The Summer the World Ended

by Matthew S. Cox

  Dad sucked in a breath and stiffened. “Sometimes things just happen and… I had a job that was taking up all my time and we got to arguing and―”

  “I don’t remember you guys fighting.”

  He stood. “Well, we didn’t want you to see it. I, uh… Look, Riley, it’s complicated. It wasn’t about you.”

  She slid her feet back and forth on the rug to warm them. “You’re full of shit.”

  “I didn’t want you to get hurt. My job…” He spun in place. On the second rotation, he waved his arm at the bureau. “Whenever you feel up to it, go through the room here and pack up Mom’s jewelry and whatever of her clothes you want to keep.”

  Riley folded her arms and scowled as he rushed out. He was taking her away from everything she knew, and he couldn’t even tell her the truth about why he left. What’s he hiding? Doesn’t he trust me?

  Soft thuds from downstairs filtered through the quiet as Dad fussed around. It sounded like he paced back and forth across the entire house. Riley didn’t feel like moving. She didn’t want to pack, didn’t want to play Xbox, didn’t want to go outside, watch TV, eat, or do much of anything except be with Mom.

  Silence was nice.

  The phone rang, startling a shriek out of her. She stared at the cordless handset on the nightstand, unable to remember the last time anyone bothered calling the landline. On ring three, she got to her feet and crept over. Dad evidently wasn’t planning to answer it. Why would he? He doesn’t live here anymore.

  Riley plucked the little Motorola out of the charging cradle and stared at the screen. Unavailable showed in the caller ID box. A robotic arm raised the device to her ear by ring six, and she flicked the talk button.

  “Hello?” she rasped.

  “Lily?” barked a male voice at the edge of shouting.

  “I-it’s Riley.”

  “Oh.” The condescending hostility faded―a little. “Put your mother on the phone, please. I haven’t heard from her in days. Her report on the auto loan section is late.”

  Pritchett. Mom’s boss. Now she recognized the voice.

  “She’s dead, you fat, bald cocksucker!” Tears poured out of her eyes, though her face burned red with rage. “You worked her to death. Are you happy now? Screw your stupid loan reports and screw your stupid bank!”

  “Young lady, that’s not funny.”

  “Tighten your tie a little more. Maybe your head will explode too!”

  Dad ran in as she reared her arm back to hurl the phone at the window. He caught her hand, pulling her into a hug as he pried the phone out of her white-knuckled grip. She wasn’t done being angry with him for lying to her, but found herself bawling onto his shoulder anyway.

  “Hello? Whoever you are, you better have one damn good reason for making my daughter upset,” said Dad.

  A murmur emanated from the phone.

  “Yes, that’s right. Christopher McCullough. No, we never officially divorced. I’m afraid Riley is correct. Lily passed away a few days ago.”

  More angry rumbling came from the phone.

  “I don’t give a sewer rat’s swollen scrotum about your report. No, I don’t have her password. Ask one of her assistants.”

  Dad let off a heavy sigh and set the phone in the cradle. “Asshole. Uh… you didn’t hear me say that.”

  “He killed her.” Riley sniveled. “This… it really happened.”

  He wrapped both arms around her. “I’m sorry, sweetie. It did, but I won’t leave you again. It was a mistake I can never take back.”

  “Tell me why.” She lifted her face from his shirt and stared into his eyes.

  “I was a coward.”

  She glared at him. “Why don’t you trust me?”

  “I do.” He pulled her closer with a hand on the back of her head. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Four days later, stacks of boxes gathered in the living room. The gradual disassembly of Riley’s life took place before her eyes, and she could do nothing to stop it. One day spent refusing to leave Mom’s bed had made Dad do all the work. He didn’t complain, but he didn’t stop. One day spent crying, pleading, and promising this, that, and the other thing also hadn’t changed his mind. Today, she’d begrudgingly accepted that the place in which she’d grown up would be home no longer.

