Page 16 of You'll Be Sorry

Ushering the little ones out of the trailer. Tucking them behind whatever meager cover she could find. “Shhh…”

“Bunny, I’m scared.”

“Shhh…” Looking around for some kind of weapon, anything, as the mobile home door crashed open, a fresh howl splitting the night.

“Bunny, I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m scared.”

Herself still searching, searching, searching. And then, she saw it:

“Lilly, Charlie Boy, this is very important: Close your eyes…”

Now she wandered into the girls’ room, another dark, empty space. More graffiti and scarred windowsills and petty vandalism. Additional remnants of the unknown artist, coloring a bouquet of heart-shaped roses, the slender form of a darting red fox, the peering face of a curious gray raccoon.

Raquel wondered about the artist. Probably female. Young maybe, but touched by this family and their fate. Driven to make sense of the senseless, to commemorate people she didn’t know but could still feel.

Raquel had never found any record of an actual memorial for the Dixon children and their parents. Because thirty years later the larger clan still held out hope? Or because sometimes, by the time you realized the worst had happened, you had no energy left to cope?

This house, this badly bruised and battered shell, was all that remained. A reminder of summer adventures and family fun. A nod to generations past. A failed promise to the future.

For two hundred fifty years there’d been Dixons on this property. And now, her and Theo.

Raquel roamed the upstairs. She descended to the hushed silence of the great room, where she could see the moon peeking out from behind silvery clouds. She ran her fingers along a mantel older than she would ever be, across a stone hearth built with boulders the Dixons themselves had pulled from the ground when first clearing. She pictured generations of puzzles and board games, of shared meals and midnight snacks.

She imagined a family life she’d never had and never would, thefingers on her right hand beginning to drum restlessly against the top of her thigh.

This house with its own tragic history. Like calling to like. Two tired, exhausted women, just trying to feel whole again.

Raquel roamed from room to room, stepping into beams of moonlight, disappearing back into bands of shadows. Over and over again. Until finally, worn out, she returned to the bed she shared with her husband and tucked herself beneath the sheets. Even in his sleep, Theo rolled toward her and wrapped his arm around her waist.

Eventually, she slept.

When she opened her eyes again, daylight streamed through the windows and Theo was peering down at her, his boyish expression particularly animated.

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty. Guess what? We have a dog!”

A brief but necessary interlude…

Have you ever watched one more episode of some silly TV show late at night, knowing you shouldn’t but doing it anyway? Then another and another, until it’s suddenly three in the morning and you have no idea where the time’s gone?

You know what you’re doing is stupid, maybe even self-destructive. You should definitely make better life decisions.

But you don’t.

Alarm goes off. Time to get up, eat a healthy breakfast (just say no to drive-thru!), and get your sorry ass to work. Co-workers chatting in the hallways, speaking up in meetings, addressing you directly in conversation. You should pay attention, but you don’t.

Lunch break would be a solid choice. Not to mention wrapping up work at a decent hour, making time to meet up with friends, or taking a stroll outside for a breath of fresh air.

But you don’t.

Your parents, reaching out to you by phone, text, email. Maybe siblings or college roommates or caring neighbors. Everyone talking, talking, talking. They love you. They care about you. Or they’re simply bored themselves and looking for some excuse to prattle away (subtext: We all realize you haven’t quite been the same since…).

You should listen. Register their words. Pay attention to their facial expressions, but you just can’t find it in yourself to make the effort.

Life happens, the world spins, people you genuinely love and care about come and go. You should engage, invest in the relationships, care about the results.

But mostly you’re going to stream one more formulaic sitcom, anything to avoid the obvious.

Something’s wrong. Has been wrong. Will always be wrong. But what? If you could just put your finger on it. Get your head out of your ass.