Ajar by Marianna Boncek

is
where my dad decided there was nothing left to live for: not me, or
Danny or his wife. I curled my hand on the railing. It would be so
easy. It would be so easy to just pull myself up and over. The cool
water would take all of this away. But, unlike my father, I had
something to live for. I left the bridge and got into the car.
     

 
    Chapter
Nineteen
     
    My mom and I moved back into our 35 Mill
Street home. It had the same number but it was definitely not the
same house. I knew I needed to get my mom settled before Lindy and
I firmed up our plans about leaving town. The whole house smelled
like new paint. The insurance had provided for basic furniture, so
we had beds in the bedrooms, a couch in the living room and a table
in the dining room but not much else. There was nothing that seemed
like it actually belonged to us. All our pictures were gone; there
was nothing to hang on the walls. My mother’s china cabinet, filled
with the mementoes of our lives, was ashes now. My aunt had come
over to help us unpack but not my uncle. We really didn’t have much
to unpack. We had lost everything in the fire, but Aunt May had
given us some things. Since they were moving, she was able to give
my mother some things she no longer needed: pots, pans, sheets,
things we’d need. My aunt May did all the unpacking. My mother sat
at the new dining room window staring at the back yard that was
just dirt from the construction.
    “I’m really sorry about all of this,” Aunt
May said. But it did not convince my mother to speak.
    “He’s right you know,” Aunt May went on.
“You really should sell this place and move on. The house is new;
you could get a good price. The real estate agent said it is a good
time to sell.”
    “Where could I go?” My mother’s neck snapped
back and she looked at May, “Where do you suggest I go? I’m going
to be fifty years old next year, May. Who is going to hire me?”
    “You would get money for the house. You
wouldn’t have to work.”
    “Really? And who exactly is going to buy the
house where the Sawyer Shooter lived?”
    May looked away. My mother went back to
staring out the window.
    “I think we should sell it, Mom,” I finally
said. “I don’t want to live here anymore.”
    She looked at me. Her eyes were cold and
distant.
    “You, too.” was all she said. “You,
too.”
    She got up slowly, went to her bedroom down
the hall and closed the door.
    * * * *
    A “For Sale” sign went up in front of my
aunt and uncle’s house. Lindy’s mother called Mrs. O’Reilly but
somehow the communication had got mixed up, most likely on Mrs.
O’Reilly’s end, and we still met at the library with, or without,
Mrs. O’Reilly. Lindy and I started to plan our escape. If Lindy had
it her way, we just would have up and split. But I knew we’d need
some money. I applied to twenty-two places in Sawyer for a job and
not one called me back. My mom put an ad in the paper for
alterations but no one called her either. She spent most of her
days in front of the TV with her coffee cup of vodka.
    I felt nervous and guilty when I thought
about leaving my mother alone. What would become of her? But what
would become of me? I didn’t think I could stay in Sawyer any
longer. There was nothing left. But did I owe my mother something?
If she refused to leave, did I have an obligation to stay?
    Lindy grew paler as winter approached. There
seemed to be a change in her, too. She seemed desperate to get out
of town. I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to get any
paler. She took on a bluish cast in her lips, the tips of her
fingers. Her lips got thinner and stretched across her face. Her
eyes became dark hollow holes in her face. When I told her I didn’t
know if I could leave my mom in the shape she was, Lindy looked at
me, pale and hollow-faced and said, “We have to go. I can’t stay
here anymore. Really.” Then she added, “Gus, if you won’t go with
me, I am going to go by myself.”
    “Lindy,