9
Moist air seeped from under the door like the passing of a secret. One hand on the knob, Audra rapped twice before opening the door an inch. On the other side Jack sat soaking in her tub. He tended to stay in until he wrinkled into a prune.
“Time to fish you out, buddy. Ten more minutes, okay?”
“ ’Kay.”
The soft sounds of his splashing were a welcomed comfort. Peaceful and relaxing, they were the precise opposite of her day from the start. She should have known the refrigerator leak was a sign to stay tucked beneath the covers. just talk to Jack about it.
Tess’s suggestion from that morning had seemed simple enough. But then Audra would see the drawings, each tacked to the walls of her mind, and wondered what frightened her more: crafting the wrong questions or what his answers might be?
She continued down the hall in her faded sweats. Their two-bedroom apartment was located in West Linn, a tree-lined suburb of Portland. Aside from new roofing, the complex was showing its age, as evidenced by the creaking footsteps from neighbors upstairs. The tradeoff was a decent rent that preserved Audra’s savings.
Life insurance and wills had long been on her and Devon’s to-do list, but naively without urgency. Neither of them had planned for an undetected brain aneurysm to rupture while he jogged on a treadmil at the gym. The symptoms had been there, of course, as they often were with disasters. From extramarital affairs to climate change, red flags were obvious in hindsight. As a doctor, albeit for animals, Audra should have seen them waving sooner. The memory loss, the headaches. On his final morning, he’d even mentioned a strain in vision. Are you surprised? she’d teased, given his long night of analyzing marketing data, to which he had laughed.
There was so much they had both taken for granted.
Through the open window in Jack’s room came a cool evening breeze. A fleet of model planes swayed on strings pinned to the ceiling. An Avengers poster rustled over the desk.
As Audra gathered a trail of dirty clothes, a van zoomed by, too fast in a neighborhood with kids. She set the laundry on the foot of Jack’s bed and went over to shut the window. The vibrant sky gave her pause. Feathery strips of clouds floated in a sea of purple and pink.
Lured by the springtime hues, she let her eyelids fall. Suddenly she was on their old back deck, the air scented with fresh-cut grass. Devon had insisted on a weekend of camping, but in their own backyard. They made s’mores with a portable gas stove. Jack told ghost stories without including a single ghost, instead starring SpongeBob or ninja warriors. And at midnight, when lightning cracked and a downpour pummeled their tent, they voted two to one to “rough it” by sleeping in the house....
Audra broke from the memory. She shoved the window closed.
This was the reason they needed to move, whether to Boston or elsewhere. Downsizing to this apartment, thought to be a solution, had amounted to a bandage. Ten months here and still the surroundings formed a trap.
Turning, she noticed a stray sock peeking from under the bed skirt. She reached down and uncovered a book. Its sturdy tan covers were spiral bound with thick black wire. At the title, recognition set in: PIECES OF ME.
Jack’s kindergarten teacher had given him the scrapbook following Devon’s death. She suggested it might help, providing an outlet for Jack’s feelings. The non-lined pages could double as a journal. He could write, scribble, draw.
Audra’s thoughts again circled back to the pictures from school. Her son wasn’t disturbed. She knew this. Yet doubts had managed to slink into her mind. Flushing them out would be easier if only she could confirm the violent drawings were a fluke.
She knelt down on the woven rug. To encourage him to use the journal, she’d initially assured him that books like this were private, to be read by no one else. Her cracking it open would betray that understanding.
But then ... as his mother, wasn’t she obligated to look?
“Mom?”
She dropped the book onto her lap and raised her head to see him over the bed. Jack stood in the doorway in his Scooby-Doo pajamas. His hair was mussed and damp, a terrier caught in the rain.
“What’re you doing?” he asked.
The therapist’s card flashed in her mind. Trust. A prerequisite for healing.
“Just picking up your laundry.” She rose, exhibiting the lone sock from the floor while nudging the journal into place. “Did you brush your teeth?”
He nodded. If he suspected anything, he didn’t let it show.
“Hop into bed, then. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
For the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend, his grandparents would take him on their annual excursion. At Willamette National Cemetery they would plant mini-flags at the gravesites of veterans, a Boy Scout tradition passed down from Devon.
It would be the first time Audra would see Meredith since their run-in on Monday. To Audra’s surprise, their brief phone calls to coordinate schedules had indicated all was forgiven.
Then again, that’s how families were supposed to work. Not that Audra would know from her parents, whose forms of contact were limited to postcard updates and two annual calls: Christmas morning and her birthday. They were nice enough people, just not the parental type. Nurturing their latest causes always took priority. They’d started with local issues, trendy ones like clear-cutting and spotted owls—the puppy-mill protest, come to think of it, had inspired Audra’s career choice. But then an episode of Oprah broadened their scope. Two days after Audra’s high-school graduation, the couple flew to Africa to aid villages in need. It was no wonder Audra had debated ever having children. She’d agreed only when Devon promised to helm the family ship, a role he fulfilled with gusto. He was the soccer dad in the minivan, the guy who cooked dinners that didn’t come from a box. He was the husband who kept all afloat—but whose absence could leave you drowning.
