Page 53 of Sure, Pal

25

Evan

Ipulled into my parents’ driveway and spotted my dad’s white truck. It made my breath catch. How could the truck sit there, shiny and gleaming in the sun, like nothing had happened? How dare it continue to exist when my dad was gone?

Tears didn’t burn my eyes today. I’d already cried too much in the last four days. My dad would have said, “Evan, pull yourself up by your bootstraps and get back to living.” Ironic words from a dead man.

Today, it was anger that built in the pit of my stomach. I was angry at my father for leaving me. I fucking needed him. I was pissed at the doctors for failing him. I was mad at my mother and sisters for being a mirror of my grief. I was angry at every friend that reached out. I didn’t need their goddamn sympathy. Most of all, I was furious with myself for not being the brave, confident man my dad taught me to be.

I climbed out of my car and almost slammed the door, but I heard my dad’s voice again. “Easy, son! You need to treat cars like beautiful women. Gentle.”

I walked up the driveway and pulled open the front door. The house was silent, and all the shades were drawn. “Mom?” I called out. “Charlie?” No answer.

I wandered up the stairs and had to turn away from my parents’ open bedroom door. That was where he died. He said he wanted to die under his own goddamn expensive roof. I closed the door and swallowed the lump in my throat.

Charlie’s bedroom door was closed. I knocked gently and then opened it. My little sister was spooning our mom on her bed, stroking her hair while she sobbed.

Fuck.

Charlie glanced up at me. Her eyes were swollen but dry. She patted the bed on her other side and then went back to stroking our mom’s hair.

My first response was to yank open the shades and drag them both out of bed. Dad wouldn’t want this. But my grief pulled me to the bed, and I sank down next to my sister. I leaned over and kissed my mom’s forehead, then rested my hand on Charlie’s back. This kid had always been too tough. She always held people together when they were falling apart.

We sat like this for what felt like an hour, no one speaking. Words weren’t right.

Then my phone rang, startling all three of us and pulling us from our silent grief.

Ava was calling. Again. She’d called me every damn day since the funeral. I hadn’t answered the phone yet. She was the last person in the world that I wanted to talk to right now. Ava was the kind of person that would chatter on and on, saying every unhelpful cliché under the sun.

“Who’s that?” Charlie asked, her voice thick and hoarse.

I sighed. “Ava.”

“You gonna answer it?”

I stared at my phone until it stopped ringing. “I guess not.”

Charlie sat up and rubbed our mom’s back. “Momma, I’m going to go make some dinner, okay? We need to eat.”

Our mom didn’t answer.

Charlie sighed and slid off the bed, motioning for me to follow her. We headed downstairs and into the kitchen. “Mom’s not good,” I said. Our mom had always been sensitive. She felt things a little too deeply, but our dad had been like her shield from the cruel cold world. Now, he was gone, and she was left raw and exposed.

Charlie leaned against the island and rested her forehead in her hands. “I know. I don’t know what to do with her. Dad always knew what to do, but I don’t.” Charlie stood up straight and squared her jaw. She yanked open the fridge and then slammed it shut. It was full of foil-wrapped dinners donated by well-meaning neighbors. “Fuck. I’m going to order a pizza.”

It looked like Charlie had also reached the anger stage of her grief. I caught her wrist. “You’re not good either.”

She glared at me. “Of course I’m not.”

I pulled my little sister into my arms. “You don’t have to take care of mom alone. Bea and I are here, too.”

“Are you?” Charlie shoved me away. “Bea’s busy with her kid, and when she is here, she’s more hysterical than mom. And this is the first goddamn time you’ve shown up since the funeral. I feel pretty fucking alone, Evan!” Then she rubbed her temples and sighed.

“I’m sorry, Charlie. I’ll be better. I…”

“You don’t know what to do either.”

I nodded and stared at the floor. “But that’s no excuse. I shouldn’t be leaving my eighteen-year-old sister to deal with this shit alone.”

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