Peanut Butter Cookies

The afternoon was perfect. The windows were open, letting in the summer breeze, and the lacy yellow curtains swayed. The smells of the peanut butter cookies Lilliana Montgomery had baked earlier in the day wafted throughout the airy kitchen. 1

She sighed, untying the fluffy checkered apron from her waist, and collapsing into one of the spindly kitchen chairs. Surveying the kitchen, she thought once again about how she hated it. The kitchen and the pills together made her feel much older than her forty-seven years. Ugh, the pills were terrible. They made Lilliana tired all the time, so groogy it was hard to do normal things. She laughed quietly. She could barely bake when she took her pills.2

She never would have chosen to live here if it wasn’t her inheritance. Her father had died a year before, and her mother had disappeared recently. Strangely, she didn't remember feeling sad for either of them. She couldn't recall details about them and their accidents, either. They had left the house to her in their will. She laughed out loud. As if she would appreciate this terrible decorating...3

She pushed back a graying strand of black hair absentmindedly, and looked at the clock above the old white refrigerator. Once again, her son was late.4

It started to rain, just a drizzle. She got up with a groan and closed the window so that no water could manage to make it’s way into the house. For a second she thought there were noises coming from the backyard, but she knew no one else was home. Lilliana went back to her chair. She rested her cheek against the wood grain of the table, dozing on and off as the rain outside fell harder and harder.5

Someone rapped on the wooden front door, but the person asking for entrance was definitely impatient. She had hardly risen from her chair before the door was ripped open, hitting the paneled wall of the living room. She heard some of the glass figurines in the curio cabinet rattle with the impact, and a picture fell off the wall. Lilliana hoped it wasn't her autographed portrait of Kevin Bacon. Standing up, she rolled her eyes. It was so much like her son to make an entrance.6

She walked to the doorway to the living room, a bit concerned when her boy didn’t come right into the kitchen- not to greet her- to get something to eat.7

It was not what she expected. Her son’s brown eyes looked fearful and frantic, and he was covered in mud. His mouth was open in an O, like he was making a silent scream. His face was streaked with dirt and tears, and his hair was dirty, his clothes wet and wrinkly. Once he saw her, he started forward, his feet making sloshy sounds on the hardwood floor.8

“Mom, what- why.. I didn't think it would turn out to be this bad...” She drowned out his words.9

Her eyes fell on his hands. He was clutching the end of something-a large something- wrapped in a white, stained sheet. It was duct taped in several places. In the other, he clutched a shovel.10

“No.” She whispered, not wanting to believe it. She could believe, it, she had suspected forever that everything she had done for her son would come down to this. He let go of the sheet, and it fell to the floor with a sickening thump.11

“Who-” She couldn’t finish the question. Suddenly, the smells from the kitchen were cloying, and she gagged. 12

He came to her, the shovel falling with a clatter, and wrapped his hands around her, pressing his cheek to hers. "I didn't know this would happen, I thought I had it under control..."13

He wanted comfort. She pushed him away, disgusted, bending over at the waist with her hands on her thighs, trying to stop the nausea. The smell of blood mixed in with the scent of the summer rain and peanut butter. She wiped at her face, trying to remove the mud.14

He stared dumbly at her, and she recovered enough to strike him in the face, hard and fast.15

“Robbie...” she moaned, and clutched him to her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll help you. I will.”16

He cried with her. “I should have paid more attention, I was just.. I didn’t know...” He let her go and wiped tears from his face, streaking the mud further. “You don't seem to know who it is... It might be better for you, for now. It seems... I don't know..” He broke off. She nodded solemnly.17

“We’ll wait until it gets dark. Go take a shower or something.” Her voice was empty of emotion, and she turned away from him, her shoulders slumped, and she went into the kitchen.18

Lilliana turned on the water, watching it flow into the sink. She stood there for several minutes, afraid she would faint, but then she ran her hands under the water, watching the mud wash away and swirl its way into the sink drain. Cupping her hands, she splashed some water on her face. In the bathroom, she heard the shower turn on. Her son started to sing his voice wavering.19

Lilliana collapsed on the floor, her hands hitting the counter on her way down, making them sting. 20

