Winter Flower

by Charles Sheehan-Miles

  “Sam?” I asked.

  “Mom, I’m trying to sleep.”

  I rolled my eyes. I was sure Sam was still on the computer, but I didn’t have the energy to deal with it right now. I stumbled through the living room and into the kitchen and dumped my wine glass in the sink, which was piled with dirty dishes. I should do something about that, I thought.

  Instead, I shrugged, then looked up at the clock. Where was my husband?

  Not like I haven’t asked that before.

  I shook my head, then picked my phone off the counter to dial it. But I didn’t finish, because that was when he walked in.

  Cole looked exhausted. Black polyester pants—polyester because they didn’t stain with bleach. Not exactly a concern back when he was CIO. Before he fucked everything up. Black leather shoes. A blue, mostly polyester shirt, stained with bacon grease. His glasses were a little bit crooked on his face, and new lines ran down the sides of his mouth. I studied him a second. His hair was turning grey at the temples. We were both too young for that.

  “Where’ve you been?” I asked.

  He shrugged and shook his head. “Work. I told you I had to work a double. Stupid problems.” His eyes slid over the piled-up sink and cluttered counters, and looked away. He didn’t say anything about it. “I need to get some sleep,” he said.

  He started to turn away again, and I said, “Cole?”

  He stiffened then turned back. “Yeah?”

  “It’s her birthday,” I said.

  I swear to God I wasn’t going to say anything. I wasn’t going to mention it. I wasn’t going to do this.

  His face clouded, and he looked to the floor. “I know,” he said in a rasping voice. “Eighteen.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. It was too much to think he’d come over and hug me. And I didn’t know how to approach him. Not anymore. I wasn’t even sure I wanted him to.

  “Do you think she’s still alive?” I asked.

  “Of course she is,” he replied. His tone had an edge in it. “Don’t ever say otherwise. She’s out there somewhere.”

  I swallowed. “Then why doesn’t she call?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Bitterly, I asked, “Do you care?”

  His eyes widened slightly as he recoiled from me. “How can you ask that?”

  “Because I don’t know, Cole. You never talk to me.”

  “I never do anything but work and sleep,” he replied.

  Poor him. It was the same thing I heard from him constantly, and it was true. He certainly didn’t do anything around the house, or with our remaining child. On the rare occasions he was awake, he was planted in front of the television with a beer.

  “Is that supposed to be my fault?” I asked.

  He leaned against the wall. “I didn’t say that,” he said. “Although it wouldn’t hurt if you got a fucking job.”

  “I’ve tried,” I said. I was defensive, and I hated that. “I’ve tried the Army base, and the General Dynamics plant, and the fucking school system. I’ve tried at the department stores, and at the mall. You saw me this morning. All I hear is, I’ve got no experience.”

  “You gotta start somewhere,” he said. “You could always wait tables. In case you hadn’t noticed it, Erin, we’re pretty goddamned broke, and all you do is sit around here and drink all day. You should start buying that shit in the box. At least then it’s a little cheaper.”

  I wanted to hit him. I wanted to smash his smug face in. But then I heard it. A high-pitched, sad voice coming from down the hall. “Please stop arguing. I’m trying to sleep.”

  I closed my eyes and sighed.

  Brenna had once asked us to stop fighting.

  “I’m going to bed,” he said. His voice sounded dejected. “I’ve got to be back at the restaurant at six thirty.”

  He turned and walked down the hall, his shoulders slumped.

  I didn’t follow. I watched him walk down the hall and wondered how I’d ended up here, in the middle of nowhere in the Bible Belt, married to a defeated man.

  Nine

  Erin

  It took me four days after Brenna’s birthday before I finally came out of the deep emotional hole I’d fallen into. But I finally got up. I had to. I lectured Cole on the fact that he was never home and never did anything with Sam. But I was home, and I hardly ever did anything with Sam. I called Lori that morning, and after a hard cry, I made a promise to reengage with my son and get moving.

