The Wishing Pool and Other Stories by Tananarive Due

Author:Tananarive Due
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Akashic Books

Two nail holes in perfect vertical alignment caught Kat’s eye as she turned her key in the rumpus room’s doorknob. The holes were at eye level, so obvious she wondered how she hadn’t noticed them before. They had been painted over, but indentations in the yellow coat were visible in dim light. She ran her fingers across the holes; her daughter wasn’t the only one with a powerful sense of touch. She swept her hand left from the frame to the door, and felt even more faint signs of matching holes just across the crack. And then two more three inches left again. She puzzled over this as she ran her finger back and forth, and her temples tightened as if someone had yanked a band around her head: a door latch. She could almost see it through her fingertips: the nails on the door supporting the panel for a bolt lock clear across to the doorframe.

But long gone. Painted over. She stood on the Home Sweet Home doormat to mull it over. She took a step away, surveying the door. Her conclusions weren’t pretty, just like the image the aligned holes conjured: once upon a time, Fuller had locked this door from the outside. Silence enveloped the spot where she stood. No sounds came from leaping catfish in the nearby canal or hungry mosquitoes sniffing her blood.

Kat’s heart thrummed. She slipped her hand into her pocket to feel the three neatly folded twenties again, enough gas money to get back on the road. She imagined alternate possibilities for the six mysterious holes, each one slowing her heart a bit more: Christmas wreath. Mezuzah. Some kind of posted sign. Woodpeckers. The holes didn’t have to be from a lock.

Still, she stayed riveted because she pictured the lock best of all—a bolt pulled across from the outside, shutting in … who? Would a parent lock a child inside of the playroom? Was it to keep Amber from wandering to the canal, something any responsible parent might do? Or was it a hint of something she should be very worried about?

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She would have to ask him. She would have to bring him outside and show him the holes and ask him why they were there.

“And then he might fire you … or murder you.”

Her whispered worst fear sounded ludicrous. Hilarious, even. Maybe the firing was more likely, but still not great motivation to question her new boss about painted-over holes—which, if she were honest with herself, might not be as perfectly aligned as she first thought, given the places obscured by paint. Get out of your own goddamn way, Kat, her mother always said. Was she trying to sabotage her job? Was this like Walmart all over again, where she’d clung to grievances her coworkers didn’t notice until she convinced herself the money wasn’t worth it? That she should just put up with Mom and live with her until she came up with a better plan for her and Yvonne?

And now look.

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