Mnemonic Device

Fingering her pearls like beads on a rosary, Carly Lansing repeated her errand mantra, “Fish market, bakery, prescription.” Her youngest had a cough. Poor kid, sick on his birthday. She’d called the pharmacist before leaving work. Glancing at her watch as she stepped into the market, she knew it would be ready for pick up by the time she got there. At least they’d all get a good night’s sleep. Now, what was it that Ian wanted her to pick up… sturgeon? Or was that the one on his banned fish list? Ah dammit she thought as her fingers flew from the necklace to her handbag, searching for the notes she’d written out that morning. No such luck she sighed, giving up.

Smiling faintly at the guy behind the counter, “ I need two pounds of something, “ she said. Glancing at the roe glimmering in a big heap and the red mullets, lined up on ice with scales and eyes intact, she chewed on her lip. She didn’t even eat fish. Something about that flaccid eyeball held her attention…ah, she remembered.

She’d named him Freddy. The only white goldfish in the lot. He had a red dot on his back. She’d gotten seven comets for her sixth birthday. Consolation for the dog she’d really wanted. Her mom said it was enough to take care of her, let alone a dog that needed attention all the time.

“One for each year you’ve been alive and one for luck. “ That is what Ronnie, her mother’s boyfriend at that time had told her. As he set up her new tank, complete with air pump and tiny red pebbles with which they filled the bottom.

A month later Ronnie was replaced by Davis and the fish were dead. Freddy was the last of his brethren to die out in that tank. She hadn’t wanted to flush him. She’d been worried that the next time the toilet backed up, he’d resurface. His pale little upside down body, snared in toilet paper peeling away in thin, disintegrating layers. Didn’t like the idea of him coming back like that. Instead, she placed him in a little white box, lined with cotton. He’d lived his whole life in water. She buried him in dry land. His death warranted access to something different she’d reasoned.

Davis had given her a little gold crucifix in that same white box. On the day she first went to confession. She was six and everyone in her CCD class had just completed the sacrament

“A gift to commemorate your first act of Penance and may you never have to pay the ultimate sacrifice,” He’d said to them all before handing each one a little white box which held inside it “the key to unlocking their souls.”

Davis was a deacon at St. Bart’s. Her mom met him at a potluck. The kind of thing their church did every few months. The idea was that all the women of the parish would bring a salad, rolls, or some kind of subtly spiced meat, left to simmer in a crock pot during the morning mass. After which everyone would congregate in the church basement and bask in the love and wonder that is a community blessed by the Holy Spirit. Only she and her mom never brought any food with them. Her mom would make something up if anyone seemed to notice. Like the buns burned in the oven. Mostly no one seemed to notice.

“Ill take the halibut,” Carly said after her long pause over the mullets. The halibut was de-scaled and headless. As she left the cover of the fish market, it started to rain. She sat behind the wheel of her Subaru, wiping the water from her face trying to remember where she was meant to go to next. She turned the keys over in her hand, whispering, “fish market, bakery, prescription” Placing the key in the ignition she drove to the pharmacy. If traffic was heavy she might not make it to both shops, best she get Charlie’s prescription.

It was raining the day they’d met Davis. Carly remembered running to the car with her hands held up over her head only to get there and find the car door locked. She turned around to yell this to her mom who was standing under the chapel’s awning smiling up at Davis. When they did eventually get home, her mom didn’t even yell about the puddle her wet clothes made on the kitchen floor.

Three months later, Davis the Deacon moved in.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised, “Just like that.” The shower was running, but not on her.

Her hair was wet and her arms were shaking from the cold.

She groaned a little when he told her to. “You are a very good girl to your daddy aren’t you?”

He wasn’t her daddy, but he liked it when people thought so. He was going to marry her mama. He said it was so he could take care of his two girls. Her mom believed him. She believed anything.

“Okay stop!” He said quickly and pulled her hair. Her eyes were still closed, but she opened them when she heard him laughing.

“You’re gonna make some guy a really happy man one day.” He whispered. “When you grow up and get married, like me and your mama are about to, you have that lucky husband of yours come thank me. You hear?”

She felt warm again. He’d moved over and the water from the shower nozzle hit her body from behind.

Her mom knocked on the door.

“Be right out” he said flipping the tap and plugging the drain. “Just running a bath for our little Carly. “ He smoothed back wet hair from her forehead. Then added, in a voice just loud enough so she could hear, “ You remember what I told you now, won’t you?” and left.

Carly walked into her kitchen with three packages in tow. Kissing Ian on the cheek, she said, “Here are two pounds of Halibut. I hope you know what to do with it.”

“Sure enough,” he said, unwrapping the pale meat.

She placed the cake box on the counter and counted out six candles. Smiling to herself she added one more, for luck. Then headed upstairs with the cough medicine. She heard the doorbell ring as she stepped inside the bathroom.

“Must be your parents,” Ian shouted up to her. “I’ll let them in.”

She sat down on the edge of the tub, fingering the bottle of prescription cough syrup, thinking about what to do next.

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