The doorbell rang again. She donned a bathrobe, traversed the dining and living rooms, and reached the foyer just as the front door opened.
It was Rob. She’d have to change the lock.
Rob looked at her with concern in his eyes. “What the heck are you doing?”
“I went for a swim. Last I checked, it’s still legal.”
He took two long steps toward her and rubbed her arms with both his hands, a gesture more intimate than a kiss. “You’re freezing.”
She had missed him, but his warmth didn’t belong to her anymore. She struggled out of his grasp. “I’m fine.”
“Are you?” Jimmy had his father’s eyes.
Unable to look at Rob’s eyes, Cheryl dropped her gaze. “Yes. And I signed the divorce papers. You’re free.”
His voice was soft. “Are you taking your medicines?”
She frowned and shook her head. “Why do you care?”
“Elyssa saw you in the pharmacy. She said you were talking to yourself. Adjusting the seatbelt for the booster seat.”
Their neighbor, Elyssa, used to babysit Jimmy on the rare occasions Cheryl pulled herself away from him for a date night with Rob. Nosy woman!
“I’m fine.”
“Are you taking your pills?”
She shook her head. “They make me too groggy.”
And they don’t let me see Jimmy.
Rob stood there, bobbing on the balls of his feet, unable to leave her, unwilling to stay. He, who fought battles for his country, could not help her win hers. But her battle was with her past, and no one wins that fight. He glanced at the dining table where she had set a bowl of mac-and-cheese. He strode to the pantry and threw open the door as boxes of mac-and-cheese tumbled down.
His voice cracked as he said, “You need help, Cheryl.”
“It’s none of your business. Go home, Rob.”
Cheryl drove to the library after work and strode to the research section. She chose a computer terminal hidden from view and glanced over her shoulder. It was a quiet afternoon, and high school kids hadn’t yet swarmed into the library for study groups.
She typed the keywords: Ghosts, shadows.
Three books popped up. She took down the call numbers on the tiny notepad beside the terminal, using a pencil that would be too small even for Jimmy. Clutching the piece of paper, she hurried to section 133.1: Ghosts/Supernatural.
She was the only patron in the dusty, desolate section of the library, imagining whispers and footsteps. She opened one book and tried to scan the contents.
An elderly librarian pushed a creaky cart filled with books to reshelve and smiled at Cheryl. “Need any help, dear?”
Cheryl was startled. What did the older woman know about Cheryl? Did she know she could see Jimmy? Did she know Jimmy had died? Stop this, Cheryl!
She mumbled, “No, thanks.”
She grabbed two more books and scurried to the children’s section beyond the computer terminals and picked out a few Dr. Seuss books. The elderly librarian had returned to the checkout counter, and Cheryl chose one of the newer self-checkout terminals.
Back at home, she had her mac-and-cheese and settled into the recliner where she used to curl up with Jimmy to read Dr. Seuss’s books or watch SpongeBob. Over a glass of wine, she read about ghosts and visitations from the other world.
As far as her research could find, ghosts cast no shadows.
The following week, she was back in Dr. Raddick’s office. Dark clouds hovered low over the town. The mountains had experienced flash floods, and a wind advisory was in progress. The goldfish was going berserk in its bowl.
Dr. Raddick had turned on a table lamp to illuminate her office. She had a new haircut and perhaps new foundation, for she was glowing. Or maybe it was the raw heat from the space heater. But she also looked concerned.
“Cheryl, you look like you haven’t slept in ages. Are you taking the medicines?”
Thanks. I know I look like a wreck. “The pills make me groggy. And …”
“And?”
“I can’t see him when I take them.”
“Cheryl, he is gone. What you were seeing were hallucinations. The medicines will help with those.”
Cheryl asked, “Do hallucinations cast shadows?”
“What?”
“In your opinion, when people hallucinate about things, do the things they are seeing cast shadows?”
Dr. Raddick said, “I … I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. I’ll look into it.” She wrote something in the file. “Is there any history of mental illness in your family?”
