of all of it for her, and—”
Mike shook his head. He snapped back into action, flipping through pages in his folder. “She’s not even in Janesville now, I don’t think. Anyways … look, do you want to do this or not?”
Not. “All right. Yes, go on.”
“Well, I guess the next one is … yeah. Here, you just have to sign a few places.”
Consent for notification, Killed in Action. Ellen breathed out. “Where do I … okay, I see.” She initialed several places to confirm her name and address. Don’t you dare be funny, she told him in her head. The red service flag lay curled on the table between them, drawing her uneasy attention like a live thing.
“One more. Last one.” Mike pushed a form toward her and went back to eating meat loaf. It was a life insurance policy he’d taken out, with Ellen named sole beneficiary.
“Michael, no.” There was also a federal payment in case of death or injury attached to the forms. Someone had helpfully attached tiny yellow Post-its at all the “signature” spaces.
“Why not? Someone should get something if I buy the farm—”
“Don’t—”
“—And we get a death gratuity too, so make sure none of this gets wasted on funeral exp—”
“Stop it.”
“Plus, you know, it’s probably like the only way I could ever pay you back for all the—”
“Fuck you.” The shock of what Ellen had just said propelled her out of her chair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean you—but— fuck this, honestly, fuck all of this—” Hands over her mouth, she went in useless circles around the kitchen. Mike hovered nearby, saying something, he was trying to pat her back, but she was fighting hard for control as wave after wave of horror passed through her. After it had, she rested against the counter and studied Mike: worried, out of his element.
“Do you…” She sniffed hard, wiped her face with a tea towel. “Do you have food in your mouth?”
He tried an experimental chew, and then swallowed, giving the thumbs-up. “Caught me off guard with all those F-bombs. I thought I was going to have to—”
“Actually hug me?”
“Whatever. What ever, Ellen.” He pulled her into a big hug and they rocked there for a long time, by the stove.
* * *
One of the only breaks from composing Michael’s letters that Ellen allowed herself was a movie date with Jane. Of course Jane was late. From the movie theater lobby, Ellen tried her cell, but it didn’t even ring—“call failed”—which made her suspect Jane had stopped paying the bill again. It was a Thursday night at seven, and the Marcus cinemaplex was crowded; Ellen went around the concessions stand to double-check, but no Jane. Frustrated but not surprised, Ellen got into the long line for tickets. Even if she was stood up by her daughter, she was going to try to find a movie to enjoy. Not War of the Worlds, although apparently that’s what most people were here to see. Maybe she would try that remake of Bewitched.
But then Ellen heard Jane calling for her. Outside the rows of ticket buyers, Jane waved both hands, here I am. Ellen pointed up at the board of titles and showtimes: What do you want to see? Jane shrugged: You decide. Her daughter would scoff at Bewitched, she felt sure, so Ellen made a split-second decision at the cashier and came away with two tickets.
“ Batman Begins ?” She gave Jane a one-armed hug.
“I’ve seen it, but sure, whatever.”
Ellen stifled her response to this and instead they went to get popcorn and drinks. Jane claimed she wasn’t hungry; Ellen ignored her and paid for one of the specials that got you a giant bucket plus two sodas. She was going to have a good time, despite Jane’s attitude.
It was difficult to find seats in the dark, with strident commercials blaring. Ellen stumbled over someone and spilled a little popcorn; Jane reached her hand back to guide her mother. When Ellen did sink in relief into a seat Jane was staring up
Mike shook his head. He snapped back into action, flipping through pages in his folder. “She’s not even in Janesville now, I don’t think. Anyways … look, do you want to do this or not?”
Not. “All right. Yes, go on.”
“Well, I guess the next one is … yeah. Here, you just have to sign a few places.”
Consent for notification, Killed in Action. Ellen breathed out. “Where do I … okay, I see.” She initialed several places to confirm her name and address. Don’t you dare be funny, she told him in her head. The red service flag lay curled on the table between them, drawing her uneasy attention like a live thing.
“One more. Last one.” Mike pushed a form toward her and went back to eating meat loaf. It was a life insurance policy he’d taken out, with Ellen named sole beneficiary.
“Michael, no.” There was also a federal payment in case of death or injury attached to the forms. Someone had helpfully attached tiny yellow Post-its at all the “signature” spaces.
“Why not? Someone should get something if I buy the farm—”
“Don’t—”
“—And we get a death gratuity too, so make sure none of this gets wasted on funeral exp—”
“Stop it.”
“Plus, you know, it’s probably like the only way I could ever pay you back for all the—”
“Fuck you.” The shock of what Ellen had just said propelled her out of her chair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean you—but— fuck this, honestly, fuck all of this—” Hands over her mouth, she went in useless circles around the kitchen. Mike hovered nearby, saying something, he was trying to pat her back, but she was fighting hard for control as wave after wave of horror passed through her. After it had, she rested against the counter and studied Mike: worried, out of his element.
“Do you…” She sniffed hard, wiped her face with a tea towel. “Do you have food in your mouth?”
He tried an experimental chew, and then swallowed, giving the thumbs-up. “Caught me off guard with all those F-bombs. I thought I was going to have to—”
“Actually hug me?”
“Whatever. What ever, Ellen.” He pulled her into a big hug and they rocked there for a long time, by the stove.
* * *
One of the only breaks from composing Michael’s letters that Ellen allowed herself was a movie date with Jane. Of course Jane was late. From the movie theater lobby, Ellen tried her cell, but it didn’t even ring—“call failed”—which made her suspect Jane had stopped paying the bill again. It was a Thursday night at seven, and the Marcus cinemaplex was crowded; Ellen went around the concessions stand to double-check, but no Jane. Frustrated but not surprised, Ellen got into the long line for tickets. Even if she was stood up by her daughter, she was going to try to find a movie to enjoy. Not War of the Worlds, although apparently that’s what most people were here to see. Maybe she would try that remake of Bewitched.
But then Ellen heard Jane calling for her. Outside the rows of ticket buyers, Jane waved both hands, here I am. Ellen pointed up at the board of titles and showtimes: What do you want to see? Jane shrugged: You decide. Her daughter would scoff at Bewitched, she felt sure, so Ellen made a split-second decision at the cashier and came away with two tickets.
“ Batman Begins ?” She gave Jane a one-armed hug.
“I’ve seen it, but sure, whatever.”
Ellen stifled her response to this and instead they went to get popcorn and drinks. Jane claimed she wasn’t hungry; Ellen ignored her and paid for one of the specials that got you a giant bucket plus two sodas. She was going to have a good time, despite Jane’s attitude.
It was difficult to find seats in the dark, with strident commercials blaring. Ellen stumbled over someone and spilled a little popcorn; Jane reached her hand back to guide her mother. When Ellen did sink in relief into a seat Jane was staring up
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