Chapter 7

Mara emerged from her room late enough that she figured some snarky comment was coming. 

On the days when her mom did have the energy to be awake at what she considered normal hours, she would do her best to be what she considered a normal mom. Today, she had cooked bacon in the oven and scrambled a big plate’s worth of eggs—Mara was on the hook for her own coffee and toast—and she would be annoyed that Mara wasn’t awake to hang out with her. Not so annoyed that she’d stay mad, of course. But Mara had to brace herself.

On the TV, some dead-eyed stone-faced Food Network host was talking about the best way to kick your next barbecue up a notch. He was gripping a rack of ribs with tongs. He was in some sort of desert and balancing in cowboy boots. 

“She is risen, she is risen indeed,” her mom said from her recliner. “Eggs might be cold.”

“I wish I was at work, too, Mom,” she said. 

“Did I say all that? Did I say good morning Miss Mara, I assume you’ve been in your room filling out applications since 5:30 a.m., surely you must have several interviews lined up already? Did I say those things? Did I say just imagine, today would be the last day of your first week at Lilypad? No I did not. All I said was it’s nine o’clock already.”

“I know, Mom. I didn’t sleep super well.”

“Well I’m sorry to hear that, I really am.”

“What time do you work?”

“Go in at four.”

“How are you feeling?” 

“Tired. What else is new.”

Mara settled on the loveseat on the other side of the coffee table. She didn’t mind lukewarm eggs, because her Mom put a ton of pepper on them. She watched her mom watch the barbecue man kick the party up a notch. She couldn’t care about how to take a can of baked beans to the next level, so she pulled out her phone. 

The screen from last night was the first thing that popped up. A Reddit thread about all the dead body dumping at Salt Shed.

She wasn’t starting her morning on that subreddit. But she remembered what Melissa said about evil having an echo. Had she purposefully left that tab up on her phone last night? Could she afford not to scroll through, in the off-chance that her tired brain had seen a clue? Tired brain last night, shit, her coffee hadn’t kicked in for this morning. 

“Now that looks good,” her mom said at the TV. 

Mara looked over at her mom, past her reclined head to her work shirt resting on top of her bag. Pills in that bag, vitamin supplements. A full water bottle. An extra cardigan. Mara’s shoulders were like shoes dangling over a power line. 

Seeing her mom in a Jewel polo made her want to rob every bank in the country. It made her want to go downtown and throw rocks through the Blue Cross Blue Shield building. 

She couldn’t start her day on murder research. 

“Now see, I don’t know why he’s putting breadcrumbs on that mac and cheese,” her mom said. “I hate breadcrumbs on my mac and cheese.”

Mara went to her room, came back with her laptop. Made a rule to apply for at least three jobs before any more murder research. 

They passed the morning like this. Mara filling out endless forms, her mom watching other people cook. Every host seemed so confident. Their dishes tasted so good. Mara couldn’t remember a time she or her mom had cooked anything they’d seen someone else cook on TV.

In the early afternoon, Mara made a frozen pizza for them to share. They ate it while watching a travel host eat fried crickets. After what didn’t seem to Mara like enough food, her mom pushed her plate away. Stood up. Said something about needing to get ready for work.

Before Mara could think of a kind way to ask if she’d had enough pizza, her mom disappeared into the bathroom. 

On the computer screen, an email came through. 

Mara sat and processed what should have been good news. Eyed the pizza. She could go for another slice, but she felt like boxing the leftovers up and tucking them in her mom’s bag. Just in case. 

Her mom reappeared, coat on, despite the forecast of a cloudless, windless, 73-degree summer evening. She looked like she hadn’t enjoyed the standing up she’d just had to do.

“Hey, looks like I got an interview on Monday,” Mara said.

“Good news!” her mom said, and left. 

The TV was still on. The host who couldn’t walk in cowboy boots was back. Now, he was talking loudly and authoritatively about Hatch chiles, while winking and nodding every time he said a word in Spanish. His pronunciations exaggerated and wrong. Next to him, a Mexican woman folded tamales. 

Mara turned off the TV. It was either that or throw her coffee mug through the monitor. Still, the silence had a bitter aftertaste. She ate a slice of pizza, but it felt wrong even going down her stomach. She packed the rest of the slices away and left a PIZZA IN THE FRIDGE note on the whiteboard.

New jacket on—cloudless, windless, 73-degree summer evening, but amulet, Mara thought to herself—she pulled on Chuck Taylors and headed outside without a destination in mind. Maybe The Muse, that was a 15-minute walk. She didn’t know anyone playing tonight, though. Maybe The Hollywood Club. She didn’t drink, but they had live DJs spinning either reggae or 90s R&B on Friday nights. Either one felt like the right vibe. 

She walked about a block before deciding to text either Parth or Melissa. She settled on Parth first. 

Hey what are you doing? Thinking of swinging by Hollywood Club, she said. 

The block was quiet. Lights just starting to come on, even though the sun was barely setting. Mara wished she had weed, suddenly felt very motivated to interview well on Monday.

Just finishing up with the WaveRace97 guys at Winona Studios, Parth said. 

WaveRace97 was a heavy-synth dance band that had seen their star rise after some YouTube videos of them covering 90s pop anthems went viral. They were Chicago’s most in-demand Corporate Event Band or Neighborhood Festival Headliner or Wedding Band. The millennials were in charge now, and apparently, they demanded Wheatus’s “Teenage Dirtbag” or Michelle Branch’s “Everywhere” run through a filter of yacht rock and Nintendo menu screen music. Their bass player had seen Crystal Lake Counselors and introduced himself to Parth after the show. Eventually, they talked about Parth singing some guest vocals on a track, and the bands playing a show together. 

Parth tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal, but Mara could tell. WaveRace97 wasn’t either of their favorite bands, but Mara could admit they were fun. 

“Being honest, I don’t hate it,” Parth had said. “Some of their originals I really like.”

Winona Studios was something of a legend in the Chicago music scene. Lots of bands recorded their first EPs taking advantage of Winona’s First Time Hardest Time Discount. Then again, Winona Studios had come up more than once in Mara’s death research. Mara didn’t believe in ghosts, but she didn’t doubt anyone who said Winona Stufios was haunted or cursed.

Her phone buzzed with a triplet string of texts. 

Hey so are you going to Hollywood Club? 

You know it’s reggae night yeah? 

Fine with it. Meet you there?

Mara felt herself forget whatever had just been bothering her. She jammed her hands in her jacket pockets. Liked that her jacket hung lower than her shorts. Felt cool in her Los Crudos shirt. Let evil echo some other night, she thought, and walked off towards The Hollywood Club and Parth.