I feel it, the cold air entering and leaving me, but I can’t hear it—can’t hear my heart or my pulse or my breath. I can hear only the radio, which is getting louder, because I am somehow crossing the kitchen, passing the vegetables and the ramen and the picture of me, and then I am crossing through another room, this one empty except for a turned-off television and a ratty old couch and a pile of blankets in the corner—three sleeping bags, three pillows—and then I am through that room and into another, where I come to a halt.
Through the far window of this room: the front fender of the truck. And right in front of that window, another table, which is holding the radio, and in front of the radio, sitting on a plastic folding seat, is a man. By his feet is a pile of vegetables overflowing out of an old plastic milk crate. Potatoes, carrots, celery, beets. The kind Mary chops and dices and then drops into soup. There are grocery store stickers all over them.
Doctor,I think distantly.You came here for a doctor.
It’s the neighbor. The shorter one. He’s facing away from me, whistling softly. A tune I recognize.Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world …
It takes me a moment to process what he’s doing: pulling vegetables from one crate, pulling the grocery store stickers off, then dropping them into another crate.
Speak.
An impossible feat; like trying to whistle while skydiving. “Help,” is what I finally manage.
The neighbor freezes.
In the name of the Father, the Son, and the HolyGhost—
The neighbor looks over his shoulder. His eyes are wide. “Mama,” he blurts.
I take one step back, then another. “Doctor,” I whisper.
“Mama,” he says again. His face is contorted into ecstasy, or perhaps torture.
He stands up, the chair tipping back behind him, and I scream. Instinct takes over: as he lumbers toward me, I turn and run. Through the room with the television and then the kitchen and out the door, across the clearing and into the woods. This time, I don’t fall.
56
Mother’s little helper.
Mother’slittle—
Help her.
Help.
Mother, please help her.
Well. Heaven knows I tried long enough to be my mother’s type of Christian woman. I worked myself to the bone, and where did that get me? Fucked. Alone in my bedroom, practically punch-drunk from reading so many slurs and curse words and death threats in such rapid succession.
Maybe it was time, finally, to try the other route.
The bottle of pills was eight years old. I’d found it on my bureau at the Mills estate the day after Amelia caught me in the hallway that day.That’s what family is for!There was no label on the bottle, no name; just a scribbled black-Sharpie message on the plastic:take one every 12 hours.
But surely the medication had expired. I tapped three white pills onto my palm and swallowed them dry. Then I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, back, back until it thudded gently against the bathroom wall. While I waited, I thought about Clementine and how I should punish her for what she had done. I could ground her, or slap her, or lock her in her room. Or I could do nothing, absolutely nothing, I could forgive without an apology and be so kind to her that she would begin to feel unbearably guilty for what she had done. Yes. That option sounded nice.
Time passed. At some point, there was a knock on the bathroom door. I opened my eyes to see Caleb’s head popped around the corner. “Can I come in?”
I nodded. As soon as I moved my head, I felt them. The pills. I watched, speechless, as Caleb floated over to me and sat down, close enough that our knees were almost touching. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yes,” I said, after several moments of trying. It felt effortful, but good, to speak.
“Is—isthatwhy you hate having sex so much? Because you’re a queer, or whatever?”
I smiled. Funny man. “You’re the one who never wants to have sex.”
Caleb gave me a not-unfriendly look. “Come on, Natalie. Be honest. You want to have sex with me like you want to unload the dishwasher.”
“Well.” I chuckled and leaned my head back against the wall, keeping my eyes on him. “Maybe if you could get hard like a normal person, I’d enjoy it a little bit more.”
