Page 55 of Home Is Where the Bodies Are

Looking out the living room window, I spot Michael, Beth, and Brian traipsing around in the front yard, tossing snowballs at one another. They’re dressed in winter jackets, snow pants, thick-knitted hats, and heavy gloves. Their cheeks and noses are rosy from the cold. Plumes of frosty air escape their mouths as they laugh and tease one another. Nicole sits off to the side, using my mop bucket to build herself an igloo. She didn’t want to go out and play in the snow. But I told her to. When she asked why, I told her it was my house and my rules. Always the snark, Nicole had replied,Fine, I’ll build an igloo, and I’ll live in it until the snow melts. So, there she is—my difficult middle child, packing the mop bucket tight with snow and stacking the mold, one onto another. She’s already erected five rows in a circle around the circumference of a small kiddie pool. I’m sure I’ll have to drag her back inside at some point today to make sure she doesn’t freeze to death trying to prove a point.

Eddie, Emma’s father, appears at the top of the driveway dressed in blue jeans and a jean jacket. His hands are stuffed into his pockets, scrambling away from the cold. Hot air bursts out of his nostrils like he’s a bull preparing to charge. Either he’s out of breath or he’s angry. He marches in Brian’s direction. It’s not until he’s six feet away that Brian even realizes he’s there. They exchange a few words before Eddie beckons Brian to follow him, and the two of them walk toward our house, stopping before they climb the stairs of the porch.

I can’t hear them, but I can read my husband’s lips. “What is it?” he asks.

Eddie speaks too quickly for me to pick up on what he’s saying. His cheeks are flushed, and I don’t think it’s from the cold. Brian’s eyes widen and his mouth falls open an inch or so. They nod and pat each other on the back before Eddie turns and makes his way up the driveway. Brian looks up at the window I’m standing at. I lift my chin and stare right back. His eyes tighten and he shakes his head—clearly disappointed in me.

I know they found Emma’s bicycle.

I know that because I made sure they would.

THIRTY

MICHAEL

The Boar’s Nest hasn’t changed a bit. I figured it’d be the same. Small towns don’t change. And if they do, it’s gradual, like evolution, something you wouldn’t notice in your lifetime. The Dodge Charger is still there. The only glory this town has ever seen. And it’s really not. It’s an illusion. A hollowed-out vehicle set on the roof of the only business still afloat. The same men are bellied up to the bar. Older. Grayer. Less room between the bar and their stomachs. And the same bartender is slinging drinks. She’s not young and vibrant anymore. She’s grown into her acceptance of an unexceptional and mundane life, her appearance following suit. Nicole and Beth enter first, taking a pair of seats at the bar. All necks crane in their direction... not because they’re lookers but because they’re something new to look at. I can tell by Beth’s shoulders, which are practically pinned to her ears—she’d rather be anywhere but here. That makes two of us. I suggested coming here because I couldn’t stand being in that house anymore. Too many memories. Plus, I had to pry my sisters away from their “investigation” which has just been a chain of maybes. Nothing concrete. It’s all speculation, and it’s distracting us from what we’re here to do... settle Mom’s estate.

Beth looks to me and says, “Beer?”

I nod. I don’t want one, but I’ll have one. It’s how I feel about most things in life.

Nicole and I take a seat on either side of her. My eyes flick to the clock on the wall. I know the time is off by at least forty-five minutes. Behind. Not ahead. A place like this would never be ahead. No one here cares though—because for them, there’s nothing to look forward to, so you may as well slow it down, savor the futile moments.

Pool balls rack and crack. A dart thuds into a board. The jukebox roars a Toby Keith song. And there’s laughter and chatter... All small distractions from their small lives.

The bartender slides a beer in front of me and smiles. Between her skimpy clothes, her bleached blond hair, and her Fake Bake tan, it’s obvious she’s trying to appear younger than she is. It’s not working though.

“Hey, Michael. It’s good to see you.” I recognize her now. We went to school together. She was two grades above me. In another life, she didn’t know me. In this one, she does. But I don’t know her. Funny how things change. I tell her the same back because it’s the polite thing to do.

She asks me what I’ve been up to. I tell her that I’m in California now and ask her the same, expecting a short answer... maybe a word or two,Same ole, same ole. But she goes on and on, dragging out the most pointless of things. She has two guinea pigs. She told me their names, but I already forgot. She’s in cosmetology school or was in it, I don’t know. She recently took up some dance fitness class, Roomba or Zumba, or something like that. It’s always the least interesting people that have the most to say, like their existence would cease if they didn’t speak of it. I know I sound cruel. But how else do you survive a place like this and manage to get out? A place no one knows about unless you tell them. You get perspective. A townie whistles at the end of the bar for another drink, putting an end to this fruitless conversation. I should buy him a drink as a thank you.

“First round’s on me,” Beth says, holding her glass up.

I clink mine against hers and nod. First born, first round. Makes sense. But as the last, the youngest, I know what that means. I’ll clean up the mess.

“I’ll get the next,” Nicole says, and I know I’ll actually be paying for her round, but I don’t mind. Even though she’s my older sister, it hasn’t felt that way in a long time. Age doesn’t always mean maturity. Sometimes it just means they’ve spent more time on earth, and the only things to show for it are diminished bones and skin etched with deep ridges. Not wisdom. Not value, just time. Nicole pulls out her phone and buries her head into it, purposefully turning her body away from us. Whatever she’s doing, she doesn’t want us to see it.

“So, what do you think?” Beth gestures to the bar.

“It’s how I remembered.” It’s a truth... just not a whole one, and I’ve learned that’s where life exists, in between the wholes and the halves.

“I actually haven’t been to the Boar’s Nest in years,” she says, scanning the bar.

I’m not sure why she tells me that. Maybe it’s her way of separating herself from the other locals. She sips her beer while a beat of silence passes between us.

“Did you ever think you’d end up back here?” she asks. I can tell it’s not the question she wants to ask. It’s just the one she starts with.

I nod because I knew I would. There are only two types of roads in Allen’s Grove: ones that lead out and dead ends.

“Never wanted to, but here I am,” I add.

Beth slightly frowns into her glass.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it. My intention is never to hurt her. But I already have, just by being here, a reminder of what could have been. It’s one of the reasons I didn’t want to come back. No one wants to be someone else’s monster.

Beth’s frown becomes a straight line, and she nods. She’s not saying she forgives me. She’s saying she’ll let it go... for now.

“Cheers,” Nicole says, rejoining the conversation. Her cell phone is stowed away again. She clinks a vodka soda against our beers. We all toast, strained smiles from me and Beth. It’s the polite way to treat an addict.Thank you for being here with us... still.

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