  Packing happened in fits and starts. As soon as she’d get into a groove, she’d find something special and wind up crying for an hour instead of filling boxes. She’d already put on two of Mom’s wooden bracelets and her huge, knit sweater over the camouflage tee shirt and shorts she’d plucked off her floor. While going through the kitchen shelves, she stumbled on Mom’s recipe book and its hundred post-it notes of modifications. She lifted it as carefully as if it were a handwritten Bible from the Middle Ages, clutched it to her chest, and sank into a ball on the floor under the table. A few seconds after she burst out in sobs, Dad came running in.

  He skidded to a halt by the fridge, raising an eyebrow at her hugging the overstuffed tome as if he couldn’t comprehend how she’d gotten so worked up over a wad of paper. Riley didn’t look at him, lost in a swimming mess of memories. Mom teaching nine-year-old Riley how to make the filling for stuffed mushrooms. Baking cookies for Christmas, even though there was no family but the two of them. The first gingerbread house she tried to make looked like the Big Bad Wolf had his way with it, but Mom thought it was perfect.

  “You okay, Squirrel?” Dad crouched at the edge of the table, one hand grasping the edge over his head.

  Riley shook her head. “No. Mom’s dead.”

  He offered a hand, but she ignored him. Where was he when Mom needed help? She wouldn’t have had to work that awful job if he’d stayed. Who was this stranger in her house, taking her world and turning it upside down?

  “C’mere, Squirrel.”

  “Don’t call me that. I’m not six anymore.”

  Dad let his arm fall and offered an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I know this is hard, it’s not easy for me either.”

  She huddled over the book as if he wanted to snatch it away too. “You don’t look upset.”

  “Not everyone wears their heart on their sleeve.” A wistful smile crossed his face for a few seconds. “Lily always gave me a hard time about that. She could never tell what I was thinking.”

  “Why do we have to move?” Riley sniffled. “Can’t you move in here? Why do I have to be the one to move? I wanna stay close so I can visit Mom’s grave on her birthday and Christmas and such.” Every so often on a random Wednesday.

  He grunted and stood, moving to sit in one of the nearby chairs. “If it was even remotely possible, I would. I don’t know what it is about this damn state. The property taxes on this place are more than my mortgage. I couldn’t afford to keep it even if I didn’t have a house payment of my own.”

  Riley got control of her tears and crawled out from under the table. She kept the book in her lap as she sat across from him. “I can get a summer job.”

  He smiled. “If only.”

  “What… I can.” She glared.

  “No, I believe you. You wouldn’t make enough money. They pay kids only enough to go to the movies… or whatever it is kids do these days. You can’t live here alone, and I can’t afford to stay. I’m sorry we have to sell the place.” He paced to the sink, peering out the window into the backyard. “I still remember when your mother and I first walked through the open house here.”

  Riley sniffled.

  “Old couple owned it, the Stantons. Nice people. They were moving to Florida and priced it to go quick. Lily fell in love with it right away. I can’t believe she already paid it off. She really was a whiz with money.”

  “If it’s paid off, why can’t you afford it?” Riley’s gaze settled on the recipes; the book had more life in it than her voice.

  “Taxes, hon. The state charges people money to have land.”

  “That’s stupid.”

  Dad shrugged. “Well, the politicians need their limos and filet mi
gnons. I’ll make sure every dollar we get for the place goes into an account for you. I won’t take a dime. I know I left and I don’t deserve any of it. Mom would want you to have it.”

  “I don’t want money. I want my home back. I want Mom back.”

  “I know, Riley… I do too.”

  What? She looked up, lip quivering. “D-does that mean you don’t really want me?”

  “I meant I wish your mother was still alive.”

  “So you didn’t get stuck with me?”

  He reached across the table and grabbed her wrist. “You have every right to be angry with me for leaving, but if you believe anything, please believe I have never stopped loving you. I would do anything to protect you.”

  She put her free hand over his. “Anything except let me stay here.”

  “I’d have to rob a bank. If that’s what you want.”

  Wow… is he joking? That sounded so serious. “Uhm… Dad?”

  “Of course, then I’ll be in jail and you’ll be in social services.” He winked. “Doesn’t seem like a great plan.”

  Whew. “For a sec there I thought you were serious.”

  “I am.” He smiled. “If I thought it would work.”

