The Keeper by Sarah Langan Page A

blue Champion sweat suit, and smelling of Ivory soap. “Just in time!” Mary said as she placed a pot of steamed rice and stir-fried vegetables on the table. They sat and said their grace, Mary out loud, thanking God for their bountiful feast, and Liz silently with her head bent.
    “Don’t you like it?” Mary asked after she had portioned out heaping servings of wok-fried broccoli and carrots on each of their plates. “I thought you’d like it, what with your diet.”
    “I’m not on a diet. I’m not fat,” Liz said.
    Mary leaned back and sipped her glass of Gallo Zinfandel. “Fine,” Mary said. “You told me you were on a diet so I made this special for you. I never said you were fat. You’re a very pretty girl.” The wine quickly warmed her ears and cheeks, and she suddenly realized how tired she was. How much she wanted to stay home tonight and share a blanket with Liz in front of the television like normal people.
    “Mo-om,” Liz moaned.
    “Li-iz,” Mary moaned back. “You know, you didn’t do any of that laundry like I asked. It took me at least an hour.”
    “Sorry,” Liz said.
    Mary softened. Liz seemed very sad just then, defeated in some way. This was not the kind of dinner scene she’d imagined when she married Ted. She’d expected a place full of laughter and gentle teasing. “Well, we know you won’t make a good cleaning lady. Not the worst news in the world.”
    Liz smiled, and the two of them almost laughed. “I’m sorry, too. For being short with you before. I just get tired sometimes.”
    “It’s okay,” Liz said.
    Mary leaned forward. “I know!” she said, clapping her hands together. “How ’bout Portland? It might be nice in another month. We could take a day trip to the art museum. I know someone who works there.”
    “Portland?”
    “We could bring a picnic lunch and eat it at that park where the jazz musicians play. They do Charlie Parker. You’ll love him.”
    “That sounds nice,” Liz said.
    “I’ll need to take the Buick to the shop, of course. I think the fuel pump’s on its way out.”
    “Right.”
    “But you’d like that, wouldn’t you? A trip? I get so tired of this town. I just want to look at something pretty once in a while. It’ll be nice when you go away to college. I’ll have a new place to visit.”
    “I’d like that, Mom,” Liz said. “We could—” Liz’s voice broke, and she pushed her chair away from the table. Tears welled up in her eyes.
    “What is it? What’s wrong, honey?”
    Liz buried her face in her hands.
    “Come on, honey. Tell me.”
    “I—” Liz broke down sobbing. “It was…It wa-was awful.”
    Mary got up and held her daughter. At first, Mary said nothing. It had been a long time since they had been this close, and Mary savored it. She felt Liz’s skin, so soft and full. Every once in a while she forgot the obvious: She loved this girl so much it hurt.
    Finally, and with regret, Mary pulled away and asked, “What is it?”
    “Susan,” Liz whispered.
    Mary tensed. She took a step back and left Liz to cradle herself. “Who?”
    “She came to me. She tricked me into going behind the cemetery.”
    Mary’s throat went dry. Panic set in, and it felt like a car alarm screeching in her ears. The basement. Was Susan in the basement? She walked toward the back door, and made sure that it was shut tight. Then she closed and locked the windows in the kitchen. “In this house? Did she come into this house?”
    “I dreamed I went to visit Daddy, and she was waiting for me. I think she’s mad because I still love him and I shouldn’t.”
    Liz was rocking back and forth now, her eyes shut tight, and Mary wanted to hold her, to make everything right. But if she did that, she’d start crying. She’d start crying and she’d never stop. She owed it to Elizabeth to be strong. To protect her. She looked at her wide-knuckled hands, and the cracks in the ceiling shaped like spider’s webs, and at the walls of this house