The worst part of her current living arrangement was that Marjorie was constantly monitoring her every move. She padded around the house in her robe and stupid, backless slippers, watching out the corner of her eye, always judging and finding subtle ways to humiliate her.
It was no secret that the old bitch scared Shake. But what could she do about it? She had nowhere to go. Her dad wouldn’t take her back, and she hadn’t been in touch with her friends for months. Even Ronnie seemed cowed by his crazy mother, so he was spending more and more time downstairs. Every night after dinner, he’d disappear into the basement to work on one of his precious taxidermy projects. And when he wasn’t down there stitching up an animal carcass and picking out the perfect glass eyeballs, he was out procuring new animals.
Dear Lord, when would she and Ronnie ever escape? They needed their own place, far away from Marjorie’s taunts and evil glances.
Shake taped the diaper as best she could, gathered up the crying baby, and cuddled her to her chest. “Why won’t you stop crying?” she whispered. “I’ve changed you. I’ve fed you. Please stop . . .”
“How did you ever think you’d manage one of those on your own?” came Marjorie’s taunting voice.
Shake glanced around. Marjorie was hunkered in the doorway, staring at her. Her eyes glittered and she was smoking one of her Kool cigarettes.
“You shouldn’t smoke,” Shake said. “It’s bad for her.”
Marjorie exhaled a long stream of smoke. “Like you give a shit,” she said, and walked away.
Shake carried the baby into the living room and sat down in a rickety rocking chair. She shifted her bulk and adjusted the baby in her arms, trying to cradle its head as best she could. The baby had actually stopped crying and was watching her now. She wondered if maybe her own baby would be born this week. She hoped so, because she’d been making plans.
Once she was out of the hospital, once she had her former dancer’s body back, she would convince Ronnie to clear the hell out of this place. She knew he was a poor excuse for a boyfriend, but if she could get him away from Marjorie, maybe things would be okay. Okay being a relative term since she would pretty much settle for an apartment with hot running water, no roaches, and a landlord that wasn’t a grab-ass.
Bending over the little baby, Shake began to sing softly. “Hush, little baby, don’t say a word, Papa’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.” The baby closed its eyes. “And if that mockingbird don’t sing . . .”
“It’s a good thing you know how to shake your fat ass,” Marjorie chuckled. “Because Christina Aguilera you ain’t.”
Marjorie was back. All crooked teeth and wild eyes, watching her carefully.
The baby started crying again.
“Looks like your caterwauling woke her up,” Marjorie said.
“I’m trying my best,” Shake whimpered. “She was almost asleep before you came in.”
“So you’re saying it’s my fault?” Marjorie said. Her laugh was like a chain saw. “You know all about babies now. Did you get so smart reading those books by Dr. Spock? You know he’s not the guy on Star Trek, right?”
“Why don’t you just leave me alone,” Shake hissed.
Marjorie lifted her head and jabbed her chin at Shake’s stomach. “Because I’m waitin’ for your baby to come out.”
“What if I decide to keep it,” Shake said, challenging her. Holding an actual baby had got her to thinking, had awoken a tiny flicker of maternal instinct that she didn’t know she had.
Marjorie was unfazed. “Too late, cupcake. You already signed the papers for the adoption to go through.”
“Maybe I could still arrange for a private adoption,” Shake said. “Make sure my baby goes to a nice young couple that I approve of.”
“Honey,” Marjorie said. “You ain’t never gonna get that chance.” She reached out for the baby. “Give her to me. I’m gonna take her upstairs.”
Shake handed the baby over to Marjorie. Part of her was glad to be rid of the fussy baby, and another part of her wondered if she was doing the right thing in giving her own child away. Her eyes misted over, and tears rolled down her face.
“That’s right,” Marjorie said. “Cry about it.”
Marjorie’s taunting voice followed Shake as she ran down the hallway and thundered down the creaking wooden steps to the basement.
As dirty and dilapidated as the upstairs was, the basement was even worse. Flagstone walls had crumbled in some spots, leaving craggy, damp fragments in small piles (like dead animals?) on the earthen floor. Just coming down here set Shake’s teeth on edge.
How can Ronnie stand to spend so much time down here?
But she knew the answer. This was where he worked on his beloved taxidermy animals. Right here in what looked like Freddy Krueger’s boiler room. Ronnie’s macabre hobby only made the place scarier; the smell of formaldehyde, borax, and death was nearly suffocating.