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Part 2
Though she be but little, she is fierce.
William Shakespeare
Chapter One
Teddy
Two Years Later
Age Fifteen
“Can I get new bed sheets for my room too?” I ask Jane as we pull up the driveway. It’s been years since we’ve come up this road, but I’ll never forget it. The city isn’t so far behind us, but even still, this seems like our own world out here.
“We’ll see,” Jane replies, and I can tell she isn’t really paying attention to what I just said. My eyes narrow but I say nothing. She’s been in a foul mood all day and I don’t know why; you’d think she would be happy about coming home. I’m fairly sure it has something to do with Branson, though she’d never admit it. A smile curves on my lips when I think of the fun I’m going to have with him.
“Do you think Branson missed me?”
I notice Jane tense up next to me–I’ve gotten good at reading her–but she turns to me, the smile on my own lips mirrored on her. My eyes peer into hers, an inky black I’ve always loved. Mine are this ridiculous bright green shade that seem to hide nothing. Jane gives me shit for being so easy to read. She doesn’t realize I’ve gotten excellent at playing all my parts, including hiding things from her when I need to.
Little Teddy is all grown up and can’t wait to play with old toys.
“I think he likely did,” she answers slowly. “I imagine your reunion will be quite… interesting for him.”
We pull up to the driveway and I breathe in through my nose, smiling on the exhale.
“Yes, I think you’re right.”
The bushes around the property are denser than I remember, the paint on the exterior of the house more chipped away, but otherwise it’s exactly the same. The barn around the side, not visible from where we stand. What I know to be black paint covers the inside windows, keeping all that’s inside hidden.
“Do you miss your gallery?” I ask Jane as she steps out of the car.
“I do,” she replies wistfully. “The country was beautiful, but it’s not the same. I’ll send Bud up to get some of our works in a few weeks once I’ve settled.”
“We’re going to need more space soon.”
“If you wouldn’t make such big pieces, then we’d have plenty,” she snaps, and I laugh. Jane gets solemn as she stands there and looks at the property. I know now that it was her family’s when she was a child. Her mother ran the antiques business out of the barn that she still uses. I’ve tried to probe more about Jane’s past, about why she is who she is, but I haven’t gotten far.
I’m not an idiot and know Jane’s a psycho. Fuck, I’m no better. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to understand the woman who has mentored me, nurtured my darkness, and let it thrive. My real mom was hardly a mom, but even that junkie whore saw something inside me and tried to tame it.
I’ve always been fascinated by the macabre, but it’s Jane who let it flourish.
She’s a controlling madwoman, and I owe her everything.
“You okay, Mama?” I ask her, knowing the endearment always makes her happy. Turning to me, she gives a wan smile and nods.
“Yes, fine. Just the mixed feelings of coming home.”
I nod as though I understand, but for me there is no mix. As much as it was fun traveling with Jane, spending time in the city and on the road, I crave the comfort and familiarity of the only home I’ve ever known.
Still smiling, I skip the rest of the way down the driveway.
Home.
