Page 63 of Everything We Give

Inside their room, he could hear his dad cautiously asking his mom questions. She cried, choking on words that didn’t make sense to Ian. Words likebounty hunterandpayment. He knew what a bounty hunter was. He and Marshall had watched the movieUnforgivenabout a bounty hunter in the Old West. They carried guns and hunted down robbers and murderers.

Who did Jackie want to find?

“Stop hiding your wallet,” Ian’s dad pleaded.

“No.” His mom hiccupped. “I’ll drain the accounts ... max the cards ... ruin us.”

“Then we’ll leave out the money. We’ll make it easy to find.”

“No.” She cried out the objection. “You work enough hours because of me. I need you home. Ian ... Ian needs you more than me. He feels responsible for me. I hate that he thinks he has to take care of me. We’re not being fair to him. You’re not being fair to us.”

Ian peeked around the doorjamb. His mom sat on the bed, her legs folded underneath her skirt, head bowed. His dad faced her, one leg bent, the other on the floor as he leaned toward her. Their bodies silhouetted against the bright window behind them, the space between them the outline of a heart. His mom was breaking his.

Sarah showed Stu the pictures Ian had taken. She’d removed them from the darkroom in the basement before Ian could hide them. He’d kept his word with his dad not to tell his mom anything about what had happened at the motel. His dad worried how she would react should she learn what Jackie had done in the motel room. Ian suspected his mom already knew. Her clothes had been askew and her makeup smeared. She had a different scent on her, musk and sweat. His stomach had coiled whenever he smelled it. He would have kept the car window rolled down as they drove home had his mom not complained of being cold. She couldn’t stop shivering.

They’d left immediately after Ian got off the phone with his dad. Ian’s mom drove several miles until she had to pull over, she was shaking that bad. She washed her face in the dirty bathroom of an old gas station while Ian purchased Skittles and Milky Ways with the change he found between the car seats and in the ashtray. His mom ate half her Milky Way, murmured her thanks, and whispered the words, “I wish you hadn’t come.” She could barely look at him. They both cried.

They drove the rest of the way home in silence. When they reached the town limits, the car idling at a stop sign, his mom looked over at him in the front passenger seat. “You’re a good son, Ian. I hope you grow up to be a good man.”

Ian nodded and looked away. He discreetly wiped his eyes. Good men didn’t cry. They were strong. But Ian wasn’t feeling very strong at the moment. He didn’t have the strength or nerve to tell her thanks. Because she wouldn’t stop chanting,He’ll be a good man. He’ll be a goodman.She repeated it as though she had to convince herself. And it creeped him out.

Sarah handed the photos to Stu one at a time. As they studied the images, her complexion took on a greenish hue, reminding Ian of the murky pond on their property. She gave Stu the last picture, the one Ian guessed was the photo he’d taken right after she’d left the hotel room. His doe caught in the light. His mom burst into tears.

Stu put aside the photos on the floral quilt and tried to soothe her. When she’d quieted, he showed her a handful of folded notepapers. “I found these in your drawer.” He gestured at the vanity table. “Are you communicating with Jackie?”

Sarah shrank away.

“Has she written you back?”

She shook her head.

“Do you know what you want with a bounty hunter? Who are you looking for?”

“I can’t say.” A fresh wave of tears flowed. Her body quaked. She buried her face in her hands.

Stu reached for her. His hand hovered alongside her head, hesitant, before gently resting on her greasy hair. Sarah lowered her hands in her lap. Stu’s thumb drifted over her cheekbone and she flinched.

“Sarah,” he said in a tone one would use for an injured animal.

She turned her head away from his touch, tucking her chin into her shoulder.

“I love you. Let me help you.”

Ian couldn’t watch them anymore. His parents’ exchange gouged a hole in his chest. He pressed his back against the wall and stared at the ceiling, blinking back the burn.

His parents’ mattress creaked and the floorboards groaned. A drawer slid open, then closed. Booted footfalls approached the door, and whispered instructions reached him. Ian flew to his room, landing on his back on the bed. He opened a book, pretending to read when he heard his dad coming down the hallway.

Stu stopped in Ian’s doorway, his shirt wrinkled and untucked, face unshaven. The blazer he wore faded at the elbows. His aftershave smelled stale. He’d arrived home after midnight and hadn’t slept.

He raked a hand through his unkempt hair, a mannerism Ian had picked up from him.

“I’m taking your mother to the hospital.”

Ian sat up, dropped his feet to the floor. “Will she be all right?”

“I’m not sure. I hope so.”

“When’s she gonna get better?” Ian so wanted her to be normal like Marshall’s mom. He had to believe she wouldn’t be like this for the rest of his life. He grew weary and timid from wondering who he’d come home to after school or from hanging with his friends. He hated feeling that way.

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