by Paul Curtin
Sean’s gaze met her eyes as she came into the dining room. “Have a seat,” he said.
Elise relaxed into her chair at the end of the table opposite her husband. Michael had chosen a seat far away from Sean—which was good.
“Let’s eat,” Sean said and grabbed the dish in front of him.
Almost everyone reached for the food, but Elise cleared her throat. Their conversations swelled, so she cleared it again, louder. A silence struck the whole table like a bolt of electric current. “I think we should say a blessing over our food,” she said.
They paused. She bowed her head. Everyone followed her lead, Sean rolling his eyes before he did. “Heavenly Father,” Elise said, “thank you for this evening and the many blessings you have poured out on us. I pray that you would bless our time together as a family. Thank you for this food. I pray you would use it to the good of our bodies and our bodies to thy service. In Jesus name, Amen.”
A chorus of Amens rose from the table and a clattering of silverware and dishes replaced it. Plates filled. Sean sprinkled his chicken with salt. He always salted everything. Elise flushed with satisfaction. Feeding others a good meal was one of life’s small pleasures.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Aidan asked.
Elise looked at Kelly’s empty plate. “No, I’m fine, little man,” Kelly said, winking at him.
He smiled, diverted his gaze, and put a fork into his mashed potatoes. Elise said, “Is something wrong?”
“I just can’t eat right now,” Kelly said.
“Why?”
“I’m on a juice fast.”
“A what-now?”
“A juice fast,” she said, as if repeating herself explained everything.
Elise and Sean shared a glance but kept quiet. Molly said, “It’s a way of flushing the body of all the toxins we have because of stress and poor eating. All the celebrities do it.”
“Because Hollywood is filled with people who epitomize good health choices,” Sean said.
“It’s actually very healthy—fasting every once in a while.” She turned to Kelly. “How do you feel?”
“Great,” Kelly said. “You don’t really know how bad you feel until you’ve gone without food for a little while.”
“I know that all too well,” Sean said. “I haven’t eaten in hours.”
Elise concealed a smile. There was no pleasing Kelly. She rarely ate much of Elise’s cooking when they visited. A juice fast seemed like a convenient out for doing what she would do anyway.
“So, Andrew,” Michael said, “how’d you and Molly meet?”
“At school.”
“You guys have a class together?”
“Trigonometry.”
“Ah, trig. Don’t really use that anymore.”
“What do you do for a living Mr. —”
“Ambrucci,” Elise said. “My maiden name.”
“I’m a personal injury attorney.”
“I saw your car outside. Pretty cool.”
“Ambulance chasing has its perks,” Sean said.
Elise glared at him.
“Ambulance chasing. That’s good, Sean,” Michael said. “Haven’t heard that one before.”
“Sorry,” Sean said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Bad joke.”
“I was thinking about law school after college,” Andrew said after a brief pause. “Maybe pre-law in undergrad.”
“I would make sure the market’s good when you go to apply. They’re not hiring many associates anymore.”
“So I shouldn’t do that?”
“I wouldn’t say don’t do it. Just make sure you understand the market. A lot of people are saddled with a hundred grand or more in debt and no job prospects.”
Sean said, “And that’s why it’s good to pay cash for everything.”
“Pay cash for law school? I’d love to see that.”
“It could be done.”
Michael turned to Andrew. “Only rich people can pay cash for things like that. Just remember that you might take a risk.”
“Which you could minimize by paying cash.”
Elise shifted. It was never about the actual topic with Michael and Sean—it was always a dick-sizing competition. She said, “Molly was selected as editor-in-chief of the senior yearbook next year.”
“Congratulations,” Michael said. “That’ll look great on your college applications.”
“There weren’t a lot of people who wanted to do it, so it wasn’t that hard,” Molly said.
“Don’t be down on yourself. You earned it,” Michael said.
“She also helped plan the homecoming events this year,” Elise said.
Molly played around with her food, eyes lowered. She was thin with auburn hair and big brown eyes like her mom. Elise had feared early on that she would never develop a personality beyond her beauty, so Sean and Elise emphasized the importance of her studies and instilled in her compassion for others. That way, when she grew up, she wouldn’t be shallow and uninteresting. And marry for money like…
Kelly said, “That’s amazing. You know, I was homecoming and prom queen back when I was in high school.”
And when was that, three years ago? Elise thought.
“It wasn’t homecoming court or anything. Just the planning committee,” Molly said.
“It’s still super important. Homecoming planning, newspaper editor. You got a lot going, girl. You’re beautiful and have a big heart and smarts to boot,” Kelly said.
Molly smiled shyly, and Andrew gave her a nudge with his elbow. This made Elise smile, but when she saw Sean’s reaction, her expression fell.
“We’re very proud of Molls,” Sean said.
“I’m glad to hear she’s still doing well, all things considered,” Michael said.
Sean set his silverware down, laced his fingers, and propped his elbows on the table. Dick-sizing round two. “All things considered?”
It felt like the room temperature had risen a few notches, like bubbles forming on the bottom of a warming pot. She stopped chewing.
