Gray Matter

Sheila stood by the kitchen window making hot chocolate for Lucinda’s party.

Two days had passed, and the kitten was still missing. She had searched the backyard woods several times since that first day, without luck.

After the initial shock, Lucinda did not seem to suffer the loss—which Sheila attributed to budding maturity. She had just resigned herself to such mishaps and went on with her little life. Oddly enough, she didn’t bring up a replacement kitten again. And neither did Sheila.

Outside the huge magnolia tree had lost its blossoms, giving way to a profusion of waxy green leaves. Across the branches, Sheila had draped colored streamers, big shiny cardboard Japanese lanterns, and bright animal pinatas—which complemented her marigolds and roses—all in full bloom. Because of mature growth, their backyard was cut off from views of the neighbors, making the yard a magical sylvan grotto—so safe and secret. Lucinda’s own little green world. Storybook perfect.

There used to be a secret passageway connecting their yard to the Sarris family next door, but some unpleasantness had estranged their children. There were two of them, snippy little brats who snitched on Lucinda.

“Lucinda said I’m a dummy.”

“Lucinda made me eat a bug.”

“Lucinda put a frog in the micro.”

Eventually the Sarrises—or Soarasses, as Lucinda called them—

(such a devilish wit, too)

—closed off the passage, erecting a fence and some high bushes, essentially shielding them off as if Lucinda were some kind of poisoned child.

The bastards.

Thankfully, they moved away. They were just a bunch of dumb secondgeneration Greeks anyway.

The backyard scene made Sheila’s heart gulp for the beauty. It was like one of those Hallmark cards: Lucinda in her new pink dress under the magnolia and holding her own party and chattering away at her guests. Today wasn’t officially her birthday. That was last week, but only three kids of the ten invited could come. A few had colds—

some kind of bug going around

—another was visiting her sick grandmother in New York. Somebody had forgotten that it was ballet recital rehearsal. Another couldn’t get over because her asthma was kicking up again. One had an unscheduled riding lesson. Blah blah blah.

Their excuses annoyed Sheila nearly to the point of complaining to the mothers. But if the kids were sick, they were sick. And to call them liars would only make things worse the next time. The only ones who showed were Franny Alemany, Annette Bonaiuto, and MaryLou Sundilson—three cute little girls from school, but not girls she was particularly friendly with. Then again, what children make close friends at seven?

Because it had rained, they moved inside—which was a shame, since Sheila had decked out the backyard. The magician she had hired ended up doing tricks for Lucinda and the three others who sat there like waxed fruit. Half an hour of cake and ice cream, half an hour of magic, and it was all over. The girls had to go—other commitments. Sheila could have screamed.

But deep down she knew the reasons behind the bullshit excuses. The other kids were threatened by Lucinda: She was “bossy” and their mothers thought her “managerial.” The long and short was that Lucinda was head and shoulders above them—smarter, quicker, and more confident. So the mothers kept their boring little dolts away.

But Lucinda didn’t mind. She had her other friends. And Rachel Whitman had sent over a gorgeous doll. It came with a little card, saying her name was Tabitha from Jackson Hole, Wyoming, and she loved animals. She was made of a durable plastic compound and was fully poseable with jointed elbows and knees and two outfits, one a red pullover under a jean jacket and beige chinos, and the other which Rachel had ordered specially—the same pink dress Lucinda was wearing today. It must have cost Rachel a small fortune.

More amazing was the doll’s resemblance to Lucinda. Besides the pink dress and thick blond hair, the face looked like hers as a baby—the little pug nose, the huge crystalline blue eyes, the chipmunk cheeks, the cleft in the chin, and the roundness of the forehead. It was uncanny. As if Rachel had it made special from a baby photo.

(She would have to send her a special thank-you note. To Dylan too, since it was technically from him, even though he didn’t have a clue, the poor kid.)

Luckily, today was warm and sunny. Garden-party perfect. And that’s exactly what Miss Lucinda was doing: having a private little rain-check celebration of her own—and perfectly content, thank you. That was the thing about being so advanced: You gained strength from your disappointments and went on with your life—a surprise benefit of enhancement. Lucinda was totally resourceful. Totally comfortable in her own head.

The whistle of the teapot snapped Sheila back into the moment.

She poured the hot water into the porcelain pot from Lucinda’s own tea set and then added the cocoa and stirred. She then dumped the extra hot water down the drain.

A faint foul odor rose up.

Sheila let the cold water run for several seconds. But it was still there—a sharp little curlicue of rot rising out of the hole. She ran the hot water for maybe a full minute. That only made it worse. She reached under the sink and turned on the disposal with the water running. There was that rattle sound as if something were stuck inside, something that wouldn’t break up. Then the disposal shut itself off. It would be several minutes before it could be reset. Sometimes Lucinda accidentally let the plastic cap of an orange-juice carton slip down or a spoon.

For a protracted moment, Sheila looked down at the opening with the black rubber splashguard. Although she had warned Lucinda never ever to do this, Sheila pushed her hand through. Her fingers touched the smooth rounded blades. Blades that under power could grind meat and bones to pulp.

She felt something that had not been completely ground to pulp—some— thing hard and rounded by the blades and snagged in a mat of wet fibers. What felt like the stringy cellulose stuff that made up celery stalks and banana skins—or maybe lemon peels that just hadn’t gone through. And the hard thing was probably a piece of plastic spoon—like what Lucinda was using outside for the ice cream. Of course, Lucinda knew hard objects didn’t go down the drain. But as brilliant as she was, she was still only seven—just barely. Still played with dolls. In fact, she was out there talking up a blue streak with Tabitha and the others.

Sheila slowly pulled her hand out of the garbage disposal drain.

In her fingers was a piece of curved white bone in a wet tangle of fibrous brownish muck and long thick strings of orange hairs. The thing stank of decay.

Sheila stared at it without shock. She did not scream, she only gagged reflexively. Then she dumped the awful finds into paper towels and flushed them down the toilet. She washed her hands and looked in the mirror. She barely recognized her own face.

Dr. Malenko said it had nothing to do with it. That it only affected her intelligence. That her makeup otherwise was as it would have been.

He promised. No change. Just smarter.

She shook away the thoughts and headed back into the kitchen. In a vague trancelike state, she stirred a little more milk into the porcelain server. The set was Sheila’s birthday gift—an eight-piece collection in porcelain and hand-painted with birds and flowers. It had cost her over four hundred dollars—expensive, but exquisite. Besides, Malenko would be paying her the finder’s fee soon. Fifty thousand dollars.

She placed the pot of chocolate on the tray along with the chocolate-chip cookies she had baked earlier. For a brief spell, Sheila paused at the rear door to take in the scene of her daughter sitting outside.

Harry would have said you’re in a state of denial, she thought. That our daughter is a little monster.

Lucinda was sitting at her table with her back to the house under the magnolia.

Not so! And Harry was dead.

Her guests looked on as Lucinda regaled them nonstop. Sheila couldn’t hear Lucinda’s words because her portable CD player was blaring music. Her Disney album—“A Very Merry Unbirthday to You” from Alice in Wonderland.