Jack crawled under the covers. As he flipped his pillow, Audra recalled the pressing topic. She sat on the side of his bed and took the captain’s seat in her mind.
“Hey, buddy, I need to ask you something,” she said. “I had a visit today with Miss Lewis.”
“It was just an accident,” he said before Audra could finish.
The classmate. He was referring to the one he had fended off to stay under the desk.
“Oh, I know it was. And Miss Lewis does too.” Audra tried to reassure him with a smile. “But she’s still a little concerned about some drawings you did.”
He lowered his eyes to his hands, fidgeting with the covers. “She already told me. I’m not supposed to do those anymore.”
“That’s probably a good idea for now.” Audra kept her voice light. She wanted him to chat freely, the way he used to rattle on with his ghost stories. “Could you tell me, though, about the man in the chair? I’d love to know more about it.”
He gave a small shrug. No elaboration.
“Did another kid show you something like that? An older boy at recess? Maybe at after-school care?”
He shook his head.
“How about a TV show?”
He paused for a moment, and shook his head again.
The source of the drawings wasn’t necessarily important. It was the message behind them.
“If there’s ever anything you want to talk about, if you’re sad or angry or scared, you know you can tell me. Right?”
“Yeah,” he said, sounding a little groggy. A discussion after his warm bath might not have been ideal.
Enough for tonight.
She smoothed the spikes of his hair and kissed him on the forehead. “Don’t forget, you still need to tell me what you want for your birthday. It’s almost here, you know.” Standing, she bent over to grab the laundry.
“Mom?”
She smiled, expecting the name of a toy she’d never heard of. Instead, he gave her a look that deflated any levity. The sadness in his eyes matched the tone of his murmur. “I’m sorry you didn’t get the new job.”
Her heart turned to gelatin left in the desert. “Oh, baby, it’s not your fault.” She gingerly squeezed his chin. “Like I said, there might be an opportunity in Boston. That’s a much better place. Lots of great things there. They’ve got some of the best clam chowder ... and baked beans. And the Red Sox and Celtics play there.”
When his expression didn’t lighten, it dawned on Audra what might be his greatest concern. “And,” she said, “wherever we end up, we can definitely drive to get there.”
His mouth lifted at the corners and his covered body visibly relaxed.
On the motherhood chart, Audra felt a small but distinct plus mark added to her score. Who knew? Maybe that’s all the information he needed to change his art—and dreams—for the better.
“Close your eyes now,” she said, and kissed him once more.
Then came the scream.
It sliced through the fog of Audra’s mind. She was on a couch. The gray couch she’d bought to fit their apartment. How long had she been asleep?
A second shriek tore through the room. Another of Jack’s nightmares. She jumped up, fumbling a wineglass. Red sloshed onto her sweatshirt. She had dozed off before even taking a sip. She rarely drank alcohol—the calories were better spent on cake or pie—but the day had called for an exception.
Squinting against the hallway light, she stepped onto something sharp. A LEGO piece, in the middle of her bare arch. The pain snapped her wide-awake, along with another yell from Jack.
“Help meee!”
“I’m coming,” she said through gritted teeth, withholding curses at the toy. She forged onward into Jack’s room. In his bed, he sat backed up against the headboard. His night-light cast an eerie shadow, aging him by years. He clawed at a wall of air. His eyes bulged with terror.
“It’s a dream, Jack. Do you hear me? It’s only a dream.” She touched his shoulder gently, an approach that had helped the last few times.
“No!” he exploded with a force that jolted her backward. “Let me out! Let me out now!”
“Please. Just listen to my voice.”
His gaze, though vivid with fear, placed him in another dimension. A maze in which he didn’t belong. If she could visualize it, too, maybe she could guide him out.
“Jack, where are you? Tell me what you’re seeing.”
He muttered some words she couldn’t decipher—except for one.
“Himmel? Is that what you said?” He’d uttered something similar before. She thought of a Hummel. But a collectible figurine made no sense.
He started kicking against the wadded covers, a barricade to destroy.
“Jack,” she said, yet remained unheard.
Enough already. She would wake him despite theories to the contrary. A shock of light could break his trance.
She clicked the switch of the nightstand lamp. As the bulb came to life, Jack swung away fiercely and scraped Audra’s cheek. In shielding herself, she caused the lamp to topple. The lightbulb popped and plunged them back into darkness. His screams and flailing soared.
“Stop it,” she ordered. “Jack, stop!”
His elbow boomed against the hollow wall. She managed to grab hold of his wrists, to keep him from hurting himself. Within her grip, he twisted and pulled and yelled, fighting to escape. Several minutes of battling slicked her grip with sweat. His left arm broke free and slammed a corner of the night table. The crack alone communicated the damage, even without the wail of pain that projected from Jack’s mouth. He retracted into a ball and his body shivered. His cries faded to a soft whimper. The dream had released its grasp.
For now.
“You’re going to be okay, Jack.” She stroked his back, the motion no steadier than her breaths. “Mommy’s right here.”
He raised his head and his gaze flitted around the room—to the lamp, his pillow, his comforter, all strewn across the floor. What happened? he asked without words.
