not? I want to know his name.” Mother Hilliard sat back down at the table and lit another cigarette. “Be a good boy and get Mother another glass of wine.” James got up and poured the drink then sat back down at the table. “Thank you dear, but you still haven’t answered my question.”

 

“That’s because you don’t know him anyway, Mother, so what difference does his name make?”

 

“I might know his family.”

 

“Really? Somehow I doubt that.  Mother, the issue is settled. Can we please just drop it?”

 

“Did you confront Heidi about it?”

 

“I asked her how her lunch was.”

 

“And?”

 

“She acted as if she didn’t know what I was talking about. I told her that a friend saw her having lunch with a man at Le Canard Fumé, and she laughed and said that the only place she’d been was to the mall, and then she showed me what she’d bought.”

 

“With your money! I wonder what she bought for him with your money.”

 

James grit his teeth. “Mother, this all happened weeks ago, and I’ve told you that I took care of it. Must we rehash it over and over?”

 

“I wouldn’t trust her James. Have you thought about hiring a private eye to keep tabs on her?”

 

“This is only the hundredth time you’ve brought it up.”

 

“Well? Why not? Get the goods on her – photographs, that kind of thing – and then divorce her and let her try to get alimony out of you. Once she finds out about the pictures, she’ll back down. She’ll back down or she has no pride or dignity, which is entirely possible, but at least you would be free of her.”

 

“You mean you’d be free of her. But the truth is that Heidi is a good wife, and I love her. Even if she has made some mistakes, she’s my wife, and I won’t take this from you anymore.” James stood up as if to go. “It was nice talking with you, Mother.”

 

“Where are you going? You haven’t done your chores yet.”

 

James did his chores: he took out the garbage, swept the kitchen floor, and changed two light bulbs that had burned out – one in the hallway, the other in his mother’s closet. Mother Hilliard nodded approvingly when James reported that he was finished. “Now be a good boy and draw your mother her bath.”

 

James went to the master bathroom and started the water. Mother Hilliard liked it steamy. He poured lavender Epsom salt into the big Roman tub then placed a clean white towel on the rack. For a moment he stared at the hot water charging into the tub. Then Mother Hilliard came into the bathroom dressed in a white terrycloth robe, carrying a glass of white wine clouded by condensation. “Take this,” she said, and handed James the glass of wine. He placed it on the edge of the tub where Mother Hilliard could easily reach it while she bathed. After testing the water with her hand, Mother Hilliard removed her robe and handed it to James too. Then she took his free hand and used it to keep her balance as she stepped into the tub.

 

James folded Mother Hilliard’s white robe and put it on the rack beside her towel. “If you have everything you need, Mother, I’ll be off.”

 

“Where are you going now, James? To grovel to your cheating wife?”

 

“I don’t grovel, Mother.” James’ cell phone rang. He looked at the screen, saw it was Heidi, and sent the call to voicemail.

“I’ve had a long day, Mother. I’m going home to relax.” James bent down and kissed his mother on the cheek. “Goodbye, Mother. I love you.”

 

“Oh, I love you too, Jimmy. I just want what’s best for you, son. Not me.”

 

“I know, I know. I’m sorry I said that.”

 

“Will I see you at church on Christmas Eve?”

 

“Perhaps, Mother, though I’m thinking we may spend this Christmas at the farm.”

 

“You and that damned farm house! Just like your miserable father, always messing with pigs and sheep. Probably fucking

them too. God knows he couldn’t satisfy me.”

 

“Mother!”

 

“If it weren’t for the oil, I’d have sold that land and the mineral rights along with it eons ago.” Mother Hilliard let out a sigh as the steam of her bath encompassed her and the buoyancy of her naked breasts made her feel light, halfway freed from gravity. “Well, it might be just as well if you don’t bring that whore to church. She might burst into flames.”

 

“She’s managed to navigate every other Candlemas without bursting into flames; I’m sure she’d be fine. But don’t count on us this year. I think we need some time away.” James walked away without another word and let himself out.

 

 

 

The author of two novels – Diamond Eye and Richard, Zombie King – published by Hammer & Anvil Books, Dr. Robert Graves is a mitigation specialist with the Regional Public Defender for Capital Cases in Wichita Falls and an online adjunct English professor with Southern New Hampshire University. He makes the best stir fry in Texas, prefers robust Cabernet Sauvignon and mild psychedelics, played high school football with former Dallas Cowboy, George Teague, and has read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance over 20 times.