shiny four-door beside Mom’s dinged-up van, and drifting on the breeze, the hungry smell of barbecue grills firing up the last of summer’s feast.
I took the long way home, feeling Jenny’s hands wrapped around my middle, her helmet pressed hard between my shoulder blades. It’s too noisy to talk while riding. The kid’s head barely clears my elbows.
“Hang on,” I shouted, as we leaned into the last turn. “Hang on tight.”
What else was there to say?
6:19:42 p.m.
Jenny followed her aunt into the house and went to hang up her jacket. She noticed what was wrong right away. It made her feel creepy. “Aunt Maddy?”
Her aunt popped her head around the kitchen door. She’d gone straight in there to pull something from the freezer for dinner.
“The door’s open.”
“Yeah? I unlocked it.”
“No. Mommy’s door.” Jenny tried to say it loudly but her throat was too tight. “Mom’s door is open.”
“Lasagne or chicken?” Holding two boxes of Lean Cuisine, her aunt walked into the hall. She saw Jenny staring.
The door at the end of the hall, the one that led to her mother’s bedroom, was standing wide open.
“That’s weird,” Aunt Maddy said. “Did you go in there?”
Jenny shook her head no. “Did you?”
“No,” Aunt Maddy said.
They both stared at the open door. Her aunt frowned.
“It must have blown open or something. I left a window cracked in my room today. That’s probably it. Pull it shut for me when you go down there, would you?” Her aunt went back to the kitchen.
Jenny walked down the hall toward the room. She stopped in the doorway. Her heart was beating fast. She looked around. Empty. The room looked…ordinary in the daylight. Not the way it did at night. She took hold of the door knob, feeling calmer.
As she turned her head, she noticed it. The drawer was open.
Her mother’s picture drawer in the bedside table was hanging open. Empty. All the pictures were gone.
“What’s wrong?” Aunt Maddy asked. Like magic, her aunt was suddenly standing right behind her.
Jenny felt her body fly out in all directions at once.
“Whoa.” Aunt Maddy touched her shoulder. “Easy, kiddo. I didn’t mean to scare you. What’s up?”
Guilt stuck in Jenny’s throat. Where did the pictures go? If she told her aunt about the pictures, she’d have to tell her about being in the room. She didn’t want to talk about that.
“You haven’t been messing around in here, have you?”
“No. Not me,” Jenny answered.
She wasn’t lying. It was more like a wish.
(DR. GRAHAM ON SCREEN): “Tom Jost’s suicide might not be so surprising considering the statistics. There are patterns of inherited depression among Amish. There are patterns of depression in emergency service workers as well.”
SATURDAY
9:55:00 a.m.
“She’s here!” Jenny called.
I heard the door open and my friend, Tonya Brown, made her usual entrance.
“Mmm, mmm. That’s what I needed this morning. How does someone so tiny give such good hugging? Your auntie awake yet?”
“She’s awake. Did you bring polish?”
“I did.”
Their feet clomped above me, then echoed on the wooden steps down into the basement.
“Hey,” I called from the treadmill.
Tonya marched over and clicked off the CNN. “Non-business hours, honey. It’s music time.” She popped a best of En Vogue CD into the player and winked at Jenny.
The first time Tonya Brown made the trip out to my little ranch was the day after my sister’s funeral. She’d brought her gym bag and my entire free weight set, scavenged from my north side apartment. The suspension on her drag-ass POS car would never be the same.
God, was I glad to see her.
Every Saturday morning since, she’d come to work out and hang out with Jenny and me. Jenny liked her, too. A lot.
Tonya was an ER nurse at County Hospital when I first met her. I’d been hired to develop a story on inner-city emergency-room medicine. It wasn’t that far from my usual material.
I took the long way home, feeling Jenny’s hands wrapped around my middle, her helmet pressed hard between my shoulder blades. It’s too noisy to talk while riding. The kid’s head barely clears my elbows.
“Hang on,” I shouted, as we leaned into the last turn. “Hang on tight.”
What else was there to say?
6:19:42 p.m.
Jenny followed her aunt into the house and went to hang up her jacket. She noticed what was wrong right away. It made her feel creepy. “Aunt Maddy?”
Her aunt popped her head around the kitchen door. She’d gone straight in there to pull something from the freezer for dinner.
“The door’s open.”
“Yeah? I unlocked it.”
“No. Mommy’s door.” Jenny tried to say it loudly but her throat was too tight. “Mom’s door is open.”
“Lasagne or chicken?” Holding two boxes of Lean Cuisine, her aunt walked into the hall. She saw Jenny staring.
The door at the end of the hall, the one that led to her mother’s bedroom, was standing wide open.
“That’s weird,” Aunt Maddy said. “Did you go in there?”
Jenny shook her head no. “Did you?”
“No,” Aunt Maddy said.
They both stared at the open door. Her aunt frowned.
“It must have blown open or something. I left a window cracked in my room today. That’s probably it. Pull it shut for me when you go down there, would you?” Her aunt went back to the kitchen.
Jenny walked down the hall toward the room. She stopped in the doorway. Her heart was beating fast. She looked around. Empty. The room looked…ordinary in the daylight. Not the way it did at night. She took hold of the door knob, feeling calmer.
As she turned her head, she noticed it. The drawer was open.
Her mother’s picture drawer in the bedside table was hanging open. Empty. All the pictures were gone.
“What’s wrong?” Aunt Maddy asked. Like magic, her aunt was suddenly standing right behind her.
Jenny felt her body fly out in all directions at once.
“Whoa.” Aunt Maddy touched her shoulder. “Easy, kiddo. I didn’t mean to scare you. What’s up?”
Guilt stuck in Jenny’s throat. Where did the pictures go? If she told her aunt about the pictures, she’d have to tell her about being in the room. She didn’t want to talk about that.
“You haven’t been messing around in here, have you?”
“No. Not me,” Jenny answered.
She wasn’t lying. It was more like a wish.
(DR. GRAHAM ON SCREEN): “Tom Jost’s suicide might not be so surprising considering the statistics. There are patterns of inherited depression among Amish. There are patterns of depression in emergency service workers as well.”
SATURDAY
9:55:00 a.m.
“She’s here!” Jenny called.
I heard the door open and my friend, Tonya Brown, made her usual entrance.
“Mmm, mmm. That’s what I needed this morning. How does someone so tiny give such good hugging? Your auntie awake yet?”
“She’s awake. Did you bring polish?”
“I did.”
Their feet clomped above me, then echoed on the wooden steps down into the basement.
“Hey,” I called from the treadmill.
Tonya marched over and clicked off the CNN. “Non-business hours, honey. It’s music time.” She popped a best of En Vogue CD into the player and winked at Jenny.
The first time Tonya Brown made the trip out to my little ranch was the day after my sister’s funeral. She’d brought her gym bag and my entire free weight set, scavenged from my north side apartment. The suspension on her drag-ass POS car would never be the same.
God, was I glad to see her.
Every Saturday morning since, she’d come to work out and hang out with Jenny and me. Jenny liked her, too. A lot.
Tonya was an ER nurse at County Hospital when I first met her. I’d been hired to develop a story on inner-city emergency-room medicine. It wasn’t that far from my usual material.
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