“Can you not cut the ends off the beans, Kate?” Mom said without looking at her. “How hard can it be?”
“I didn’t know…” Kate mumbled.
“Just buy the canned beans next time.” Mom looked at her, her lips pale and dark circles under her eyes. “I don’t have time to teach you these things. I have to get to my shift at Lou’s in ten minutes.”
“Sorry, Mom.” Kate shivered, her skin aching. “I don’t feel so good…”
Mom shook her head and chewed the beans. “Kate, I need you to be a big girl and take care of your sister tonight, okay? Do you think I never feel sick? Every day, honey. But I stand up and go to work to put a roof over your head and those damn beans on your plate.”
“But I need to do my math homework today. If I fail, I’ll have to repeat the year.”
Mom sighed and threw her fork on her plate, where it clattered loudly. She hid her face in her hands again. “Kate, Mommy is so sorry, but she’s so tired already. I have to go before I pass out.”
Mom stood up, her arms bony where they showed below the sleeves of her blouse.
Kate felt so guilty. She didn’t want to add more to her mom’s troubles. Mom was doing so much for them. If it weren’t for Kate and Mandy, Mom wouldn’t need to work three jobs. Kate would just try to cut the beans correctly. How did one do that?
She took the green bean and the knife, but shivers ran through her in painful spasms. Her hands slipped and the knife sliced her palm between her index finger and her thumb. Kate cried out in pain. Blood flowed onto the beans. Mandy cried.
Kate ran after Mom, and opened the front door, holding the wound with her other hand. “Mom!” she called, her voice shaking. “Mom!”
Mom turned without a word and stood, looking at Kate as though she expected another task to be put on her shoulders.
That was the moment Kate realized she was nothing but a liability for her mom. A vampire feeding on her blood.
A burden.
No. She needed to put her needs aside and be strong.
“What?” Mom asked.
“Nothing,” she answered, clenching her hand tight so that Mom wouldn’t see the blood. “Have a good evening. I’ll cut the beans properly next time, promise.”
“Thank you.” Mom turned and walked to the car.
Kate returned to the present moment, the medieval kitchen. Her head spun and buzzed from the memory. Manning and Cadha still yelled at each other. She looked at her right hand, and there it was, between her index finger and her thumb—a thin silver scar. She ran a thumb along it.
The line was harder than the rest of her skin.
Shock covered her from head to toe in an icy wave.
What was that? The vision seemed to be a memory—but there were so many things wrong with that. The car. The electric lights. The telephone. The sausages from a plastic wrapping. The beans in a can…
None of that existed today. Chickens needed to be slaughtered and plucked. Pies were handmade and baked in a fire oven.
And yet, the scar existed. Physical proof that said her vision was a memory.
Or she was going insane, and her mind had created that scene to explain the scar and drive her completely over the edge.
The differences in technology made no sense. But her mother did. Her sister did. The scars deep inside her that she couldn’t see or touch did. The scars that tortured and crippled her soul from somewhere she couldn’t reach.
“Ye are indeed a Crazy Mary, ye auld fool,” Cadha cried, waving her hands.
“Ye keep talking like that, ye wilna taste a piece of that lamb come spring.”
And before Kate could take a breath, another memory flew into her mind, unwrapping…
“My grandmother taught me this,” Mom said. “And I got a bonus, so I thought I’d splurge on lamb. You won’t believe this. It’s called Crazy Mary.”
Kate was older now, fifteen probably, and already chubby. She’d developed the habit of hoarding, food mostly, because she never knew when or what she’d eat next.
The kitchen was rich with the scent of braised onions, garlic, and spices. Ten-year-old Mandy, her dirty hair freshly brushed, a new secondhand dress on, sat at the kitchen table decorating gingerbread men.
A tiny artificial Christmas tree stood on the table. It was the only one they had in the house.
“Crazy Mary?” Kate giggled, giddy with excitement to have Mom all to herself for today. No work. No hurrying. Just a family day. “Hear that, Mandy? Crazy Mary!”
Mandy giggled in response, too. “It doesn’t sound too yummy.”
“Ah, it will be.” Mom scratched her chin and looked dubiously at the meat. “If I manage to remember the recipe. Kate, write it down so that you don’t have the same problem in the future. I think we prepare the oatmeal-and-spice stuffing first. Then the honey-mustard glaze. We need to tenderize the chops with this.” She raised a mallet. “Do you want to do it, Kate?”
“Sure!” Kate took the mallet and it sank in her hand. She was eager to show she had been everything Mom wanted her to be—not a burden. Capable of feeding them, washing the dishes, cleaning the house, doing homework with Mandy, and not getting sick. The only thing she never managed to do was her own homework, but somehow, she was getting by. She was never going to be a rocket scientist anyway.
Mandy giggled again. “Is that why it’s called Crazy Mary? Because you have to beat the meat?”
Kate laughed. “You’re a Crazy
