Black Cat Weekly #207 (eBook)

Harry Coverdale (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
602 Seiten
Black Cat Weekly (Verlag)
978-0-00-101988-1 (ISBN)

Infos

This issue, we have another impressive lineup, featuring novels by Herman Landon (writing as Harry Coverdale) and sci-fi master Mack Reynolds. We also have original short stories by Christine Eskilson, Sybil Johnson, B.J. Thoray, Marc Bilgrey, A.L. Sirois, and Justin Gustainis. And we have a classic short from the legendary pulp magazine Weird Tales by Paul Ernst. Don't forget a brand-new solve-it-yourself puzzler from Hal Charles!

Textauszug

FATALLY FUNGI,
by Christine Eskilson

“You’re kidding me, right?” My daughter looked up at me, horrified. “Lydia Hillman is a freak.” Shaking her head, Kate returned to stuffing balled-up T-shirts and ripped jeans in her duffel bag. “Not going back to school with her in the car,” she declared. “No way.”

I took a deep breath, not wanting to spoil the companionable week we’d just spent over Kate’s sophomore spring break. She came home from UMass reluctantly after a trip to Cancun fell through and I was able to take off a few days from my physical therapy practice. Although a staycation with mom could hardly compete with Mexican sunshine, Kate seemed to enjoy cooking together and staying up late (for me at least) watching classic movies.

“She lives nearby and you go to the same college. Her mother’s car is in the shop.”

“What about her dad? Can’t he drive her?”

“I don’t know. Anne asked me and I said of course we’d take Lydia. I’m sure this is a tough time.” I wasn’t privy to the details but according to the gossip in our small Massachusetts community, the Hillmans were going through an ugly divorce.

Although I didn’t admit it to Kate, Anne’s phone call had taken me by surprise. Anne and I weren’t much more than casual acquaintances who smiled at each other in the grocery store, and Kate and Lydia weren’t the only UMass students in the area. They’d been in classes together on and off since elementary school without ever becoming friends. In high school Kate fell in with a theater crowd while Lydia—I actually didn’t know what Lydia’s crowd was. Or if she’d even had one. Kate’s choice of descriptive noun for her, however, was far too harsh.

We pulled into the circular driveway of an imposing brick Colonial shortly after breakfast the following day. Lydia’s home, flanked by manicured hedges, was a far cry from my small bungalow on the other side of town. Although driving to Amherst would take less than two hours, Kate insisted on leaving early. Maybe she wanted to be out of the car and away from Lydia before other students returned. Much as I loved Kate, she wasn’t immune to the pernicious power of social status.

I initially demurred when Anne offered to accompany us and pay for gas but then I thought, like me, she probably wanted a few more hours with her daughter. Lydia and her mother made a striking contrast as they slid into my back seat. Tall and slim, Anne wore her strawberry blonde hair, displaying no hint of gray, pulled back in a loose chignon. Lydia was shorter and wider than her mother, with dark wiry curls and thick glasses obscuring much of her face. As I started my Subaru I avoided Kate’s eye, knowing she was thinking much the same thing.

We drove in silence for most of the trip. I tried to engage Kate and Lydia at first, asking about cafeteria food, roommates and classes, without success. Kate responded with eye rolls and “Mom, I told you all that already,” as if I was suffering from early-onset dementia. Although Lydia was more polite, her succinct replies seemed designed to ward off further questions. I gathered she was a science major and lived in a single. Pleading an unspecified emergency, Anne barely looked up from her phone and our daughters soon joined her on their own devices. So much for last minute maternal bonding.

Once on campus, Kate pecked my cheek and practically leaped out of the car before I’d fully navigated a parking space. Lydia nodded farewell to her mother and shambled away, dragging a roller bag behind her. Anne tucked her phone into a pocket of her quilted jacket and slid into the front passenger seat.

“Well, that’s that,” she said. “Another week with my daughter who barely speaks to me. Like father, like daughter.”

Unsure how to respond, I focused on retracing my route back through campus and toward the Mass Pike. “Is Lydia enjoying UMass?”

Anne shrugged. “She had her heart set on Cornell but Matt and his brothers all went here. He loved the place. Even though he could afford it, he told her he wouldn’t pay full freight out of state with a top public university right here in Massachusetts.” She pulled her phone out again and paused. “Sorry about the drive up. It’s garden club. I’m a board member and we’re planning our annual fundraiser. Apparently we’re doing a Fungi Festival this year.”

“You mean mushrooms?”

