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I don’t bother opening any of the envelopes. What does it matter if the electricity or water is cut off? After paying for the funerals, I don’t have the money to keep them on. Plus, it would be pointless to even worry about it. I have no doubt the house payments are just as behind.
A pain I don’t anticipate wedges its way past the anger I’m feeling, but I don’t know if it’s my brain’s way of trying to make sense of it all.
It’s clear Carlen and Janet were in some form of trouble, but what would be the cause? More importantly, why would either of them let the hole get so deep they couldn’t dig their way out without asking for help?
Could the money I used for today’s services been enough to get their heads back above water? Are the police suspicions right about the possible reasons they were in that horrible part of town?
My head swims with so many questions, and I know a frighteningly large number of them won’t ever be answered. Sudden death is messed up like that, causing more confusion than it should.
I force my eyes away from the mail I’m holding, knowing the tremble in my hands would make it nearly impossible to drive safely. I have too many responsibilities to put myself in danger. The kids need me more now than they ever did before.
My gaze lands on the small window above the garage, and I hate that in a moment like this, my mind chooses to think ofhim.
He’s been a nonissue for the last three years. In fact, I’ve spent time refusing to let memories of him infiltrate my life. Seeing him today was another slap in the face. Where has he been this last year? Did he know of the trouble they were in? Did he try to help?
I know Carlen has always been a very stubborn man, but despite the evidence I have, I’d like to think he’d reach out to someone for help before he did something that would compromise the lives of his family.
Mom called Vincent, Roger earlier, so I went with that, praying he’d think I didn’t recognize him or that the night we spent together didn’t matter. He can’t know that night changed everything for me. Having that information would give him too much power, and I’ve spent too much of the last three years trying to get my life under control.
I can’t deny how good he looked. He didn’t have the same shadows in his eyes he had three years ago despite the grief in them being visible. Maybe it means he’s no longer in the military. He argued that the Marine Corps was the best decision he ever made for the trajectory he wanted in his life, but I saw even years ago how much it was costing him. His smile was different three years ago from the one I remembered when I had such a huge crush on him when I was in junior high, catching glimpses of him when he and Carlen would come to the house to see Janet.
I could’ve easily leaned on him today, but pride wouldn’t allow it. He wouldn’t have rejected me. He was always a kind man as far as I can remember.
With a huff, I sling the pile of unpaid bills into the passenger seat and climb out of my car. I’m too raw to let my mind wander to him. His comfort isn’t something I need to long for. Him even being in St. Louis is dangerous for me. With any luck, he’ll have already left town and I’ll never have to see him again.
I pace the width of the driveway, wondering how I thought even for a minute that I could come here and start clearing out the house.
The yip of a small dog draws my attention toward the sidewalk, but before I can disappear around the corner of the house, an older woman, someone I recognize as a neighbor, is making her way toward me.
I plaster on the same smile I did my best to attempt earlier in the day, but it still feels just as awkward as it did then.
“Hi there,” she says, her voice chipper and welcoming.
She has less control of the dog at the end of her leash than she should have because the damn thing is sniffing around my feet.
“Will you be having a garage sale?”
I stare at her in disbelief.
“Excuse me?” I ask, because surely I hadn’t heard her correctly.
“A garage sale. Janice has that lovely Christmas tree in her window every year. Well, not this past year, but every one prior since she moved in, and I was hoping to snag it if she still had it.”
“Janet.”
“I’m sorry, dear?”
“Her name was fucking Janet,” I seethe.
This woman has the audacity to press her hand flat against her throat as if I’ve offended her.
“You’re not getting her fucking Christmas tree.” The words are a growl from my lips. I think this is the first time I’ve considered violence against an elderly person.
Without a word, she huffs and tugs on the dog’s leash, looking over her shoulder back at me as if she’s appalled, before making her way back down the sidewalk.
The anger I was trying to walk off multiplies, and if it weren’t for my responsibilities, I’d burn the world down right where I stand.
Unable to go inside, but not wanting to run into another vulture neighbor, I make my way around the side of the house, only pausing for a second at the bottom of the stairs before climbing them. I wish I could say that I haven’t been back up to this little above-garage apartment that Carlen thought he could make money off of renting it out. Maybe that was a hint that they were in trouble then and I wasn’t mature enough to understand.
