Page 3 of Home Is Where the Bodies Are

“Where is he, Mom? Where’s Dad?” I cry, wishing she’d wake up to answer me just one more time.

The front door creaks open, sucking the stale air out of the house. I quickly cover Mom with a blanket, wipe my eyes, and get to my feet.

“Hello,” Michael calls out.

I haven’t heard his voice in years, seven to be exact, but it sounds the same—deep, with an air of confidence. I turn to find him standing in the living room entryway, dressed in khakis and a gray tee. He almost looks the same too. His dark hair is cut short and speckled with gray now. His shoulders are broader, as though he’s been hitting the gym regularly. His skin is tan because the sun shines a little longer and a little brighter in California. There’s a thin scar a few inches in length running down his right cheek, one I don’t recognize. It’s new, and he probably did something stupid to get it. Although Michael is nearly thirty-six, a few years younger than me, and towers over me, I still see him as my annoying little brother.

“Hi, Beth,” he says.

“Hi, Michael.”

Neither of us say anything for a moment. We just stand there, worlds apart, glancing at one another. He’s my family but he’s also a stranger. A familiar stranger, what an odd thing to be.

“Is Mom...?” He swallows hard, unable to finish his question but I know what he’s asking. He looks over my shoulder, trying to get a glimpse, but she’s hidden under the covers and out of sight.

I nod. “Yeah.”

He rubs his brow and sharply exhales. “How long?”

“Not long.” My answer is vague because I’ve lost all sense of time.

Michael shakes his head and glances down at his loafers. “The damn plane sat on the tarmac for a half hour after we landed. I might have made it in time.”

I’m not sure if he’s looking for comfort, but I don’t have any to give so I say nothing. Just like Dad, he chose to stay away.

He lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine. “Did she say anything before she passed?”

I chew on my bottom lip and consider telling him Mom’s final words. But that message was for me, not him. And I’m not sure what it even means... at least not yet.

“No, she couldn’t really speak,” I say.

He folds in his lips and nods, squinting as though he doesn’t believe me. I don’t blame him. I’m not the best liar, and he’s not the most trusting person.

“Where’s Nicole?”

I shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Is she using again?”

“She never stopped.”

He shakes his head. “Geez, so much wasted potential.”

I’m sure he’s talking about me too. We all had things going for us at one point, like locomotives on a set of tracks with no end in sight. But my train stopped, Nicole’s train derailed, and Michael’s... well, his went full steam ahead. And I can’t help but resent him for it. I’ve felt indifferent toward him for years. It was easy to feel that way when he was gone, but now that he’s here, I feel otherwise. There’s a rage festering inside of me, and I’m sure it’s been there all along—simmering, waiting to boil over.

“When was the last time you talked to her?” I ask.

He rubs his chin as though he’s pondering his answer. “I sent her a text on her birthday.”

“A whole text?”

Michael furrows his brow. He’s not used to being called out. And maybe this isn’t the right time for it, but I don’t care. This whole house could collapse into itself and get swallowed up by the earth, and I don’t think I would even scream.

“I deserve that,” he says with a nod.

His response disappoints me. I wanted a fight, someone to blame, someone to be mad at. But little brother has outmatured me. I guess you can only grow so much when you’re stuck in the same place—like a house plant that’s never been repotted.

I shuffle my feet, glancing down at the scratched and worn hardwood floor. I should apologize, but I’m not sorry.

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