  She wobbled to her feet, refusing to unwrap her arms from the book. “Stop messing with me.”

  “They don’t keep that much money in cash in bank branches anymore.” He rubbed his chin. “Mom might have some access codes I could get into the system with, transfer a dozen accounts to one offshore.”

  “Stop it, Dad.”

  She moved to the counter and set the recipes in an unused cardboard box, grabbed a nearby Sharpie, and wrote “KEEP” on the longer face. Dad edged up behind her and put his hand on her right shoulder. He planted a light kiss on the side of her head.

  “I love you, Riley Dawn.”

  He drifted off into the dining room, where he’d set up a mountain of paperwork, leaving her to the soul-crushing task of packing away Mom’s kitchen. A few hours later, she’d gone through everything she could, leaving out enough ‘kitchen stuff’ to cook simple meals.

  She headed to the living room, passing Dad absorbed in a phone call at the dining room table.

  “My God, sir. Yushchenko’s dead too? Two days ago? I was hoping the intel was suspect. At least they’re keeping it off the news.”

  Riley skidded to a halt.

  “Yes, sir. I understand. They did it just like the Nemtsov assassination. The man’s unhinged.” Dad nodded. “Sir. Right. Understood. No, sir. Couple more days.”

  The conversation had animated him more than she’d yet seen, though he looked worried. Her gait slowed to a veritable crawl as she passed him, confused by the dramatic change. She stopped at the archway leading to the living room and watched him ‘yes’ his way through a barrage of questions. When he finally put the cordless handset down, he seemed drained.

  “Dad? What was that?”

  “Oh.” He jumped as if he hadn’t noticed her. “Colonel Bering, my… uh… other boss.”

  “You’re in the Army?” Riley blinked.

  “Not anymore, though I work for them as a civilian contractor. There’s a problem with one of my guidance routines… I do software.”

  “You look like he told you men are on their way to shoot you.” Riley crept closer. “You sure you’re okay?”

  He crumbled his fingers together in a fist supporting his cheek, elbow on the table. “Yeah. Yep. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m scared.”

  Calm washed over him, as if the call had never happened. He held his arms apart. “Come here.”

  She walked into a firm hug and a pat on the back. A weak memory of jumping on him as a seven-year-old came back. He had the same grip. When he let go, she tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled.

  “It’s not gonna be easy, kid, but we’ll survive.”

  “‘Kay.” She looked up. “What do you mean ‘other’ boss?”

  “Oh.” He chuckled. “I get jobs from this guy Ted out of Albuquerque. Freelance programming work. Not too regular, put pay is big most times.” Dad paused a moment, trying to read the look on her face. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah…”

  Riley looked down and shambled into the living room. Mom’s fifty-inch flat panel TV dominated a space predominantly made up in powder blue, except for the off-white carpet. The nagging urge to cry shadowed her for the next hour as she wrapped and packed all of Mom’s little glass and porcelain figures. The woman sure had a thing for faeries. She wanted to keep them, but they’d probably stay in boxes until she had her own place. Something told her that taking them out at Dad’s would only get them smashed. Dad didn’t seem big on ‘delicate.’

  Plastic crinkled under her fingers the next time she reached up without looking for the next wide-eyed figurine. A translucent blue plastic bag sat tucked at the back of the shelf out of sight. Riley could tell it held DVDs as soon as she laid a hand on the package. She pulled it out and opened it, finding three movies… Up, Brave, and Frozen. Mom had obviously been planning to surprise her with a ‘movie day’ sometime soon. None of them were unsealed yet, meaning Mom hadn’t even thought to watch them without her.

  The dam broke again.

  Riley fell over sideways, bawling. Once again, Dad came running at the outburst. His arms slipped under her, lifting her up off the floor. He backed up to the sofa and sat with her across his lap, holding on until the sobs wracking her body faded to erratic sniffled breaths.

  “Ratatouille,” he said.

  “What?” She looked up, mouth agape. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “That was the last cartoon we watched together… all three of us.”

  Oh, that… Her sorrowful face hardened to a scowl. She remembered hating that movie―because it reminded her of her broken family. “Yeah.”

