Chapter 10 - The House Without Either Of Them
Two weeks after the fall, I went home.
Alone.
Lauren drove me and stayed in the car while I walked inside.
Jason had moved to his friend Marcus's apartment.
Margaret's things were still in the basement guest room.
We had been told not to touch anything that belonged to her unless arrangements were made.
Fine.
I did not want her clothes.
I wanted my house.
The kitchen smelled faintly like the casserole.
Tomato sauce had dried in one crack along the baseboard despite Jason's cleaning.
I stared at it.
Then walked to the basement stairs.
The broken dish was gone.
One dent remained in the wall.
I reached for the rail with my good hand.
Stopped.
My body would not take the first step.
Nothing dramatic happened.
I simply stood there.
Five minutes.
Maybe more.
Then went upstairs.
That angered me.
Margaret was in a hotel.
Jason was elsewhere.
The staircase still had more control over my body than either of them.
I slept in my own bed that night.
Badly.
At three, I heard a noise downstairs and sat up so fast my ribs screamed.
Refrigerator compressor.
That was all.
The next morning, Jason texted:
Can I come by at noon for clothes?
I wrote:
Yes. Knock.
He did.
Our house key was still on his ring.
He did not use it.
I noticed.
He stood on the porch holding two empty duffel bags.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
I moved aside.
He waited.
Then:
“Can I come in?”
“Yes.”
That hurt worse than if he'd walked through automatically.
He packed upstairs.
I stayed in the kitchen.
On his second trip down he saw the basement door.
“You haven't been down.”
It wasn't a question.
“No.”
“I can get anything you need.”
“I don't need anything.”
He nodded.
Then:
“Mom's lawyer wants her things.”
“Arrange a time when I’m not here.”
“Okay.”
He zipped one bag.
I asked:
“Did you know she was angry before the stairs?”
He froze.
We had covered this.
Or I thought we had.
“You heard her.”
“Yes.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
Jason looked toward the front door.
“I knew she was upset about moving.”
“How upset?”
“She called me that morning.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did she say?”
“That you were throwing her out.”
“I gave her a deadline.”
“I know.”
“She said you told her I'd turned you against her.”
Jason looked ashamed.
“She said that.”
“And?”
“I told her I'd talk to you both that night.”
“Both.”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell her not to confront me?”
“No.”
I stared.
He continued quickly.
“I didn't think she'd—”
“July.”
His face collapsed.
I didn't need to finish.
He sat on the bottom stair leading to the foyer.
Not basement.
He knew better.
“She was already furious when I got home.”
“What did you do?”
“I stayed in the kitchen.”
“Why?”
“I thought if I got involved, it would get worse.”
I stared at him.
The casserole had been in my hands because I was carrying dinner to the downstairs refrigerator.
Margaret followed.
Jason heard her.
He waited.
“Did you know she followed me?”
“Yes.”
The answer came almost inaudibly.
“You saw?”
“I saw her go after you.”
“And you let her.”
“I thought they were words.”
“You knew words had already become hands.”
He closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
That changed something.
Jason had not pushed me.
He had not wanted me hurt.
But he had knowingly left me alone with someone whose physical aggression he was already hiding.
Then, when the predictable thing happened, he asked me to lie.
I sat across from him.
“How long were you standing in the kitchen after she followed me?”
“I don't know.”
“Ten seconds?”
“Maybe.”
“Thirty?”
“Probably less.”
I looked away.
Not long.
Long enough.
Jason whispered:
“I heard her say your name.”
“What did she sound like?”
He started crying.
“Like when I was seventeen.”
That was the answer.
May you like
He recognized danger.
And froze into the same family role anyway.