After several minutes went by, she moved onto her hands and knees and crawled to the doorway, her knees sticking occasionally to the floor. Lilliana peered around the doorframe to get a glimpse of her son’s sin. Inching along, still crawling, she got herself closer and closer to the white form, becoming more and more curious. She was stopped by a sharp, agitated voice. 21

“I told you I didn’t want you to kn-know who it was.” She retracted her arm from above the body. The arm she didn’t know she had even moved. Quickly, she scooted away from it, and looked up at her son.
He was clean now, and in fresh clothes. It seemed like the shower had calmed him down a considerable amount. He didn’t look as panicked as the frightened little boy who had walked through her door not that long ago. His hair was wet, and he shook his head, water droplets hitting the walls. 22

“It’s almost dark. I’ll clean up some.” She told him quietly, getting up from the floor. She had no intention of cleaning right now.23

She ran as quick as her body could carry her to the kitchen, and she ripped open the cupboard door under the sink, and took out the trashcan, the plastic bag rippling. Images of a plastic bag over her head filled her mind, and she retched into the can. 24

After her spell, she tried to regulate her breathing. Lilliana could hear whimpers from the living room. She walked to the oven, her shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor, and she removed the tray of cookies. She arranged them on a plate, and set them down on the table. As soon as she started away from the table, she picked up the plate and dumped the contents into the trashcan. The cupboard door squeeked when she closed it after replacing the trash.25

Sounds of brush scrubbing filled her ears, and she clapped her hands over them, slamming her eyes shut. She slid to the floor once again.26

“Mom?” The voice was so clear, so boyish, so innocent. For a second, it was like this was a dream. No, a nightmare. If she opened her eyes, her son, her wonderful five year old Robbie, would be standing in the doorway to the kitchen, holding a drawing he wanted her to hang up in one hand and a cluster of crayons in the other.27

She opened her eyes, and was greeted by the sight of her twenty-one year old son, holding a bucket in one hand and a scrubbing brush in the other. 28

She blinked twice, trying to will the two images she had of her son merge. The killer, and the sweet little boy.29

He helped his mother get up off the floor, setting down the cleaning supplies and wrapping one his arms around her shoulders. “I’ll help you to the car, Mom. I know this is too much for you.” Robbie said quietly, and she gripped his arm.30

“My son, my son...” She was moaning again, quietly this time. "I think.. I think I need my pills."31

"Mother, I think we both know you should have been taking your pills. You're too- weird- without them." He shook his head. "You're not normal with them, either, but at least you have some control over yourself."32

He got her to the garage without a problem, and opened the passenger side door of her beaten down van. He buckled her in as she stared at something only she could see, moving her lips occasionally. He could only imagine the horrors she had to be seeing.33

Robbie slammed Lilliana’s door shut, and opened the door to the backseat on his way into the house to retrieve the body.34

Walking through the kitchen and into the living room, his thoughts wandered. He couldn’t believe the turn of events his life had taken in the last couple hours. It was almost two much for his mind to handle. Almost.35

Robbie picked up the body almost effortlessly, it was heavy, but not as heavy as he had expected.36

He carried it to the van, his footsteps, his breathing, and the ticking of the kitchen clock the only noise. On his way out, he closed the white kitchen door with his foot, and went down the grey concrete steps to the garage. He carefully lowered the bundle into the van, pulled shut the door, and climbed into the driver’s seat.37

His mother was staring at him. It was like she had aged ten years. Her cheeks looked sunken, her eyes glazed over but creepy, creepy enough to make him look away from her quickly. He turned away and buckled his seatbelt.38

===============39

Thirty minutes later, she uttered her first sentence. “How-how could you??” Lilliana choked out, her voice raspy.40

He looked away from the road to look at her, she was staring at him with disappointment.41

“Mom?” He removed a hand from the steering wheel to touch her. “I’m so, so sorry. I want you to know I forgive you. I didn't mean to find her.” 42

She looked puzzled, so Robbie clarified. “I had no idea, none at all, that you had left Grandma to die in the garden shed. You've been hiding your pills again, haven't you?”43