  I had to do something, anything to break the depression. So I started in the kitchen, windows open, fan going. Mechanically washed the dishes, rinsed them, racked them up. The counters were filthy. I sprayed them down and began scrubbing. Sugar was encrusted on the counter near the coffee pot. Gross. I couldn’t do this anymore. I couldn’t live like this anymore.

  I was on my hands and knees, cleaning some god-awful spill from the floor, when my phone rang. I leaned back on my knees and wiped my hands on a paper towel, then reached in my pocket, my mind running through who it could be. My sister again? Cole, calling from work?

  He rarely, if ever, called from the restaurant, unless it was to tell me he was going to be late. Sam’s school?

  I wasn’t prepared for the number I saw, but I recognized it immediately. My heart instantly started pounding in my chest, my throat closing up in fear.

  It was the number for Stan Wilcox at the FBI.

  I fumbled, dropping the phone. It landed on the floor with a loud crack and I dived for it. It rang again, and I hit the answer button.

  “Hello?” I said frantically.

  “Mrs. Roberts? It’s Agent Wilcox.”

  “Yes,” I choked out.

  “I’ve got some news.”

  Time froze. In less than a second, my mind ran past all the incidents where Wilcox had given us news. When they found her car, with the broken phone. When they found the bracelet Lori gave her in Chase’s apartment. The weekly calls for a year, then less often since then. But he still called, and he almost always prefaced those calls with the statement, “I don’t have any news, I’m just checking in.”

  Today he’d said, I’ve got some news.

  “Yes? Tell me.”

  “Three weeks ago, a young woman going by a, uh … street name … of Strawberry … she was picked up in Portland, Oregon. Arrested for prostitution. Apparently there was some kind of mix-up, the links to the National Crime Information Center were down, so the fingerprints didn’t get matched up until this morning. But, Erin, it was Brenna. She’s alive.”

  I swallowed and sank back against the cabinet, my numb legs splayed out in front of me. I couldn’t breathe. I tried to say something. Anything. Tears ran down my face.

  “Mrs. Roberts? Erin?”

  “I’m here,” I whispered. She’d been arrested for prostitution. One of my worst fears had come alive, but I didn’t care. I just wanted her back. I just wanted her back.

  “Did you understand what I said?”

  “Brenna’s alive. And in Portland. Can I talk to her? I can fly up today.”

  He was silent for just a moment, taking a breath, and replied, “Erin … she was released on bail. We’ve alerted the Portland PD, and they’re treating it as a trafficking case now. They didn’t know she was a minor when they picked her up, and … well … we don’t know exactly where she is.”

  I screamed into the phone, “My daughter’s alive after two years missing and you can’t tell me where she is?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. But I promise you, we’re putting every resource we have into the search. We’ll find her.”

  “Who bailed her out?” I demanded.

  “I’m working on getting the details.”

  “I’m going to Portland.”

  “Mrs. Roberts, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  I hissed into the phone. “I don’t care anymore what you think. My daughter’s been missing for two years and she turns up alive and you can’t even tell me where she is? I’m going to Portland and
finding my daughter.”

  I hung up the phone, unable to think clearly. I’d have to fly to Portland, it was too far to drive and get there in a reasonable period of time. We didn’t have money, not any money at all, but maybe my sister or Cole’s parents could help. I tried to get my mind in order then took out my phone and dialed Cole at work.

  He didn’t answer, so I moved to the bedroom and began wildly throwing clothes into a suitcase, not paying any attention to what I was putting in there. It didn’t matter. What mattered was getting to Portland as quickly as I could.

  I dialed again five minutes later. Still no answer. Damn it.

  I threw the suitcase into the back of the minivan then went back in and changed into clothes that weren’t completely filthy from cleaning. On the way back out to the van, I dialed again.

  This time he finally answered.

  “Hey,” he said.

  The second I heard his voice, I fell apart again. My knees let go, and I sank to the ground. For just a second, I wanted nothing more than to have my husband back, because I needed him. I needed to be able to lean on him; I needed him to be able to help.