Michael said, “Well, you uprooted her from a good school—her friends—to live here. That would be hard on any teenager.”
“I wasn’t aware you were a psychologist,” Sean said.
“I’ve just learned a few things while chasing ambulances.”
Elise wet her tongue with a sip of water. “Guys.”
Sean said, “No, it’s okay. It’s a fair comment. She’s doing great because we tutor her and help her along. And the school quality here is fine, thank you very much.”
“Wasn’t implying anything,” Michael said. He took another bite.
“Of course you weren’t.”
Everyone else around the table stared at their plates.
“You never are trying to imply anything, are you, Michael?” Sean said. “Just planting little seeds then backing out before you’re caught doing it.”
“Sean, please.” Michael said to Elise, “This chicken’s good.”
“Just trying to back out,” Sean said.
“Come on, Sean.”
“Come on, what?”
“Just let it go.”
“What’s your problem?”
“I don’t have a fucking problem.”
“Hey, watch your language in front of the kids.”
“I’ll watch my language when you agree to watch your kids.”
Elise’s heart dropped into her bowels. Her husband’s eyes burned with cold fury. His body leaned forward like he was seconds away from lunging across the table and slugging him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Sean asked with clamped teeth.
“Yeah, what does that mean?” Elise said, growing angrier.
Michael slid his chair back and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I’m going to the bathro
om.”
“I asked, what’s that supposed to mean?” Sean said.
Michael set the napkin down and told Elise, “The food was great.”
He walked around his sister and exited into the kitchen. The air followed him out, leaving a void. She couldn’t believe he said that. He crossed that line.
Sean sat back in his seat, but every muscle fiber under his skin was taut. He picked up a fork and jabbed his food. Elise tried to make eye contact with him, to show her support for him, but he just looked down at the middle of the table. He needed to know she didn’t hold the accident against him.
Because he never had forgiven himself for what happened to Gracie.
Sean
Sean lay in bed wishing he had taken one of his sleeping pills. His mind played the events from dinner as if on repeat. Every replay was an opportunity to change what he had said, to fantasize that his words were stronger, more impactful. Or that he had punched his brother-in-law’s teeth out.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
Clearly there was.
He spun around until his feet came off the bed, listening to the steady rhythm of his wife’s breathing. He set his elbows on his knees and planted his face into his hands. Michael and Elise’s after dinner screaming match replayed. Sean had taken Aidan upstairs to shield him from it and ushered Andrew out. Then he had gone up to his bedside nightstand, to his gun safe disguised as a battery-powered alarm clock. He entered the code and a metal slide, just big enough to fit his pistol, popped out. He stored his gun inside. Dangerous weapons plus a temper were a terrible combination.
Now, he watched the red numbers on another clock switch over to four a.m., and he thought he heard an engine outside. His mind playing tricks. He rubbed his face and revisited dinner. It was foolish to replay the argument again. He tried to shake it away, but it stuck in his mind.
While he usually would grab his gun during his late-night walks around the home, he decided against it, his temper still flared. The bed squeaked, rising from it. He shuffled toward the door and left without making another noise.
The darkness sapped most of the color from the hallway, leaving just blacks and grays. The floorboards creaked under his weight. When he reached the banister, he turned instead of going down, walking along the railing overlooking the stairs before diverting into a short hallway. At the end was an office with a desk, safe, and full bookshelves. He didn’t turn the light on.
The swaying trees outside brushed against the home’s siding. He stood by a window, pinned one venetian blind down with his finger, and looked out at the front yard. It was something fierce outside, worse than usual. The snow was cloudy and thick.
Getting Michael and Kelly out would be difficult. Elise was adamant about them leaving—and so was Sean—but the snow wouldn’t cooperate. Michael’s luxury car was practically buried.
A loud thump carried through the wall like something had hit it. He froze and then reached down for the gun he didn’t have. He waited. The room next to the office was Molly’s, and she kicked while sleeping. That was it. Had to be.
It nagged him though. He tiptoed around the banister and toward Molly’s room, trying to be quiet, but a groan escaped from the floor every few steps. He leaned toward the door and listened. The wind howled outside, but otherwise everything was silent. He reached out to turn the doorknob, just to check in on her, but relented. If someone had broken in, Sean would have heard movement in the baseboards. He relaxed and returned to bed.
As he pulled the covers over himself, his mind replayed his earlier conversation with Michael. No use trying to fight thoughts that wouldn’t stop. Michael had said, “Well, if anything happens, I’ll make sure to come to you guys first.”
Sean changed the scene, a grin on his face, and said, “And I’d turn you away.”
Sean woke to the smell of faint smoke.
He scrunched his nose and reached toward the other side of the bed to find crumpled, cold sheets. He looked over at his safe/clock. Eight in the morning. He was usually the first awake, even after a sleepless night. Maybe it was for the better.