“Yes. We’ll have displays, lectures on foraging and recipe demonstrations.” She gave a little laugh. “It’s a little ironic because unlike the rest of my family, I’m not a huge mushroom fan.”

“Me neither but I’ll keep an open mind. I’ve enjoyed your events in the past.”

“Thank you. I might not have many more in my future.” Anne twirled her phone in her slender fingers as if she was thinking very hard about something. “You’re divorced, right?” she asked abruptly.

“Yes. When Kate was very young.” I briefly thought about Tom and the day he told me he didn’t want to be married anymore. Then I pushed the memory aside to remind myself he’d been a good father to Kate, albeit a long-distance one.

“You probably know about me and Matt. He’s moved out. It was a shock, to say the least, especially since he’s moved in with his assistant.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” I turned onto the Pike eastbound ramp.

“Lydia won’t have anything to do with him now. Not that she had much to do with him before. He’s taking a hard line about money. He even wants her to get a part-time job to pay for some of her expenses! Of course she’s blaming me, too.”

“Kate has a work-study job at the library,” I offered. “She says it helps organize her time.”

Anne didn’t appear to be listening. “Matt says we have to sell the house. Lydia and I’ll end up in some dingy apartment next to the commuter rail. She’ll hate that. She loves our home as much as I do.”

I had a hard time envisioning Anne in a two bedroom walk-up. “You must have a lawyer. They can help you get what you deserve.”

Anne did have a lawyer but, as she explained, most of their money came from Matt’s family trust. A trust to which she’d signed away any rights before their marriage. “So other than the house, we really don’t have much to divide.”

“What about his business?” Hillman Gas & Electric was one of the larger employers in our county.

Anne scoffed. “Family business, like the family trust. Matt has a title there so he has something to do other than golf. Like I said, his money’s from the trust. His salary is peanuts.”

More likely than not Anne’s peanuts were my caviar.

“Lydia’s over eighteen so I won’t get any child support,” she went on. “Although he’ll pay alimony it’s not going to be the same. I’ve seen it with other women.” She glanced at me. “What happened in your divorce?”

Ah, I thought. Her question must have been the real reason Anne wanted to drive to Amherst with me. A divorced women survey. I doubted my experience would prove very enlightening.

“All Tom and I had to divide up were a few crates of college books and a lumpy futon. I stayed east with Kate and he moved to Oregon. He always paid child support and he’s helping now with UMass.”

“Hmm,” was her only response. Her phone chimed with another text and she was off typing and scrolling again until we arrived back at her house. Although she thanked me politely, she didn’t volunteer any money for gas.

I didn’t think about Anne or Lydia again until the end of the semester. Kate would be home for a few weeks “just to chill, Mom,” before spending the summer in Amherst working for a professor.

She called the night before I was due to pick her up. “You won’t believe this,” she said indignantly. “Lydia Hillman must think that you’re her personal chauffeur. She cornered me in the Student Union and asked for a ride home. I wasn’t thinking fast enough to say no right away so I said I’d check with you.”

“That could work as long as she doesn’t have too much stuff.” I stirred the spaghetti sauce I was making for dinner. “What about her parents?”

Kate gave a dramatic sigh. “Her dad’s supposed to get her but she said she couldn’t stand being alone in a car with him. Can I text her to say you’re coming down with something and you’re worried it might be contagious?”

When would my lovely daughter learn a little empathy? “You’re not putting this on me. Let her know it’s fine.”

As I loaded the dishwasher the next morning before I left, my doorbell rang. I opened my front door to find a tall, broad-shouldered man in khakis and a blue button-down shirt, almost as if I’d ordered him from Amazon.

“Matt Hillman, Lydia’s father,” he said, thrusting out a hand. “You must be Kate’s mother, right?”

“Yes, hello. I’m Emma Perkins. Please come in.” Although I must have met Matt at some point over the years, I didn’t recognize him at first. He’d been just another man in a sea of gray business suits at back to school nights. As he favored me now with an engaging smile, it struck me that he and Anne had made a very attractive couple. That must be difficult for Lydia.

Stepping into my living room, Matt apologized for not calling first. “I wanted to be sure to catch you before you left. I thought I was picking Lydia up and then late last night she texted she’d be getting a ride with you. Do you mind if I come along?”

I didn’t answer right away, remembering Kate’s claim that Lydia didn’t want to drive home with her father.

Matt sensed my...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 17.8.2025
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Fantasy / Science Fiction ► Science Fiction
• ISBN-10: 0-00-101988-0 / 0001019880
• ISBN-13: 978-0-00-101988-1 / 9780001019881