Page 10 of Home Is Where the Bodies Are

“Do you want to lie down?” I ask.

Nicole shakes her head. “I can’t believe she’s gone,” she says just above a whisper. She pushes her brown hair out of her face revealing green eyes she got from Mom and scarred skin she got from a lifetime of bad choices.

“I was planning to see her tomorrow.” She’s not looking directly at me when she speaks. Her eyes are focused a little above me, kind of how Mom was in her final moments.

I’m silent, waiting for my sister to say more, but she doesn’t. Instead, her eyes well up and her breath hitches. Then she regains her composure, blinking the tears away and breathing through the impending sob, just like Dad taught us.

Michael reenters the living room, carrying three glasses of scotch. He hands us each one and takes a seat on the far end of the couch.

“Thanks,” I say with a tight smile.

Nicole chugs half of hers. Michael shakes his head and delivers a disapproving look. “It’s meant to be sipped.”

She holds up the glass, flicks her pinky out, and takes the slowest sip she possibly can. “Is that better, Your Highness?” she mocks.

He cracks a smile and sips his drink. The scotch is equally smoky and sweet with flavors of honey, vanilla, and citrus.

“You have good taste, Michael,” I say with a nod.

“Easy to have good taste when you have money,” Nicole huffs. “But thanks,” she quickly adds, tipping the glass toward him.

We drink in silence, exchanging glances. It seems like we all have something we want to say. The house creaks and moans. I like to think it’s Mom, walking from room to room, making sure each one is in order like she used to do when we were young.

“Remember that time Mom caught us down in the valley with the camcorder making scary movies?” Nicole says, interrupting the silence. She lets out a laugh.

Growing up in a small town, there wasn’t much to do. So, we made our own entertainment—building forts, swimming in the creek, filming movies with our family camcorder, going for bike rides, and turning just about everything into a game.

“You mean theBlair Bitch Project?” Michael chuckles into his glass.

“Yeah, I don’t know why I had to play the Blair bitch,” I scoff.

“You fit the part,” Nicole quips.

I mock laugh and sip my drink. “Mom was so mad because she thought we were going to break the camcorder.”

“Yeah... I bet it’s still somewhere in this house,” Michael says. He looks around the room, and then up at the ceiling where the attic is.

I’m sure it’s up there too. Mom saved everything. She had lost so much in her life—her father, her sister, her mother, Dad—that she tried to hold on to anything and everything she could.

“Dad was even madder when he saw we were using his insect fogger for smoke effects,” Nicole adds.

“Well, yeah. Because we were literally playing in poisonous gas.” I shake my head and laugh.

“Remember Mom made us Oscar awards out of toilet paper rolls after our film debut?” Nicole looks to me and then Michael.

“I won Best Camcorder Holder.” Michael smiles at the memory. “It should have been Director, but Mom didn’t know the award categories.”

Nicole grins. “I was Best Writer.”

“Yeah, Best Actor here,” I say. “That was really something special...” I trail off.

We sit in silence again, reminiscing about memories that feel like they happened both yesterday and more than a lifetime ago. It’s funny how time works. I can remember Nicole before the drugs got into her. She was funny and bright, with so many goals and aspirations. And Michael, smart as a whip and the whole world at his fingertips. But he was the only one to truly grasp his dreams.

When our glasses are empty, Michael grabs the bottle from the kitchen and returns, pouring a generous amount in mine and his, and a little less in Nicole’s. She either doesn’t notice or doesn’t say anything.

“Are you seeing anyone?” I look to Michael. I’m not sure why I ask the question, maybe because I’m curious to find out how much better his life is than mine. It’s hard not to compare when we all had the same beginning.

“I was. But it ended a few months ago.” He shrugs and sips his drink.

---