I run my hand through my rumpled hair. “You see, I just found out last night that my mom died. I didn’t even know she was ill. My sister and I don’t communicate as much as we used to. You know how it is?”
Roni nods and replies, “Sure…” though the look on his face says that he doesn’t really know.
“I hate to ask this of you, but can we reschedule for the same time next week? I just want to spend some time here and wrap my head around everything. Maybe even bring out my wife and kid. They’ve never seen my childhood home.”
The appraiser politely sets his face, though the hint of displeasure underneath is apparent. “I understand. Same time next week will work, Mr. Moyer. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” I wait for him to head back to his vehicle before I close myself inside again.
What am I doing? Last night I was bitter about coming back here and now I’m voluntarily staying for another week? I draw my hand out of my pocket and stare at the thong. Something bad was going to happen if I didn’t, I rationalize. Something bad is still going to happen.
With a scratch of my head, I shuffle back through my parents’ bedroom into the master bathroom. I turn on the sink and splash my face with cold water.
“Hello, John.”
My stomach drops and my heart skips a beat. I spin around, realizing the voice came from the bathtub behind the drawn shower curtain. With a shaking hand, I pull back the floral curtain to find Mother naked in a claw-foot tub full of steaming water.
My eyes run the length of her succulent body, taking in the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips, and the small dark patch of hair above the long length of her legs.
“You’ve been such a good boy, John. Why don’t you join Mother?”
I scrub my face and forehead as if that will clear away the image before me. There have been no intoxicants consumed this morning to blame for what I’m witnessing. And if she’s here now, today? Then last night had to be real, too.
Or, I’m just now having the massive nervous breakdown that I should have had as a teenager. Setting foot in this place one more time was the straw that broke the backbone of my sanity.
If madness is this pleasurable and intoxicating, then sanity is overrated.
“Yes, John. Last night was glorious. Mmmm.” She closes her eyes for a moment as if savoring a memory. When she opens them again, they’re serious and deep. “Now take off your clothes and climb in. Don’t make me punish you.” She raises a hand and makes a clenching motion with her neatly manicured fingers.
My balls ache as they relive the aggressive squeezing from the night before, and my cheek stings from the slap. I don’t doubt that those were “tame” punishments compared to what she would do if I really were to disobey.
My fingers begin removing my clothes before my mind has truly accepted compliance.
When I’m fully naked, she leans forward for me to climb in behind her. She lays between my legs with her head on my chest.
“You were washed by your mother when you were little, John. Why don’t you wash Mother now.” She hands me a washcloth.
I take it, get it wet, and run it up and down her arm.
Briefly, I think about my wife Meisha and how I’ve only ever washed her in the tub like this once before.
Strong fingers take hold of my chin and break up my thoughts. “Focus, John. You are here with Mother now.” She doesn’t release me until I nod an agreement.
I move the washcloth over her breasts. She moans and arches against me when I tease her nipples which pucker beneath my touch.
“You’re making Mother very hot, John. Why don’t you take care of her like she took care of you last night?”
I slip the washcloth between her legs and gently move my fingers in little circles.
“Mhmm,” she moans. “Just like that. You’re making Mother feel so good.”
Moments later, she cries out in pleasure. “Really good job, John.” She rolls over. “I’ll see you later.”
I close my eyes and feel her lips brush mine. When I open them again, I’m alone in a tub of lukewarm water.
I climb out of the bath, dry myself off, and put on the only change of clothing I have with me. If I’m staying another week, I’ll definitely need more.
I have two texts from Meisha. The first says, “How did you sleep?” and the second, “Let me know how it went with the appraiser, and when you’ll be on your way back home.”
With a sigh, I put my phone back in my pocket without responding. Shame ignites my cheeks. What am I supposed to say to my wife when I feel like I’m having an affair? But an affair with who? The ghost of my mother? Who I saw dancing for me on a stripper pole that isn’t really there?
Without really thinking about it, I make my way back to my father’s study and pour myself another glass of scotch. I haven’t indulged in day drinking since my college years, and even that was only at the encouragement of my buddies to get rid of a hangover after partying the night before.
With scotch in hand, I decide to tour the house and remember it for myself. On the first floor is the master bedroom, dining room, kitchen, living room, my father’s study, my mother’s sitting room, and the parlor where we kept the piano. I never did learn to play, and I regret that now as I run my fingers over the smooth key cover.
Meisha and I decided early on that little Johnny would take music lessons as soon as he was old enough. We would do everything we could to make sure he had a fun, engaging teacher.
“Tell Mother you’ll give her a child.” Mother’s voice ethereally floats ethereally in the stale air to my ears.
How am I supposed to give a ghost a child?
Apparently, my mind has decided the being I’m having visions of is a ghost. That would make sense. The house is old and has felt strange, especially after that day. Remembering the first time I saw those eyes makes me shudder.
After walking the entire downstairs, my reacquaintance tour continues to the upstairs where my bedroom and Jamie’s bedroom used to be. The four other bedrooms on this floor were mostly empty when I lived here. Jamie and I used them as playrooms.
This giant house, always too big for the four of us, had been in the family for generations. Now that our parents are dead, neither Jamie nor I want anything to do with it.
It feels a little sad to let it go. But too many memories here are haunted.
