and it’ll get back to Joe and Sue.
“There were a couple of kittens and they needed homes.”
She shakes her head. “You can’t give homes to every stray out there.”
She says this like people are constantly knocking down our door for a nice, dry, warm
place to stay, when, in fact, we are the strays.
11
An academic adviser from the community college leaves me a message, saying that they
are aware of my “extenuating circumstances” and if I want to come in for a meeting,
he will help me find a way to fix my record. Madison, a girl who���d been in most
of my classes at school, also calls, leaving another
Are you okay?
message.
I don’t return either call. I go back to work, picking up a few more cleaning jobs,
six a week now, decent money. Meg’s laptop stays on my desk, along with the rest of
my schoolbooks, all of them collecting dust. Until one afternoon, the doorbell rings.
Scottie is on the porch, with Samson, who’s tied up to a rail. “I’m here to take you
up on your offer to kick my butt,” he says.
“Come on in.”
We fire up the computer.
“What are we playing?” I ask.
“I thought we’d start with Soldier of Solitude.”
“What’s that?”
“Here, I’ll show you.” He clicks on the web program. “Hmm.” He fiddles around some
more. “I don’t see your network. Maybe we have to reboot the router.”
I shake my head. “There’s no router, Scottie. No Internet.”
He looks at me, then looks like around like he’s remembering who I am, who Tricia
is. “Oh, that’s okay. We can play something on your computer.” He pulls the laptop
back toward him. “What games do you have?”
“I don’t know. It depends if Meg had any games.” Scottie and I look at each other
and almost smile. Meg hated video games. Thought they sucked out valuable brain cells.
And sure enough, there’s nothing on the computer except what came preloaded.
“We can play solitaire,” I say.
“You can’t play solitaire with two people,” Scottie says. “That’s why it’s called
solitaire
.”
I feel like I’ve let him down. I start to close the computer. But then Scottie holds
it open. “Is that what she sent the note from?”
Scottie is ten. I am pretty sure it’s not healthy for him to be talking about stuff
like this. Not with me. I close the computer.
“Cody, nobody tells me anything.”
His voice is so plaintive. I remember the good-bye she sent him, also from this computer.
“Yes, this is the computer she sent the note from.”
“Can I see it?”
“Scottie—”
“I know everyone wants to protect my innocence and stuff, but my sister swallowed
poison. It’s kinda too late.”
I sigh. I have a printout of her suicide note in the box under my bed, but I know
that’s not what he wants to see. I know he’s seen the note, or read it, or heard about
it. But he wants to see its origin. I open up the sent mail file. I show him the note.
With squinting eyes, he reads it.
“Did you ever think it was weird that she said that the decision was ‘my own to make’?”
I shake my head. I hadn’t.
“It’s just, when we used to get busted for doing something together and she wanted
to keep me out of trouble, that’s what she’d tell Mom and Dad. ‘Scottie had nothing
to do with it. It was my own decision.’ It was how she’d protect me.”
I remember all the times Meg dragged Scottie into one of her schemes and then had
to extricate him. She was always taking the fall for him. Most of the time, deservedly
so. I still don’t quite get what he’s saying, so the ten-year-old has to spell it
out for me.
“It’s almost like she’s protecting someone.”
12
After Scottie leaves, I go through Meg’s emails yet again. There’s all that deleted
sent mail, which I haven’t been able to understand. Why would she delete only the
sent messages but not the inbox? Or did she delete mail from her inbox, too, only
I
“There were a couple of kittens and they needed homes.”
She shakes her head. “You can’t give homes to every stray out there.”
She says this like people are constantly knocking down our door for a nice, dry, warm
place to stay, when, in fact, we are the strays.
11
An academic adviser from the community college leaves me a message, saying that they
are aware of my “extenuating circumstances” and if I want to come in for a meeting,
he will help me find a way to fix my record. Madison, a girl who���d been in most
of my classes at school, also calls, leaving another
Are you okay?
message.
I don’t return either call. I go back to work, picking up a few more cleaning jobs,
six a week now, decent money. Meg’s laptop stays on my desk, along with the rest of
my schoolbooks, all of them collecting dust. Until one afternoon, the doorbell rings.
Scottie is on the porch, with Samson, who’s tied up to a rail. “I’m here to take you
up on your offer to kick my butt,” he says.
“Come on in.”
We fire up the computer.
“What are we playing?” I ask.
“I thought we’d start with Soldier of Solitude.”
“What’s that?”
“Here, I’ll show you.” He clicks on the web program. “Hmm.” He fiddles around some
more. “I don’t see your network. Maybe we have to reboot the router.”
I shake my head. “There’s no router, Scottie. No Internet.”
He looks at me, then looks like around like he’s remembering who I am, who Tricia
is. “Oh, that’s okay. We can play something on your computer.” He pulls the laptop
back toward him. “What games do you have?”
“I don’t know. It depends if Meg had any games.” Scottie and I look at each other
and almost smile. Meg hated video games. Thought they sucked out valuable brain cells.
And sure enough, there’s nothing on the computer except what came preloaded.
“We can play solitaire,” I say.
“You can’t play solitaire with two people,” Scottie says. “That’s why it’s called
solitaire
.”
I feel like I’ve let him down. I start to close the computer. But then Scottie holds
it open. “Is that what she sent the note from?”
Scottie is ten. I am pretty sure it’s not healthy for him to be talking about stuff
like this. Not with me. I close the computer.
“Cody, nobody tells me anything.”
His voice is so plaintive. I remember the good-bye she sent him, also from this computer.
“Yes, this is the computer she sent the note from.”
“Can I see it?”
“Scottie—”
“I know everyone wants to protect my innocence and stuff, but my sister swallowed
poison. It’s kinda too late.”
I sigh. I have a printout of her suicide note in the box under my bed, but I know
that’s not what he wants to see. I know he’s seen the note, or read it, or heard about
it. But he wants to see its origin. I open up the sent mail file. I show him the note.
With squinting eyes, he reads it.
“Did you ever think it was weird that she said that the decision was ‘my own to make’?”
I shake my head. I hadn’t.
“It’s just, when we used to get busted for doing something together and she wanted
to keep me out of trouble, that’s what she’d tell Mom and Dad. ‘Scottie had nothing
to do with it. It was my own decision.’ It was how she’d protect me.”
I remember all the times Meg dragged Scottie into one of her schemes and then had
to extricate him. She was always taking the fall for him. Most of the time, deservedly
so. I still don’t quite get what he’s saying, so the ten-year-old has to spell it
out for me.
“It’s almost like she’s protecting someone.”
12
After Scottie leaves, I go through Meg’s emails yet again. There’s all that deleted
sent mail, which I haven’t been able to understand. Why would she delete only the
sent messages but not the inbox? Or did she delete mail from her inbox, too, only
I