  “Cole?” I wailed.

  “Erin? What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice suddenly panicking.

  I broke down instantly, sobbing. Then I said the words. The words I’d been desperately wanting to say, to hear, to believe.

  “Cole. She’s alive. Brenna’s alive!”

  Brenna

  In my dream, I was six years old.

  Daddy would be home from his business trip tonight. Mommy ran around, getting the house ready. I sat with Sam in the living room. I had a book, a really awesome book, called The BFG, and it was about a giant. Only Daddy said it was about a GIANT, and whenever he said that, he growled and made claws with his hands.

  I read The BFG to Sam. He couldn’t read, but I was going to teach him.

  I acted out the parts. I stood up and walked around, leaning this way and that. I made up funny voices. I growled. Just like Daddy did when he read it. I missed him and wanted him to come home from his trip.

  Sam threw his head back and laughed, a smile showing all of his teeth, and we went upstairs and played in my room. We dressed up in princess dresses, and Sam looked so happy, so I put my purple wig on her and I wore the pink one.

  Mommy made us change back before Daddy got home, and that’s okay.

  When Daddy got home we ran outside and threw our arms around him. He smelled warm and like coffee, and he put his arms around us and I felt safe. I climbed up one leg and Sam climbed up the other, and he knelt down and lifted us both over his shoulders so we faced his back next to each other, and squealed our brains out. He spun in a circle, and we both screamed and let go, letting our arms fly out in front of us, the room spinning around in a whirl, and I got dizzy. When Daddy put us down, we walked funny and me and Sam fell against each other. I laughed and threw my arms around him to hold myself up, and we both fell over giggling.

  Mommy put her arms around Daddy and they smiled and then kissed. They looked in each other’s eyes, and me and Sam followed them back into the house for Daddy’s surprise.

  A banner hung across the living room. Me and Sam made it. Mommy helped. It said HAPPY BIRTHDY DADDY, and Mommy told me earlier it’s okay I misspelled BIRTHDAY.

  Daddy laughed. Mommy gave him her present, a new phone that he wanted. I gave him lip balm for when he flies, because it’s windy in the sky, and Sam gave him a drawing of a silly pig with wings.

  We played and laughed and we were happy, and there were no bars on the windows, and no grey, and no fear. That’s where I went when I slept.

  Part Two

  Ten

  Sam

  While I dialed the combination on my locker, I spotted Ashley Prichard to my right, standing near Cody Hendricks. She was holding her phone out in front of her at a weird angle, taking a selfie. As she took the picture, she crossed her eyes and sucked in her cheeks.

  Weird.

  I tossed my precalculus and English books into my bag then zipped up the bag and slammed the locker shut. I had about four minutes to get to the bus, so I threw my bag over my shoulder and started to hurry down the hall.

  Just as I was about to pass, Ashley stepped backwards, still shooting selfies, directly into my path. I jerked back, trying to avoid her, but it was too late. We collided, her right elbow hitting my side.

  Horror sank into me as I heard the loud smack of her phone hitting the floor.

  Ashley let out a screech then dropped to her knees, scrambling for the phone.

  “What the fuck!” Cody shouted as I stepped back.

  “I’m so sorry!” I blurted. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “You asshole,” Ashley screamed. “If you broke my phone I swear to God you’ll—”

  She cut herself off when Cody reached out with both hands, grabbing the front of my shirt and shaking me back and forth. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you fucking suicidal?”

  I tried to pull away. “I didn’t do anything!”

  From across the hall, a loud male voice called out with a tone of authority. “Cody! Let go of him!”

  With a deliberate motion, Cody let go of me and took a step back. Ashley gave me a death glare and spoke in a petulant, nasty voice. “The screen is cracked. You owe me a new phone.”

  The man who had spoken was a teacher I didn’t recognize. He was a tall man, with a muscular wide build not all that different from Cody’s. If I had to guess, I would have picked him for a football player. Maybe he was one of the coaches?