Because she had no real answer, she simply held him. Her arms trembled, more from anxiety than exertion.
When he agreed to let her, she picked him up with a know-how for handling scared, wounded creatures. She carried him to the car, a blanket over his body, and drove to the closest ER.
They didn’t return until three in the morning.
Once they settled in, Audra’s dreams, like Jack’s, were so vivid they were hard to discern from reality. She was prepping for surgery, scrubbing her hands and donning latex gloves. A little girl appeared in the corner. Hair covering her face, she wept into her knees. Audra asked what was wrong. The girl choked out, “You said my dog, Max, would go to heaven. And you lied.” Audra glanced around the empty room, her technician nowhere to be seen. The clinic ached with quiet. “But how do you know he’s not there?” Audra gently challenged the child, who then stopped her crying and lifted her head. Her skin shone pale, thin as a sheet of tissue, but her voice turned hard as stone. “Because I’m dead,” she said, “and he’s not here.”
Audra wiped her hairline, dampened from the dream. She rolled over on her bed and discovered Jack asleep—she’d laid him there after the hospital. Daylight filtered in around the closed white blinds, gracing Jack’s face with a peaceful glow, spotlighting the half cast on his arm.
Careful not to wake him, she edged out of the room.
At the kitchen sink, she filled a glass with water. She retrieved her vitamins from the cupboard, and noticed an old container of fish food partially hidden on a shelf. Between Devon’s allergies and her full-time job, a dog or cat had never made sense for their family—ironic, considering her profession. They’d once treated their son to a pair of goldfish. When the pets died, Jack grieved for days.
Audra tossed the fish flakes into the trash. Another lesson learned.
She downed the cool water, soothing her roughened throat. Sounds of a televised sports game reverberated from the tenant above. Audra’s head felt full of helium, light enough to fly away. When was the last time she had eaten a meal?
A knock on the front door startled her. She hoped it hadn’t wakened Jack.
She investigated through the peephole. Meredith stood beside Robert, who wore a Trailblazers cap, both of them in coats. It was Saturday morning. Why would they—
The cemetery. The flags.
Damn.
Audra scrambled to unlock the door before they could ring the bell.
“Hi,” she said, letting them in.
“Good morning . . .” Robert’s inflection implied more of a question.
Meredith cocked her head, as though rethinking her greeting. Her eyes flickered over Audra.
From a glance downward, Audra recalled her appearance. Between the frazzled hair and wine-doused shirt, she must have been a beauty. “It was a long night. I fell asleep with a glass in my hand.” She released a quick laugh at herself.
“Ah,” Meredith replied, and smiled.
“So,” Robert said. “Is Jack ready for us?”
Audra pictured her son curled up cozily in her bed. She couldn’t imagine disturbing his serenity after the night they had endured.
“Actually,” Audra said, “I don’t think today’s a good day for the cemetery visit, after all.”
Robert and Meredith exchanged surprised looks.
“He’s actually still asleep. He was having—”
“Grandma?” Jack emerged from the bedroom, rubbing his eyes.
“Gracious. What happened?” Meredith rushed over to him and knelt down. She examined his cast as though it were a futuristic contraption. “What did you do here?”
Jack shrugged, kept his gaze low. He couldn’t remember.
“It happened during a bad dream,” Audra told them. “He accidentally hit the nightstand with his arm.”
“Is it broken?” Meredith asked her.
“It is, but not too badly. The cast shouldn’t be on for more than a month.”
Robert piped in, “See what a tough nut he is? We’ll have to start calling him The Giant, instead of Beanstalk.”
Jack’s eyes lightened.
“So, whaddya think?” Robert said. “Want to plant flags with your old gramps?”
Jack answered with the start of a smile. “Yes, please.”
“Oh, kiddo,” Meredith said, and sniffed twice. “Did you have a little accident?”
Audra sighed. After three apple juices in the ER, liquid Tylenol to help him sleep, and water to wash it down, his poor bladder had hit its max.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Meredith told him.
“Are you sure?” Audra said. “You really don’t have to.”
“It’s no trouble.” Meredith was already leading Jack to his room.
On any other day Audra would feel uncomfortable leaving that chore to someone else. But Meredith was family, and honestly, part of Audra’s brain was still in sleep mode.
“Can I get you anything while you’re waiting?” she asked Robert. “Juice, water?”
“OJ if you got it.”
She poured him a glassful that he drank in a few swallows. Then he launched into small talk, about a new construction manager and the unusual weather—springtime in Portland usually meant ten types of rain. Audra followed only half the conversation, her head aching from lack of sleep.
Not long after, Meredith returned with Jack, now dressed in jeans, a rugby shirt, and his favorite hoodie. He slipped on his shoes and Meredith double-knotted the laces.
“Last chance to change your mind about coming,” Robert said to Audra. “We can wait if you’d like time to get ready.”
Audra envisioned the cemetery, the type of site she hadn’t been to since the funeral. So much green in that rolling grass, cultivated by countless tears.
Before she could decline, Robert smiled. “Next time maybe.”
“Maybe,” she said, grateful he played along as though the possibility were real.