“No … I don’t know. I was adopted.” She didn’t know why she lied. As far as she knew, no one in her family was cuckoo.
“I see.”
Cheryl knew where Dr. Raddick was going with this line of questioning. She had decided Cheryl was delusional.
She shook her head. “I’m not going crazy. He comes to visit me.”
Dr. Raddick placed a hand on Cheryl’s knee. “You need to move on. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. You’ll fall in love, get married, have kids …”
Cheryl shook her head. “He likes being the only child.”
“Liked.”
“What?”
Dr. Raddick tapped her pen on the table. “You said ‘likes.’ You mean liked.”
Cheryl looked confused. “Jimmy is still here.”
He was standing there, tapping the goldfish bowl. The little fish went bonkers, scurrying in circles like it had gone insane. Jimmy giggled. Didn’t Dr. Raddick hear him?
Dr. Raddick said, “Do you see him still?”
“Sometimes.”
“Is he here now?”
Cheryl looked at Jimmy’s impish eyes as he put his finger to his pursed lips and ducked under the table, leaving the psychotic fish to struggle on its own.
Cheryl shook her head. “No.”
Dr. Raddick followed her glance and saw the fish. “I don’t know what’s come over it.” She covered the bowl with a soft cloth. “I read somewhere that darkness soothes them.” Then she said, “Cheryl, what you think you see isn’t Jimmy. It’s just a shadow of his memory. You should take the pills. They will help you.”
“Can you give me something else? Something that makes me less groggy?”
Dr. Raddick frowned. “I have to ask you again. Do you have any thoughts about hurting yourself?”
“Oh, no. Why would I hurt myself? Jimmy needs me.”
Dr. Raddick took a deep breath. “Can you stay with family for a few days? Friends?”
Dr. Raddick was beginning to irritate her.
“I told you I was adopted. My foster parents are dead. All my friends were Rob’s friends. He got them in the divorce. They blame me for what happened.”
“I think you should stay in the hospital for a few days. It will give you a change from everything.”
“You can’t force me.”
“No, I can’t, unless you’re a risk to yourself or someone else. But I know it will help you.”
Cheryl got up. “I’ll think about it. After his birthday.”
For months, Cheryl tried to make sense out of it. She couldn’t talk to Rob or Elyssa. And Dr. Raddick would think Cheryl was actually insane. Hiding essential information from Dr. Raddick had become easy. As Cheryl began to doubt her own sanity, a theory presented itself, and she tried to test it. If Jimmy was real, he would reach out to her, hug her, touch her. But, besides goosebumps, he gave her no physical evidence of his existence.
A few weeks ago, she saw him by the pool again, beckoning her, the impish grin on his face.
She gasped and clenched her fists. Then she turned her back to him. “You’re not real. Go away.”
She left him whimpering, “I miss you, Mommy.”
Her heart broke watching him suffer alone. But she was desperate for respite. The pills prevented her from seeing him but wouldn’t let her function. She couldn’t live her life like that. If she ignored him long enough, he’d stop
visiting. Wasn’t that what she wanted? What she needed?
Cheryl took a long soak in the tub. Days had turned to weeks in a paralyzing haze. At least her manager had allowed her to return to work. She didn’t take the medicines during the day. But come nightfall, she stared at the ceiling imagining him cold and alone in the pool. The dose Dr. Raddick suggested no longer worked; she needed two pills just to fall asleep.
An empty bottle of wine stood at the edge of the bathtub. She’d given up on glasses a while ago.
Jimmy was turning six years old.
Cheryl pulled herself out of the cooling water in the tub and stumbled. The wine bottle crashed on the marble floor, spreading shards of sparkling glass across the bathroom. She tiptoed around the deadly pieces and changed into the same dress she’d worn a year ago when Jimmy had visited the first time.
The oven dinged just as she came to the kitchen. By the time the cake cooled, she’d finished another half-bottle of wine. Then she frosted the cake and lit six candles. Her hands were steady, her breath calm.
