Page 36 of Not Quite Dead Yet

‘– Go on,’ Mom cut him off, pointing to the catalogs. ‘Make a decision, Jet. That’s what you care about, your choices? So make another choice. Go on. What’s it going to be? Burial or cremation? Pick one.’

‘Mom, there is something really fucking wrong with you.’ Jet shoved the brochures away, a plate sliding off the table, shattering on the floor.

Cameron started to cry.

‘This is what you’re doing to me!’ Mom screamed, hysterical now, tears merging with lines of snot. ‘Why won’t you listen? I can’t lose you – I can’t bury another child, Jet. I won’t do it. It’s not fair.’

‘Not fair?’ Jet asked, incredulous. ‘I’m twenty-seven. I’m the one who has to die before I’ve even had a chance to live.’

‘So don’t!’ Mom pleaded. ‘Don’t die, Jet, please! I know you think I’m being the bad guy, and I don’t care – if it saves your life then I’ll do anything! Please, Jet, don’t do this!’

‘It’s already done, Mom!’

‘I can’t do this.’ Mom’s face folded, came undone, hand pressed over her mouth to hold it together. She hurried out of the room, blindly, bawling into her hands, crying so hard she couldn’t breathe, coughing around them. Up the stairs, a thunder that shook the whole house.

Dad sighed, got to his feet. ‘Now you’ve upset your mother,’ he said, eyes downcast.

‘Hold on.’ Jet rounded on him. ‘I’veupsether? Unbelievable. She put a fucking catalog of coffins in front of me, Dad. For fuck’s sake! For once, I wish you would just pick a fucking side, the right side.’

‘Luke, let’s go,’ Sophia whispered, picking Cameron out of his high chair.

‘No, no, no,’ Jet said. ‘You stay, enjoy yournicefamily breakfast. I’ll go. I’m going.’ She sniffed, wiped her nose on her sleeve. ‘I’m leaving. Can’t live here anymore.’

‘Jet, don’t say that.’ Dad stepped toward her, arms open. Eyes kind, but hiskindwasn’t good enough now.

‘I mean it, I’m not doing it. I have six days until I die, and I’m not doing that here, like this. I’m going!’

Jet was out of the room before any of them could call her back, not that calling would have made a difference. Her mind was made up. She had something important to do, the last thing she would ever do, and she couldn’t do it in this house. It was hard enough.

In her room, she grabbed two backpacks and headed to the drawers. Hey, at least she didn’t have to take too many clothes, right? Like packing for a week’s vacation. Less than. She grabbed a handful of underwear, a couple bras. A few T-shirts. Sweatpants and jeans, stuffed them in. Into the bathroom to grab her hairbrush, her toothbrush. Her makeup bag – would she even need that? Did the walking dead need concealer? Left the white bottle of Lotrel, the pills she took every day for high blood pressure, for her kidneys, because what was the fucking point now? Didn’t need them anymore.

Grabbed her notebook from the bed, and the pen she’d stolen from Jack Finney, put them in the second backpack, along with her MacBook. She went to the socket to pull out the – the – the – what’s that fucking word, the white wire thing that gave it more battery. Never mind. She grabbed it, unplugged it, shoved it in the top of the bag. Hoisted both up onto her shoulders, still wearing her pajamas.

Downstairs, she slipped on her shoes and her jacket.

‘Bye, Reggie. Love you.’ She bent to kiss the top of the dog’s head. Not even her dog, really. Her parents’ empty-nest dog, when Jet left for college. But he was her dog now, and they all knew it. Reggie most of all.

‘Jet.’ Dad came around the corner. ‘You’re not really going.’

‘Iamreally going.’

‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Your mom wouldn’t want this.’

‘It’s not always about what she wants, Dad. I have to go. I’m going.’

He reached for her backpack, held on to one strap. ‘But, Jet, you can’t … you’re not –’

‘– Not what, Dad? Responsible? I can do this on my own. I can.’

Just then, the mail slot crashed open, a handful of letters scattering to theWelcomemat. Footsteps on the drive, doubling, the mailman hurrying away from the yelling inside.

Reggie rushed toward the mail, but Jet beat him to it.

‘Look, see, Dad,’ Jet sniffed, hysterical too now, in her quieter, flippant way. ‘Here I am picking up my mail. Ah, see, two letters forMargaret Mason.Picking up my mail like a responsible fucking adult.’ She stuffed the letters in the open backpack, ripping it away from Dad’s hands. ‘Might even be able to wipe my own ass soon.’

Cameron wailed, Luke and Sophia coming to stand in the hall.

‘Don’t worry, you’ll get there too, bud.’

---