CHAPTER SEVEN
Jack waded into a field just east of the barn that hadn’t been cultivated in years, weaving through saplings and brittle weed stalks that scratched against his briefcase. A couple of months had passed since he’d last been out here. This is where three years ago he’d had them tow his wrecked Ford Escape. It had been rusting in the weeds ever since, its tires flat, the front end caved in and ugly.
The roof bore a scrim of frost. He opened the driver’s door. It squealed like an injured animal. Brushing away a spiderweb, he slid in behind the wheel. The seat was cold and cramped, still in the position where she’d left it. He could feel her here, just as he could when he opened the closet door sometimes, half expecting to see her turn to ask his opinion.
“All is not well,” he said aloud. “But I will keep trying.”
Standing in front of the mirror, Kaitlyn tucked her blouse into her jeans, then turned to the left and right. Her face looked tired and slack. She tried smiling. While she held the smile, her face looked alive. But when she let it go, awful. She did not want people thinking she hadn’t slept. What passed through her mind was nobody’s business.
She noticed movement out the window and looked. It was Uncle Jack walking in the field toward Aunt Zellie’s wrecked car. The early morning sky was dark gray. Kaitlyn had gone out there to see for herself once when Uncle Jack wasn’t home. She watched him open the door and slip inside. What was he doing? Was he just going to just sit there? It was like the clothes in the closet. She grabbed her backpack. She was so far from figuring him out.
In the kitchen, Aunt Zoë was at the table, a cup cradled in her hand. The string from a tea bag hung down the side of the cup. Julia wasn’t up yet. Her preschool started later, and she wasn’t an early riser.
“I can tell it’s Wednesday,” Kaitlyn said.
“Good morning,” said Zoë. “Why’s that?”
“Because you’re drinking tea. You only drink tea on Wednesday mornings. Please don’t tell me I look tired.”
Zoë smiled. “You look as bright as a robin in spring hunting for worms.”
“I feel more like the worm.”
“How about a pancake? Or maybe an egg and toast. You’ve got plenty of time.”
“No, I’m fine. Don’t go to any trouble.”
“I didn’t ask if you wanted breakfast. I asked what you wanted. Now choose.”
“Pancake would be fine. I saw Uncle Jack go out to that wrecked car out back and get inside.”
Zoë sighed, then pressed her lips together. “If I were him, I wouldn’t want any reminders like that lying around. Not that he listens to me.”
“Does he plan to fix it up or something?”
“I don’t think it’s fixable. The only thing he told me was he didn’t want them shredding it.”
“Shredding it?”
“That’s what they do nowadays, drop them in a machine that chews them into little chunks they recycle. There’s a scrapyard a few miles away. You can hear the shredder working some nights.”
“Like a grinding, banging sound?”
“That’s it,” Zoë said.
“I’ve wondered. I thought it was a train.”
Zoë poured batter into the skillet. “Were you able to get through to your stepmother last night?”
“She finally called back.”
“How’d it go?”
Kaitlyn inspected her fingernails. She really needed to stop biting them.
“Kaitlyn?” said Zoë.
Without warning, Kaitlyn felt her eyes overflow. Zoë came and put her hands on Kaitlyn’s shoulders. She kissed the top of her head. “Sweetheart.”
“I’m sorry,” Kaitlyn said.
“Nothing to be sorry for. You can talk to me. You are my BFF, dude. Tell me whatever.”
“BFF, dude?” Kaitlyn said, half laughing, half sobbing. “Where did you hear that?” She dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. “I love you, Aunt Zoë.”
Zoë kissed her head again.
Kaitlyn sighed. “Stella’s been smoking dope and getting back with her boyfriend, Donald.”
Zoë’s hands tightened on Kaitlyn’s shoulders. “Kaitlyn, I do not want you going back there.”
“I can deal with it. She obviously needs me. And it’s what I deserve.”
“What do you mean, what you deserve?”
“Nothing. She brought up the hamster again last night.”
“What hamster?” Zoë asked.
“Never mind. It’s too complicated. I really don’t want to get into it. I need to go.”
“But breakfast,” Zoë protested.
“I’m fine. I’m getting fat here anyway.”