The curtains, normally back-lit by a translucent flush of morning light, were opaque instead. He bent at the waist and rubbed his arms. Nobody had turned up the thermostat. He shot out of bed and threw on a sweater, thick robe, and slippers. Considered going downstairs. Elise would be there—but he wasn’t sure who else might be. He couldn’t spend his whole day in hiding, so he walked to the banister.
He looked down the hall. Aidan’s door was wide open—he was an early riser like his dad—but Molly’s was still closed. He tried not to hound her for sleeping late, but the last few months she seemed to do it more than normal. He detoured toward her room and tapped his knuckles on her door. “Sweetheart, you up?” He waited. And then knocked again. “Molls, it’s time to get up.”
“I’ll be down in a few,” she said, muffled behind the door.
“You want breakfast?”
“I’m good.”
“You sure?”
“I’m fine,” she said, agitated.
Sean backpedaled. He couldn’t get into her head. Since the move—since she met him—it had been a nonstop parade of strange behaviors. Before the move, she would have never spoken to him with that tone. He shook his head and took his wife’s advice: cut her some slack.
He crept down the stairs, watching the room below come into view. It was petty, but he wanted the choice to go back upstairs if he saw Michael in the living room. The best course of action was avoidance.
Seemed to be Michael’s goal, too, because Sean poked his head below the plane of the ceiling and found nobody there. The blinds and the drapes were undrawn, leaving the room with a sulky, depressing ambiance. The only bright light came from the kitchen. He descended the remaining steps, looked around the railing into the kitchen, and watched. A few seconds later, his wife walked into the frame of the door.
“Morning,” she said with a smile that looked like it took effort. “What’re you doing?”
Sean chuckled and came into the kitchen. “I don’t know.” He kissed her cheek and then leaned in the dining room doorway. Past the table and off to the side, the guest bedroom door was clamped shut with a halo of yellow light surrounding it. Michael and Kelly were awake.
“They haven’t come out,” Elise said.
He looked back at her, trying to act natural. “Hmm?”
“Come on, Sean,” she said and pulled the coffee pot off the percolator. “Want some?”
He nodded, his eyes drifting back to the door, trying to redirect his gaze, convincing himself it was okay. If Michael came out, Sean would skirt to the other end of the room. He would act civilized. No reason to not be peaceable.
A cup of steaming black coffee floated in his peripheral. “They’re not coming out,” she whispered, tapping his arm, holding the cup out to him. “Well, at least Michael isn’t. I told him last night that he better stay out of sight or I’ll shoot him.”
Sean smiled and grabbed the cup. “I knew there was a reason I married you.”
She let a few seconds pass. “He was way out of line.”
“I know.”
“I really want you to know I’m on your side.”
“I know.”
“It was completely inappropriate for him to bring up Gracie like that—”
“Elise, please. We don’t need to talk about this right now.”
She curled a few loose strands of hair around her ear. She had always reassured him, even right after the accident, that she didn’t blame him. Never had and never would. He appreciated it, though sometimes he wished she had. And that she wouldn’t bring it up so much.
She wrapped her arm around him and squeezed. A second later, she returned to the stove. “I just think the sooner they’re gone, the sooner I can forgive him.” She sighed and grabbed a c
arton of eggs from the fridge. “Want some?”
“Sure,” he said and took one last glance at the guest bedroom. “You burn something earlier?”
“I left some toast in too long.”
“Smelled it upstairs.”
“I’m surprised it carried that far.”
Elise scooped up a dollop of butter with a plastic spatula and smacked it into the pan. Sean walked toward the window, blinds still closed. “Did it stop snowing?”
“Don’t know. It seemed so dreary outside, I didn’t want to look.”
Sean’s fingers wrapped around the cord to lift the blinds when he heard a scream.
“Mom!”
Aiden’s voice, shrill and frightened. Sean and Elise’s eyes met, and panic spread across their faces. Sean dropped the coffee cup, the glass shattering as they darted into the living room.
Aidan stood in the middle of the room, arms drooped to his sides. He was dressed in his snow pants, boots, and a heavy jacket, the hood pulled over his head. His gloves lay at his side. Everything had gray soot on it like he had been rolling in a spent campfire, except where his gloves had covered his skin. Sean and Elise knelt in front of him. Tears streamed down his cheeks, leaving clear trails through the soot. His chest heaved like he couldn’t get any air. “I’m getting his inhaler,” Elise said and rushed into the other room.
“Calm down, bud. Relax,” Sean said, his hands resting on Aidan’s shoulders. “Breathe deep.” He looked him over. “Did you climb in the burn barrel or something?”
Elise reappeared with a white inhaler in her hands. She plopped back down on her knees next to Sean and extended it to her son. Aidan, shaking, grabbed it and squeezed a puff of medicine into his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he said between trembling sobs. “I’m sorry.”
“Just calm down. Breathe,” Sean said. He pulled back his hands from Aidan’s shoulder and looked at his palms and fingers printed with a gray film that smelled of fire. He looked his son up and down and stopped at his feet. A trail of small, ashy prints in the white carpet led to the garage. Aidan’s footprints. “Aidan, what happened?”
