The Sister-in-Law, Pamela Crane [have you read this book txt] 📗

kind of brother who shows up to help his sister frame her husband’s suicide as a murder.’ I sucked in a long draw and exhaled a puff of smoke. ‘But I’m done asking for favors. I’m going to find my own apartment, something small and affordable, get a job, and get out of your hair.’

‘No you’re not. You’ve only been here for a little over a week. You’re going to stay as long as you need to, Harp. Give yourself time to heal. The baby isn’t due for months. There’s no rush for you to leave.’

We both knew it was time, though Lane would never admit it.

‘I do have one last favor to ask, though.’

‘Anything,’ he said.

‘I just need a hug from my brother.’

Lane took the cigarette from my fingers and put it out on the patio floor. Lifting me up with him, he hugged me, a hug so enveloping and warm that it wrapped me in love. It was the hug of two little children who couldn’t bear to be separated by even a sliver of space. It felt safe to be a child for once and not always the adult. I closed my eyes to relish it to the fullest. When I opened them, there stood Candace, jaw clenched and eyes narrowly watching us from the kitchen window.

I jolted and stepped back. Candace slowly drifted out of sight.

‘I’ve been meaning to ask you. Have you been taking your meds?’ Lane asked.

Not this again. ‘I don’t need them anymore.’

‘You know that’s not how it works. You have to keep taking them consistently.’

‘I don’t like how they make me feel. Like the walking dead.’

‘Then the dosage needs to be adjusted. But don’t just stop taking them. I’ll go with you, if you want. We can talk to the doctor together. I’m very familiar with this stuff, you know. It’s what I do for a living.’

I nodded, wordlessly following him into the house where, like a good girl, I would take my medicine to silence the wailing inside my head. I checked the time. Bedtime at last! I found Jackson coloring at the coffee table while Elise watched reruns of Scooby-Doo. I remembered fondly watching the show as a kid myself on Saturday mornings. How times had changed. Kids these days had instant access to everything they wanted, while us old folks had to wait until the weekend for our favorite shows. And God forbid a child sit through a commercial!

Glancing over Jackson’s shoulder, I expected to find an explosion of creativity the way Before Jackson used to be. Before Jackson would create a flurry of scribbles and scissor cuts as he turned an elephant into an elf. Instead, I found the entire page colored black with red squiggles. I thought of death and blood. What else would have crossed a mother’s mind at such an image?

‘Hey, buddy, whatcha’ drawing?’ I asked warily.

‘It’s dirt.’

Oh, that wasn’t so bad.

‘What are these?’ I pointed to a red squiggle.

‘The worms.’

‘Worms?’

‘Yeah, like the ones eating Daddy in the ground.’

My chest tightened and I moved to hug Jackson from behind. But my arms wouldn’t obey. I couldn’t touch my own son. What child considered the worms ravaging his father’s corpse? He scared me; the child I had borne – part me, part Ben – was untouchable. Every maternal bone in my body yearned to wrap myself around my tiny boy, but my muscles tensed and grew defiant and rigid. Instead, I placed my hand on his shoulder. Yes, I could handle that.

‘Jackson, why would you want to draw that?’

‘I dunno.’ He shrugged, as if I had asked what he wanted for a snack.

‘Do you think about this kind of stuff a lot?’

He nodded, shifting away from me. He always shuffled out of reach. Away from physical contact. It was becoming as worrisome as my inability to touch him. The mother in me yearned to close the gap between me and my son; but the mother in me also couldn’t because of what he had done. The one thing I couldn’t forgive him for.

‘Sweetie, why won’t you let me touch you?’

‘I dunno.’

The same two words he used to answer every question. I knelt down, meeting him eye-to-eye. ‘Please talk to me. I don’t know how to fix it if I don’t know what you’re thinking. Are you upset with me?’

He peered at me with eyes that had seen too much, robbed of all innocence. ‘I guess.’

‘Why, bud? I’m trying my best.’

‘Because you’re the reason Daddy’s dead.’ His voice was thin, like a strand of silk choking me.

‘Why do you say that? I loved your father.’

And I did. More than anything.

‘No you didn’t. Or else Daddy would still be alive.’

I felt the pierce of grief all over again.

‘You think I killed Daddy?’

‘Yeah. It’s why the policeman keeps coming to talk to you, isn’t it?’

I hadn’t realized Jackson was paying such close attention. How could I explain a murder investigation in a way a six-year-old child would understand?

‘No, bud, the policeman is just trying to figure out who did it.’

‘Will the person who killed Daddy come after me next? Is that why we have to live here, to hide?’

Oh no. The conversation was unraveling faster than I knew how to handle. I couldn’t tell Jackson that his father had committed suicide. But thinking his father was murdered wasn’t any better. How long had my son been fearing for his life?

‘No, sweetie, it wasn’t like that. No one is after us.’

‘Then why did you force us to live here? I hate it here. I miss Daddy. I wanna go home!’ Throwing down the black crayon that had been clutched between his stubby little fingers, Jackson jumped up and ran upstairs, leaving me alone with my heartbreak.

I wanted to chase after him, squeeze him until he giggled like we used to. I love you the size of a peanut, I used to say and he’d laugh. I love you the size of the ocean, I’d amend, but he’d shake his head