  “How bout I take care of dinner tonight?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “You’d burn water if you tried to boil it.” Amid a clatter of wooden bracelets, Riley wiped at her face with the grey sweater sleeves.

  “You’re probably right, but I know how to work a phone. Pizza?”

  “Mom has enough crap in the freezer to last through nuclear winter. We shouldn’t waste it.”

  “Okay, okay…” He laughed.

  Riley smirked. “How about Friday?”

  “It is Friday.”

  “I mean next Friday.” She fidgeted with the sweater.

  “That’s a clever attempt to stay here longer, isn’t it?”

  She stared straight ahead, trying not to let herself cry.

  “Okay, fine. Next Friday.”

  Five days passed in the blink of an eye, each fading into the next. Riley didn’t feel much of anything by Wednesday night. So many things made her want to cry that she tuned everything out. Her entire life, apart from a few articles of clothing, now sat in ‘boxhenge’ downstairs. She stood in the center of the small bathroom at the end of the upstairs hall, staring at herself in the mirror for a half hour before undressing and stepping into the tub.

  She pulled the cloth and plastic barrier closed, dimming the light, and swallowed hard. This was the tub where she’d played with rubber ducks. Another couple days, and I’ll never set foot in this room again. Riley sniffled. I’m so messed up. I’m getting weepy over a damned shower curtain. The process of showering went by in slow motion. How many times had she whined about being forced to take a bath before bed as a kid? She half-smiled at the memory of countless days where everything had been so boring. Now each one of them seemed like a precious moment. Riley closed her eyes and ducked under the spray to rinse her hair, and wound up staying there, letting the water roll over her head and down her back until her Dad knocked on the door.

  “You okay, hon? You’ve been in there a long time.”

  Wow, he sounds worried. He must think I’ve slit my wrists or something. “I’m okay.” Sorta.

  Riley shut off the water, dried off, and pulled on a fresh set of bright red paja
mas. All the while she brushed her teeth, she stared at every line and contour of the room, committing it to memory. The thought of climbing a little plastic stool to examine her missing front teeth in the mirror brought another round of sniffles. She had grown up in this bathroom, and three days from now, she’d never see it again.

  How could it feel alien already? Why did she feel like an intruder in her own home?

  She spat out the toothpaste foam, rinsed, and walked down the hall to her bedroom. Mom’s was almost bare now, the door shut tight. On Monday, they had packed the bed into a U-Haul trailer attached to the back of Dad’s beat-up tan Silverado. He called it a ‘98 as if that was something to be proud of, at least until she pointed out it was older than she was. The rest of the big furniture would go with the house.

  Riley hated whoever was going to buy it. Money or not, they were stealing her home.

  Darkness engulfed her room except where green light glowed from the lone Xbox controller on the charging stand next to her TV. The other one sat on the floor in the same place it fell out of her hand when she went to check on Mom. She hadn’t the least bit of interest in touching the game since.

  So far, the devouring whirlwind destroying her life hadn’t had a visible effect on her bedroom. All the packing of her stuff had been limited to eviscerating closets and ransacking drawers. Dad probably let her save it for last to keep things feeling as sane as possible. Tomorrow, her dresser, bookcase, and desk would go to the trailer. Her bed would be last, as she needed to sleep. She took two steps toward it, but paused as her foot brushed the abandoned controller.

  It’s dead too, now. Riley squatted over it, confirming her diagnosis by poking a button and getting no response. She picked it up and knee-walked to the charging stand. The clear plastic clip lit up red as she put the device in its socket. I wish I could plug Mom in and she’d wake up. After a few minutes of staring at the controller tree, she dragged herself to bed.

  She tried to stay awake as long as she could, to ‘experience’ being in her bedroom. She thought of Christmas Eves past, staring at this very ceiling, trying to make herself sleep faster so morning would show up. Random images of Mom came and went, as fleeting as the glow of the occasional passing set of headlights on the wall. Despite her strongest wanting, dark became light, and the sound of voices downstairs murmured up through the floor. Eventually, the discomfort of needing a bathroom overpowered her lack of desire to do anything but lay there. After dealing with it, she made her way downstairs.