Page 9 of Everything We Give

I pick up the keys. “I know,” I snap, pressing hard on the fob. The car unlocks, the sound echoing in the cavernous garage, and I jerk open her door. She sinks into her seat with a wary glance in my direction. Mustering some calm, I close her door.

CHAPTER 3

IAN, AGE NINE

Ian watched the bus disappear over the rise of the road before facing the dusty white farmhouse he called home. Parked off to the side was his mom’s silver Pontiac station wagon.

He blew out a steady breath, inflated cheeks shrinking like depleted tires. She was home. At least, he hoped it was his mom, Sarah, and not her other, Jackie.

For as long as Ian could remember, his mother had erratic mood swings. She’d forget what she was doing from one day to the next, sometimes from one moment to the next. And Ian would have to remind her. He’d walk her through her tasks as his mom stared at him, childlike, wide-eyed, and bewildered.

It wasn’t until a year ago that his dad had tried to explain to him his mom’s bizarre, and at times volatile, behavior. She’d gone missing for two days only to return home with her clothing torn and dirt-stained, her cheek slit open and eye blackened. His mom had no recollection of the previous forty-eight hours. She wanted to sink into a hot bath and go to bed, but Ian’s dad insisted on taking her to the hospital. Three days later she was discharged with stitches in her cheek and a diagnosis for her mind. Dissociative identity disorder.

Ian didn’t really understand what that meant or why she had it. His dad wouldn’t tell him. But he did learn other people lived inside his mom. That’s how his dad initially described his mom’s condition to him. The doctor knew of one, Jackie. He warned there might be others. Ian hadn’t noticed yet if there were, but he and his dad were all too aware of Jackie. Jackie had been making appearances since before Ian was born.

The doctor referred his mom to a psychiatrist and prescribed her antidepressants and mood stabilizers, which Ian had overheard her telling his dad she didn’t want to take. She didn’t like being controlled, and that’s what the pills would do. As for following up with a doctor, Ian rarely saw her go and his dad wasn’t around enough to make her go. Ian hadn’t seen any appointments scheduled on her daily planner either.

A fly landed on Ian’s elbow. He shook his arm and scratched at his skin where the bug had made him itch. He opened the mailbox and retrieved bills stampedOVERDUEand embroidery catalogs. He stuffed them in his backpack and slowly walked up the driveway. Gravel crunched under his beat-up Vans. A breeze thick with the smell of fertilizer stirred around him, ruffling his mop of hair. Bangs spilled over his eyes. He pushed them aside and crossed his fingers on both hands.

Please be Mom. Please be Mom,he recited in his head with each step.

He had too much homework to worry about Jackie getting his mom into trouble again. Three months ago, Jackie had withdrawn the cash in his parents’ bank account, leaving no funds for the bills. That’s why they were behind in payments.

Ian stopped in the entryway, the front door slamming behind him, blown shut by the wind. His mom looked up from her embroidery machine in the dining room and smiled. Ian smiled back and the tightness in his shoulders eased under the heavy weight of his backpack. She was Sarah. Jackie’s smiles weren’t as nice.

The house smelled musty, the air stale and warm, making his nose twitch. He rubbed around his nostrils and looked at the windows in the room. All four were closed, the curtains drawn. Dirty dishes and half-empty cups, interspersed with teetering piles of team uniforms and Scout shirts, cluttered the table like a city skyline.

“How was your photo expedition?” Sarah asked.

It was great. Yesterday,Ian thought.

“OK,” he said out loud.

Ian had spent Sunday morning walking through the fields taking pictures of ants and magpies with a camera he found in his dad’s home office. It was much better than the one his dad gifted him on his fifth birthday. His mom hadn’t been home when Ian returned for lunch, and she still hadn’t arrived by dinner. Ian ate cold spaghetti left over from the previous night, watched an hour of Sunday-night football hoping to spot his dad on the sideline with the other sports photographers, then stayed up late waiting for his mom to come home. He finally drifted into a fitful sleep at three a.m., hiding under his blankets, after he heard the floorboards creak under his mom’s high heels. Though, it wasn’t really his mom. Sarah didn’t wear heels. Jackie did.

His mom glanced at the wall clock. It was 3:45 p.m. “You were gone a long time. Did you get some good pictures?”

“I think so,” he muttered. He hadn’t developed the film yet like his dad had taught him.

“Hungry? I made a ham sandwich. It’s in the fridge.”

Ian slipped off his backpack and let it drop to the floor. His mom’s gaze followed. Her smile fell.

He unzipped his pack and gave her the mail.

She hesitated before taking the stack, then stared intently at the sealed envelopes in her hand. “What day is it?” she asked in a voice just above a whisper.

“Monday.”

Her shoulders dipped. Her gaze swung over the pile of cheerleading uniforms beside her. She embroidered decals for local sport teams and Scout troops. She’d once told Ian the money she made paid for his clothes and sports equipment so he wouldn’t have to shop at the secondhand store.

“These are due in an hour. I’m not going to finish on time. I thought it was Sunday.” She glanced through the mail in her lap. After the fourth bill, she tossed the lot onto the table, turning her face away as though disgusted by the envelopes’ contents. Her head lowered, and long light-brown hair spilled over her shoulder like vertical blinds. For a few moments, she sat unmoving, her spine curved into the shape of a crescent moon.

“I’m sorry, Ian.”

“It’s OK.” He looked down at his scuffed Vans. He should have woken her up before school and told her. But the fear he’d be waking Jackie rather than Sarah kept him from knocking on her door.

Ian shouldered his backpack. “I have homework. I’ll be in my room.”

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