The man who’d been cleaning windows came into the kitchen and shattered the moment. “Love-Nugget,” he said. “Someone’s coming.” Then he sneered at me, his face painted with jealousy and disgust, and I knew then that everyone in Naomi’s harem looked at each other the same way.
The front doorknob jiggled. Then there was a loud knock. Naomi went to the peephole, and I went to the front window.
A scrawny woman with dirty blonde hair and pale blue eyes stood outside the door. She had deep creases in her face and the start of sagging cheeks. A stranger might have thought she was approaching sixty, but I knew she was forty-five. Her clothes were much nicer than the ones she’d worn the last time I’d seen her. Her hair was combed now too, and it had a healthy shine. She was clean—no drugs—and had been for at least a few months.
I stepped toward Naomi and her man, pointed the pepper spray in their direction, and said, “Let my mom in.”
Chapter 8
MY MOM STEPPED THROUGH the open door, and when I moved to hug her, the confusion on her face turned to fear, and she stepped back and showed me her palms. Thinking she didn’t recognize me in my getup, I said, “It’s me, Charlie. Your son.”
“Collisions are dangerous,” she said. “Be courteous and follow the rules of the road.”
“What?”
“Traffic fines are doubled in construction zones. The Highway Patrol is monitoring the situation. A slide has taken out a portion of the highway, and the detour is treacherous due to a lack of guard rails and frequent elk crossings.”
Horrified, I turned to Naomi. “You trapped her in a metaphor?”
She shook her head. “No. This has nothing to do with me.”
“Don’t lie to me. It’s obvious she thinks Life is a Highway, and we both know that’s your favorite song.”
“That’s not my favorite song.”
“You love Tom Cochrane.”
“I love him ironically,” Naomi said. “And if you followed me on social media you’d know that. Your mother is manipulating you. She’s evil. You don’t know her.”
“I don’t know my own mother? Are you kidding me?” I pointed the pepper spray at Naomi again, and she rolled her eyes and put her hands up. “Fix her,” I said.
“I can’t. Nothing’s wrong with her. She’s faking.”
“She’s faking this?”
Naomi put her hands down. “Yes! This isn’t how my cackle spells work. Listen to me, Charlie. You need to know this. It could save your life. Say your mom was infected by my cackle and really thought life was a highway, and I’m not saying she does, but if she did, and I set up the spell so you could activate it with your voice, you would be able to manipulate her. To do that, you’d have to establish the spell before each command. For example, you would say, ‘Life is a highway, drive with caution.’ And that would trigger her to behave in a certain way.
My mom got on her hands and knees and crawled out of the apartment. I shook my head at Naomi, my face pinched with disgust. “She’s not faking.”
“Yes, she is.” Naomi leaned close, and I flinched. She looked down the porch at my mom, then whispered so that I could barely hear. “I put a spell like the one your mom is faking on Warren. He’s my sleeper cell, my insurance plan in case I wasn’t able to save you. Look to him in a tight spot and it could save your life. When the storm comes, the ducks will have to share the duck pond with the seagulls. That’s the metaphor. Remember it.”
“That psychopath is your sleeper cell? The guy who forced me to eat a cheese danish at gunpoint?”
“Shhh. I made the spell so you can activate it with your voice. I did that for you. I love you.”
Why was she telling me this? Was this part of another manipulation? As I turned and went after my mom, who had almost crawled to the top of the stairs, Naomi called after me, “Remember our picnic in Sequoia Park.”
Picnic? I wished I could forget that and every other good memory we shared. She was trying to get in my head even through this suit.
When I reached my mom, she muttered something about pulling over to the side of the road, then sat cross-legged at the top of the stairs.
I needed to get her the otalith tincture I’d brought along in case of an emergency, but that was in the truck, and I didn’t want to leave her here alone so close to Naomi. I thought back on when I’d been under Naomi’s spell, and how I’d responded to different stimuli. I’d seen reality in terms of the metaphors she’d burned inside my head. Her mummers, Bruce and Pam, had been able to steer me in different directions with those metaphors.
I gave it a try.
If life was a highway, then were people cars or drivers? Or were cars the bodies and drivers the brains? I was pretty sure Naomi was the landslide my mom had mentioned earlier, but who or what were the guard rails and the elk?
“Life is a highway,” I said to my mother. “I’m a tow truck. You’re broke down, and I’m taking you to the shop.” My mom looked at me for the first time and stood up. I grabbed her hand. This time she didn’t pull away or say anything. “I’m a tow truck,” I said. “Life is a highway. I’m towing you to the yard. You’re in disrepair. I’ll have you fixed up in no time. Life is a highway.” I led her past my peeping neighbor, down the stairs, and across the street to Lou’s truck. When I told my mom to get in, she just stood there looking at me like