She whispered, “Happy Birthday, Jimmy.”
She glanced at the patio door but it was dark. Since the day she ignored him, he hadn’t visited even once. Guilt tore at her for failing him as a mother, for trying to maintain a shred of sanity. But if he didn’t come today, she knew she couldn’t hang on.
She opened the patio door and peeped into the yard, “Your cake is ready, baby! Come on in.”
Silence.
A sob escaped her lips. Her voice shook as she sang “Happy Birthday.” Tears stung her eyes as she blew out the candles and clapped on behalf of the crowd that should have been celebrating his birthday. He’d have been a first grader now.
She sliced a piece of the cake and tasted the chocolaty goodness. After one last glance at the patio door, she went to the small room Rob had used as a gym. He had taken the treadmill with him but left some things in the closet. Sliding the closet door open, she found what she was looking for.
Cheryl selected the heaviest weights in the closet, tied them together with two belts, and fastened it around her waist. Then she went to the brick patio.
“Jimmy, are you here?”
Her heart surged with joy as his voice rang out in the still night air. “I miss you, Mommy!”
She couldn’t see him. “I miss you too, babe. Where are you?”
Cheryl stepped onto the dark lawn and opened the pool gate. She had removed the solar blankets months ago.
His childish voice called again, “Come here, Mommy!”
Without a moment’s hesitation, she jumped into the pool as icy water pierced her skin.
“Jimmy!” she yelled into a soundless world as bubbles erupted from her nose and mouth and floated away from her face, exploding on the surface.
She gulped the water into her lungs, coughing and sputtering, flailing her arms and legs in the ink-dark water, her hair flowing about her in silky swirls. Her lungs burned with hunger for air, but the blessed weights kept her down. In the depths of the pool, she saw blackness. A flash of blinding light. Then blissful, peaceful blackness.
His voice whispered in her ear, “I missed you, Mommy.”
Newport had a lot of Jonathans. They were not Johns. They were not Johnnys. They demanded all three syllables. Most of them were skinny, although some were quite fat. They would march in and out of Bracken Manor doing all sorts of things. Sometimes they would shop. Sometimes they would sail a boat. Sometimes they would sneak around and kiss girls. It’s what Jonathans do. It’s who Jonathans are.
There was one, however, who was very unlike the rest. He wasn’t skinny or fat. He wasn’t short or tall. He detested the idea of kissing girls. That was gross. Most of the time this Jonathan was standing in the corner of the vestibule leaning into the wall. The paint was faded there, smoothed and polished by oil from his forehead. Jonathan was a boy capable of unique mischief. That’s what Mother always said. The corner is where you belong! The corner is where you’ll stay until I say otherwise!
In 1927 Jonathan was standing in the corner with his forehead cleaning the wall. Mother was yelling at him from the kitchen. “You know what you did was wrong!” Her face was red, like a tomato in August. He always liked making her face change colors. “You’re going to stand there until you learn your lesson and apologize!”
In truth, Jonathan didn’t know what he’d done wrong. He stood there and thought about it. For hours and hours, he remained in the corner. He was more comfortable there than his own bedroom. Even though he had buckets of toys, he preferred the wall in the corner. He was able to plan and schedule upcoming games and mischief. He stood there until his legs hurt. He stood there until his eyes began to water.
Mother started screaming again. The boy wanted to see why Mother was angry, but she told him not to move. He learned long ago to stay put until Mother said it was okay. He waited there until she stopped yelling. He even stayed there when the house became hot, the air became cloudy, and the walls turned black. Jonathan was tired by then and decided to take a nap.
He was sure Mother wouldn’t mind.
In 1935 a new Mother arrived. There was also a Father and three little boys. None of them were Jonathan. He remembered then why he had been bad. He had been playing with the new stove Mother had bought.
“Mother, I apologize! Mother, I’m sorry!” he yelled, head still planted in the corner.
