The Cave Dwellers by Christina McDowell (top e book reader .TXT) 📗

Meredith reaches for the weapon she’s always had: “Start insulting your grandfather and he’ll start deducting your inheritance.”

“If there even is one,” Bunny shouts.

Meredith turns her back on Bunny, crosses the street. She feels an overwhelming sensation—jamais vu—descending through her consciousness, a sudden eeriness where nothing looks familiar: the gargoyles on stone towers, the rats scurrying behind trash cans, the plaques memorializing faded American history. Meredith has walked these streets every day of her entire life, but she doesn’t recognize a thing.

The next morning, Meredith stands at the kitchen stove fingering her cigarette, exhaling into the electric fan. Cate sips coffee out of a white Santa mug in the red-toile-lined kitchen nook.

“How is she?” Cate asks, referring to Bunny. When Bunny finally got home after the fight on Thirty-Third Street, she and her mother hadn’t spoken a word to each other, except when Bunny asked for a sleeping aid.

“I sedated her,” Meredith says. She takes another drag, her eyes squinting in the smoke. Ice thaws outside the kitchen window into the crunchy boxwood bushes. They hear footsteps coming down the back staircase, creaking.

“Mom?” Bunny appears with disheveled hair and swollen eyes, her voice raspy, wearing an extra-large Everytown for Gun Safety T-shirt. One eye is open. “Can I borrow your sleeping mask? The sunlight is too bright in my room. My eyes hurt.”

“There’s an extra one in the bottom drawer of my vanity,” Meredith says.

An electric saw rages through dead limbs of the poplar tree in the front yard. “Jesus… what is that noise?” Bunny asks, pressing her palms against her ears as tree limbs fall to the cold grass.

“The arborist is here, he’s trying to save our tree.” Meredith ashes her cigarette, looking out the window. “Go back to bed, he’ll be done soon.”

“Ugh,” Bunny groans. She walks back upstairs, slamming her door, shaking the frame of the kitchen.

“Well, I think the benzos are working, but anything beyond that is…” Meredith blows smoke into the vent above the stove. “Cate, I’m worried about her. Ever since we lost the Bankses—Audrey, and my mother—and Billy—all of it. She hasn’t been herself.… Do you think she should see a shrink?” Meredith ashes her cigarette on a porcelain spatula plate with some presidential inauguration date on it.

“I’m so sorry, you all have been through so much. You know, I wasn’t sure if I should mention this or not, but the senator said his daughter Mackenzie has been spending some time with Bunny and her friends and seemed a little worried about her too. Sounds like they’re just going through a lot, and the pressure with school…”

“Oh well, that’s taken care of, we don’t need to worry about college.” Meredith shoos away the thought like a fly. “Maybe… if you don’t mind checking on her for me in a little while, maybe give her a little pep talk? She’s always wanted a sister. Maybe you can show her how…” Meredith searches for the right word. “… grateful you are, you know, for where you are now after what you and your sister and mother went through with your father. I don’t think she knows how lucky she is. And she’s never been through any kind of adversity—I mean, not that… maybe adversity isn’t the right word, but tragedy. And to be taking it out on her community?” Meredith is flabbergasted! “For her to be insinuating that this—the Bankses’ murders—has anything to do with race, or you know, money, or—their entire family was killed, for Christ’s sake! Nothing justifies that.”

Meredith has always had an uncanny way of making Cate feel both validated and small at the same time. “You know, I have tried to mention it, well, once before, on her birthday. I’m not sure she was feeling so receptive.” Cate pauses; Meredith inhales her cigarette, doesn’t say anything. “Maybe keep her away from the news for a while, you know? I know you like CNN, Aunt Meredith.”

“Oh, stop it. Besides, I’ve already told her that.”

“I’m teasing. Don’t worry, I’ll… try again. I’ll have a chat with her when she’s feeling better.”

“Thank you. Let’s change the subject—how are you? Senator Wallace seems to be turning the tide, are you the one behind this?” Meredith asks, pouring herself another cup of coffee, cigarette still in hand.

“I’m behind all of it,” Cate replies, unabashedly confident.

“Oh, really—I’m so proud of you.” Meredith places a hand on her cheek and takes a seat across from her in the breakfast nook.

“What do you know about his wife?” Cate asks.

Meredith squints out the window. “I can’t stand that woman. I do have a little pity for her though.”

“Why is that?”

“Why is what? Why don’t I like her, or why do I take pity on her?”

“Both?”

“She’s the most wretched social climber I’ve ever encountered in my life, and she’s married to a politician, what could be worse? It’s like being married to a used-car salesman, if you’ve never heard that one before.” Meredith stops herself, realizing she might offend her poor little niece. “You know I’m very proud of you, but you must never trust a politician, especially when he sticks his dick around town, excuse my French.” Meredith lights another cigarette. “Don’t go falling in love with one, that’s my only advice. You can take over the world if you like, run for president for all I care, just don’t fall in love.”

Cate, trying not to blush, takes a large sip of her coffee before she musters up the courage to ask, “Aunt Meredith, is… who… how do you know the senator is”—she can’t bring herself to say “dick” in front of Aunt Meredith—“sleeping around town?”

“I don’t,” Meredith says, matter-of-fact. Cate feels like she can breathe again. “I just know the weaselly type. Sorry, dear, I know he’s your boss, but I have psychic intuition about this one.”

Cate, always feeling slighted, tries—politely, of course—to stand up for him, but really for herself. “Well, I’m being promoted to communications director, the announcement hasn’t been released yet—but you know, Aunt Meredith,