The Soul Catcher

forgotten she even had it. It was for emergencies. She hesitated, then stretched to grab it. This was feeling like an emergency day. First her grandmother’s figurines and now an unexpected visit from her daughter.

She poured a quarter of a glass for herself, closed her eyes and gulped it, savoring the burning sensation sliding down her throat and all the way to her stomach. What a wonderful, warm feeling. She had another, then filled her glass one last time about halfway, tucked the bottle back into its hiding place, and poured iced tea in to fill the rest of the glass. The tea was almost the same color.

She grabbed both glasses, remembering that hers was in her right hand. She glanced around the small kitchen. Yes, she was going to miss this place, the welcome mat at the sink and the yellow curtains with little white daisies. She still remembered the day she found those curtains at a garage sale down the street. How could she be expected to leave this place without some sort of help?

When she came back into the living room, Maggie had discovered one of the figurines she had left half wrapped on the window bench “I remember these,” she said, handling the statue and gently turning it just as she had taught her to do, just like Kathleen’s grandmother had taught her.

She had forgotten that she had even shown them to Maggie. But now seeing one in her hands, the memory came back as though it were yesterday. She was such a beautiful little girl, so curious and cautious. And now she was a beautiful young woman, still curious and oh, so very cautious.

“You’re not getting rid of them, are you?”

“Actually, I’ve had them in storage. I was just getting them out to take a look and…and well, decide just what to do with them.” It was partly the truth. She couldn’t be expected to get rid of all her things, move from her nice little apartment and tell the truth. That was just too much to expect.

She watched as Maggie carefully returned the figurine to the window bench. She took the glass of tea Kathleen handed her from her left hand. Yes, her left hand had Maggie’s tea. She couldn’t mix them up now.

Maggie sipped her drink and continued to glance around the room. Kathleen gulped hers. She wasn’t sure she wanted Maggie examining any more of her things, stirring up more memories. The past belonged in the past. Wasn’t that what Reverend Everett always said? He said so many things. Sometimes it was just too hard to remember them all. She was almost finished with her tea. Perhaps she would need more.

“What did you need to talk about that couldn’t wait until Thursday?” she asked Maggie.

“Thursday?”

“Thanksgiving. You didn’t forget, did you?”

Another flinch.

“Oh, jeez, Mom. I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it.”

“But you must. I’ve already bought the turkey. It’s in the fridge. Practically fills up the entire damn thing.” Oh, Jesus, she shouldn’t cuss. She needed to watch her language or Reverend Everett would be upset. “I’m thinking we’ll have dinner at five o’clock, but you can come earlier, if you like.”

She remembered that she still needed to buy cranberries and that bread stuff. Where did she leave her list? She started searching the tabletops.

“Mom, what are you doing?”

“Oh, nothing, sweetie. I just remembered a few things for Thursday. I wanted to write them-oh, here it is.” She found the list on the lamp stand, sat down and jotted cranberries and bread stuff at the bottom. “Do you know what that bread stuff is actually called that you use to make the stuffing?”

“What?”

“The bread. You know those small pieces of dry bread that you use to make stuffing.” Maggie stared at her like she didn’t know what she was talking about. “Oh, never mind. I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”

Of course, Maggie probably didn’t know. She was never much of a cook, either. She remembered the girl trying to bake sugar cookies one Christmas and ending up with rock-hard, burnt Santas. Then she refused to be consoled when one of the guys from Lucky Eddie’s suggested they paint them and use them for coasters. Poor girl. She never had much of a sense of humor. She was always so sensitive and took too many things to heart.

When she finally looked up from the list, Maggie was staring at her, again. Uh-oh. Now she looked pissed.

“What else should we have for our Thanksgiving dinner?” Kathleen asked.

“Mom, I didn’t come here today to talk about Thanksgiving.”

“Okay, so what did you come here to talk about?”

“I need to ask you some questions about Reverend Everett.”

“What kind of questions?” she asked. Father had warned them about family members wanting to turn them against him.

“Just some general stuff about the church.”

“Well, I have an appointment I need to get to,” she lied, glancing at her wrist only to find no watch. “Gee, Mag-pie, I wish you would have called. Why don’t we talk about all this on Thursday.”

She walked to the door, hoping to lead Maggie out, but when she turned back, Maggie stood in the same spot, clear across the room. Now Maggie frowned at her. No, not a frown. It was that worried, angry look. No, not anger. Well, yes, anger but also sadness. She had the saddest brown eyes sometimes. Just like her father, just like Thomas. Yes, she knew that look. And yes, Kathleen knew exactly what her daughter was thinking even before Maggie said it.

“I don’t believe this. You’re drunk.”

CHAPTER 53

Maggie knew as soon as her mother called her “Mag-pie.” It had been her father’s nickname for her. One her mother had adopted, but only when she was drunk. Instead of a nickname, it had become a signal, a warning, a grate on her nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard.

She stared at her mother, but the woman didn’t flinch. Her hand stayed firmly planted on the front doorknob. God! She had forgotten how good her mother was at this game. And how god-awful she was, because she let the emotion rule and carry her away-the emotion of a twelve-year-old. Suddenly, she found herself pacing the short length of her mother’s living room.

“How could I have been so stupid to believe you?” Maggie said, annoyed that her lower lip was quivering. A quick glance showed no change in her mother’s face. That perfected combination of puzzlement and innocence, as if she had no clue what Maggie was talking about.

“I have an appointment, Mag-pie…and lots of packing to do.” Even her voice had not shifted, not even a notch. There was still that sugary cheerfulness that came with the alcohol.

“How could I have believed you?” Maggie tried to ward off the anger. Why did this always feel so personal? Why did it seem like a betrayal? “I thought you stopped.”

“Well, of course, I stopped. I stopped packing to talk to you.” But she stayed by the door, hand still planted- maybe she hoped if Maggie didn’t leave, she could simply escape. She watched Maggie pace from one end of the room to the other.

“It was the tea,” Maggie said, slapping her forehead like a child finally getting an answer to a quiz. She snatched up her mother’s glass and took a whiff. “Of course.”

“Just a little something to take the edge off.” Kathleen O’Dell waved it away, a familiar gesture that reminded Maggie of some form of alcoholics’ absolution.

“To take the edge off? For what? What did you need to take the edge off of? So you could get through one goddamn visit with your own daughter?”

“A surprise visit. You really should have called first, Mag-pie. And please don’t swear.” Even that tone, that Pollyanna tone, grated on Maggie’s nerves. “Why are you here?” her mother asked. “Are you checking up on me?”

Maggie tried to slow down, tried to focus. Yes, why had she come? She rubbed a hand across her face, again annoyed that there was a bit of a tremor in her fingers. Why did she have so little control over her reaction, over her body’s response? It was as if the hurt little girl inside of her came to the surface to deal with this, because the adult