She didn’t respond. Jonathan learned last time that when Mother didn’t answer him, he was no longer being punished. He decided to look for Mother. It had been a long time, and he wanted to make her face red again.
He ran into the kitchen. She wasn’t there. She wasn’t in her bedroom or her bathroom. He wanted to check the garden, but his pants were dragging on the ground. If he got them muddy, Mother would put him in the corner again. He didn’t want to go there right now.
“This place is ugly!” one of the Not-Jonathans said.
This boy was short and pudgy and not at all exciting. Jonathan wanted to punch him in his hideous buck teeth. He kicked a cabinet door instead, splitting it in two.
“What did you do?” the new Mother yelled at the porky Not-Jonathan.
“Nothing! It just broke!”
“Don’t lie to me! Go stand in the corner!”
The fat boy protested, but Mothers always got what they wanted. He stormed off to the corner, his face now strawberry-red. Jonathan was pleased. He’d never not been punished for being bad. He made a game of this for quite some time.
Whenever he got bored, he would play a trick on the Not-Jonathans. He would break something Mother liked, hoping to make her angry. One of the Not-Jonathans was always sent to the corner. Sometimes two of them were. When they had to stand there, it was too full of crying boys. There was never any room for Jonathan.
And so he continued his game. He scared Mother and Father. He broke things. He left the water on. They even had a new metal box that kept food cold. Jonathan loved to leave it open until the food started to smell. He did this until the fat Not-Jonathan became tall and skinny. Mother stopped putting him in the corner. It was now consistently empty.
Jonathan realized he had been misbehaving. If the corner was empty, he would have to go there until he apologized, and he didn’t like to say he was sorry. He had to do something really bad if Mother was going to put another boy in the corner. He decided to trick Mother one more time.
She was walking down the stairs into the vestibule, and Jonathan stuck out his foot. He laughed when Mother fell and tumbled. She spun around three times until she reached the bottom. Father had come out from his private study to see what had happened. He dropped to his knees and picked up Mother in his strong arms.
Jonathan stopped laughing when he saw Father cry. He didn’t know why. Mother was only taking a nap. Jonathan felt bad that he made Mother sleep in the middle of the day. He knew it was his turn for the corner.
When he stood there, he felt comfortable again. He pressed his forehead into the worn-o
ut spot of paint on the wall. He stayed there when men in white costumes came. They put Mother on a rolling bed and took her away. Father and the Not-Jonathans were sad. They were all sobbing now. One of them had snot running out of his nose.
There was too much happening at once. Jonathan wasn’t able to focus on all the naughty things he had done that day. He decided to take another nap in the corner and wait for Mother to return.
In 1943 dozens of people entered the house. There were plenty of new Mothers and new Fathers. Jonathan was happy after counting more of the former.
“Mother, I apologize!” he yelled before running away from the corner.
He was good again, and this time he planned to stay that way. There were other Jonathans this time, although they were different. One Jonathan was tall and skinny. He was missing a leg. It was all right though. Mother gave him a stick to help him walk around. Another Jonathan wore a white jacket and had a weird tube hanging around his neck. He would use it to help the Fathers.
Jonathan wanted to play tricks on them, but they were already unhappy. They looked like they were all standing in the corner. Some of them even screamed all night long when he tried to talk to them, like he was a monster. One Father was funny. He had no hair, and the skin on his face was thick and jagged. He didn’t talk much. Jonathan was bored with these Mothers and Fathers. How could he play tricks on them when they were already so sad?
Jonathan sat in a chair near the corner. He wanted to go there. To do that, he needed to be bad. But what was the point of being bad if not to make happy people sad? He sat there and waited. He waited for the Mothers and the Fathers to cheer up so he could play tricks on them.
That day came in 1945. It was getting warmer outside, and the Mothers and Fathers were playing in the garden. Jonathan liked the garden. It was pretty and it smelled good. They were all drinking out of glass bottles and listening to the radio. Some were dancing to the music. Some Mothers and Fathers snuck away and were kissing under the trees behind the garden.
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