  The man spoke in a thick rural Southern accent. “He don’t owe you nuthin’, Ashley. You stepped right into him, he was just trying to get to the bus.”

  Cody opened his mouth, flailing his hands around. “Coach Braddock, that kid’s got a thing for Ashley. He was giving her pervy eyes on the bus last week. You didn’t see it but he tried to grab her ass, that’s what happened.” He gave me an angry look and started to raise his fist.

  “Cody! Put your hand down and step back. Right now.”

  Cody’s eyes swiveled to the coach. Then, grudgingly, he said, “Yes, sir.”

  “If you plan to keep playing for my football team, you for damn sure better keep your hands to yourself and your mouth under control. Got it?”

  Cody swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing down and back up again. “Yes, sir.”

  “My dad is going to be so mad,” Ashley said. As she said it she gave the coach a vicious look. I knew she was kind of a bitch, but I couldn’t imagine talking and looking at a teacher that way.

  The coach said, “I don’t care who your daddy is, Ashley. I’ll do my job the way it’s called for. Both of y’all get out of here.”

  The coach had intervened and saved me … but at what cost? Was I going to be dealing with even worse problems from Cody later? I bet I would.

  “What’s your name, kid?”

  I froze at the words. “Sam.” I hated how my voice rose at the end of my name, like I was asking a question.

  “You new here, Sam? I ain’t seen you around.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The coach hitched his thumbs in his belt and looked at me as if I were a bug. “Well, let me give you a piece of advice. Keep your distance from Cody Hendricks. And Ashley too. They ain’t the nicest kids in the school, if you know what I mean.”

  I tried to smile but failed. “I kind of sensed that.”

  The coach frowned. “God don’t like a smart-ass, kid.”

  I nodded. “Yes, sir. Can I, uh … can I go? I’m going to miss my bus.”

  The coach waved a hand at me in dismissal and turned away. I ran for the bus, but by the time I got outside, it was too late.

  Oh, man. I had planned on joining a role-play that was being organized by the Europeans in the Brigade. There’s no way I would be home in time for that. Whatever. It probably wouldn’t be the last time Cody and Ashley ruined something for me.

  Dad’s restaurant was only abo
ut half a mile from the high school. I would head over there and do homework until he was ready to go home from work.

  I threw my backpack over my shoulder and began walking away from the school. I wasn’t even off the school property before I saw an oversized black pickup with gleaming polished wheels pull up to the corner, driving away from the school. Cody was at the wheel, and Ashley sat beside him in the cab. That explained why I hadn’t seen either of them on the bus in the last several days. Cody either just got his driver’s license or the truck. As Cody turned left out of the school he spotted me and shouted, “Faggot!”

  Where did people like Cody come from? I couldn’t understand why people were so cruel. I’d have to really keep my eyes out. Cody wasn’t going to let this go. A dull sense of dread settled in on me.

  As I walked along the six-lane road, I wanted to sneeze from the pollen and dust in the air. I was sweating before I’d made it a quarter of a mile. I guessed it was ninety-five degrees out, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

  I fucking hated Alabama.

  I made it to the Waffle House without any further incidents. The parking lot was nearly empty. Where was Dad’s car? It wasn’t parked in the usual spot, and he didn’t typically leave before four or five. I pulled the door open and walked into the restaurant. The air-conditioning blew over me with beautiful waves of ice cold air. I shivered.

  I recognized the waitress who was at that moment making salads behind the counter, but I couldn’t remember her name. She had dark hair and was probably in her early fifties. She walked with a limp, as if her left leg were slightly shorter. She was always friendly, and when I walked in she waved at me.

  The restaurant was almost empty: the only customer an old man sitting at the counter, his head hunched down between his shoulders.

  The waitress spoke. “It’s … don’t tell me … Sam, right?”

  “Yeah,” I responded. I leaned to look in the open door to the back. “You seen my dad?”

  “He had to leave early … some kind of emergency. Brian came over and covered for him.”