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To achieve this, terrible crimes were done and nightmarish horrors were created.
I close my eyes and see the monsters in their vats.
I blink them away, focusing my gaze on the stack of my dad’s paintings piled haphazardly against the wall.
They’re good, some of them, really good. Still lifes, landscapes, a few hastily sketched faces. Charcoal, mostly. Some watercolor. There’s one of me as a baby, with chubby cheeks and a single tooth.
My hand freezes on the last canvas. It’s my mother. The oil pastel my dad attempted, then abandoned.
It’s been worked and reworked. I can fe
el him struggling with the gaze, the smile.
Smiling has never been my mother’s strong suit.
Still, there’s a soft vulnerability to the eyes. A gentle sweetness to the mouth. This drawing was done by someone who loved my mother deeply. Without reservation.
I think back to the endless fights and icy silences. Is it possible, beneath all that high-octane drama, that they really loved each other? Did he see something in her that I can’t see?
I take my own sketch out of my jeans pocket. It’s smeared at the folds. I compare it to the portrait of my mother, studying the strokes and smudges, moving an imaginary pencil over my drawing.
“Whatcha doing?”
Aislin joins me. She’s still a mess, but beautiful in her tough-but-not-really way. She squeezes herself against the cold and lays her head on my shoulder.
“Let’s go outside,” I suggest in a whisper. “Don’t want to wake Solo.”
She grins. “Are you sure?”
The breeze is brisk and smells of fish. I look down at the water. There’s a sea lion gazing back up at us hopefully. No doubt it expects breakfast. I’m not sure the sea lions in the bay ever actually fish anymore. I think they just wait for bits of burger and chalupa ends.
“I got nothing,” I say. I display my empty hands. The sea lion dives smoothly and disappears.
“You should sleep,” I tell Aislin.
“Mmm. Should. I don’t really do ‘should’ all that well.”
I smile. “I’ve noticed.”
“You do ‘should.’”
“Do I?” It’s a genuine question. I’m not sure I know the answer.
“That was some scary stuff. On the computer,” Aislin says. She sounds tentative. She’s feeling me out.
“Yeah. Stuff from a horror movie.”
“What are you going to do?”
I heave a big sigh. “I don’t know yet. According to you I do the right thing. But what’s the right thing?”
She laughs. “Really? You’re asking me?”
I look at her. “You know, Aislin, I don’t always agree with what you do. But you are a good person. All the way, deep down, you’re a good person.”
She squeezes my hand, but she doesn’t believe me.
“Tell me, Aislin. What do I do?”
