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Authors: Joyce McDonald
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Jenna’s hand and pulled her down beside her on the couch. “I know I’m
supposed
to say something reasonable, like ‘There aren’t any simple answers to these things. They just happen. It’s not because of anything we did.’ ” She began to pick at the dried jelly on her T-shirt. Her eyes grew moist. “I never realized before how ridiculously simplistic those words sound.” She rubbed her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m not being very helpful, am I?”
“It’s okay, Mom. It’d be worse if you started spouting all those hollow clichés just to make me feel better.”
Her mother took a deep breath. “What keeps going through my mind is, I did everything I was supposed to, and this is how it turns out! I feel … I don’t know … cheated, somehow.”
Jenna shook her head. “I don’t understand. What do you mean, everything you were supposed to do?”
Meredith continued to scrape at the stubborn jelly stain. Jenna saw that her mother had been picking at the skin around her cuticles. Her fingers looked raw.
“I’m not sure, really. I suppose I thought all I had to do was play by the rules. If I worked hard, if I was a good wife and mother, if I was good at my job, kept a neat house …” Her voice trailed off. She pulled a soggy tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. “I guess what I thought was, if I did all those things, we’d all live to a ripe old age.” She snorted a little laughand looked over at Jenna. Her mouth was twisted in an awkward half smile.
Jenna tried to think of something to say, but no words would come.
Her mother leaned over and brushed a strand of Jenna’s hair behind her ear. “Marge Evans from work told me that I shouldn’t think of myself as a victim. She says what happened to us is part of life.”
“Yeah, the rotten part.”
Meredith squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her hand hard against her mouth. After a few minutes she said, “I’m so sorry, Jen. I wish you hadn’t seen me like this. I’m supposed to be the strong one. I should be comforting you. And here I am—Oh, God, I must sound so angry. But I can’t help it. I keep thinking I failed him in some way, you know? That there was something I could have—
should have
—done. And if I’d only done it, he’d still be here.”
Jenna felt as if her entire body had been weighted down with rocks. She wasn’t even sure she’d be able to get up off the couch when the time came. “There’s nothing you could have done, Mom.”
Her mother reached for the comforter at the end of the couch and stretched it across both of them. She pulled the edge up beneath her chin and lowered her face into the soft folds.
Jenna let her head flop against the back of the couch and closed her eyes. “I still keep expecting him to come home.”
Her mother sighed softly. “Me too,” she said.
j enna entered her bedroom an hour later without turning on the light. She had been doing this ever since the evening she’dnoticed the boy sitting on the front steps of the church across the street. The first time she saw him from her bedroom window had been two days after her father’s death. He had been sitting on the top step, leaning back against the church doors. Jenna thought he looked familiar. But at the time she hadn’t paid much attention. Two evenings later he was there again.
At first she hadn’t been sure it was the same person. The second time she saw him, the boy had his arms wrapped around his legs, which were drawn up to his chest, and his forehead pressed against his knees. But when he finally stretched his legs forward, letting his head fall back against the door, the setting sun spilled over his face, and she knew for certain it was the same boy. She thought she recognized him from school, although she didn’t know his name. She had wondered what he was doing waiting outside the church, then decided he was probably meeting someone.
But on the evenings when he showed up—and she had counted ten so
supposed
to say something reasonable, like ‘There aren’t any simple answers to these things. They just happen. It’s not because of anything we did.’ ” She began to pick at the dried jelly on her T-shirt. Her eyes grew moist. “I never realized before how ridiculously simplistic those words sound.” She rubbed her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m not being very helpful, am I?”
“It’s okay, Mom. It’d be worse if you started spouting all those hollow clichés just to make me feel better.”
Her mother took a deep breath. “What keeps going through my mind is, I did everything I was supposed to, and this is how it turns out! I feel … I don’t know … cheated, somehow.”
Jenna shook her head. “I don’t understand. What do you mean, everything you were supposed to do?”
Meredith continued to scrape at the stubborn jelly stain. Jenna saw that her mother had been picking at the skin around her cuticles. Her fingers looked raw.
“I’m not sure, really. I suppose I thought all I had to do was play by the rules. If I worked hard, if I was a good wife and mother, if I was good at my job, kept a neat house …” Her voice trailed off. She pulled a soggy tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. “I guess what I thought was, if I did all those things, we’d all live to a ripe old age.” She snorted a little laughand looked over at Jenna. Her mouth was twisted in an awkward half smile.
Jenna tried to think of something to say, but no words would come.
Her mother leaned over and brushed a strand of Jenna’s hair behind her ear. “Marge Evans from work told me that I shouldn’t think of myself as a victim. She says what happened to us is part of life.”
“Yeah, the rotten part.”
Meredith squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her hand hard against her mouth. After a few minutes she said, “I’m so sorry, Jen. I wish you hadn’t seen me like this. I’m supposed to be the strong one. I should be comforting you. And here I am—Oh, God, I must sound so angry. But I can’t help it. I keep thinking I failed him in some way, you know? That there was something I could have—
should have
—done. And if I’d only done it, he’d still be here.”
Jenna felt as if her entire body had been weighted down with rocks. She wasn’t even sure she’d be able to get up off the couch when the time came. “There’s nothing you could have done, Mom.”
Her mother reached for the comforter at the end of the couch and stretched it across both of them. She pulled the edge up beneath her chin and lowered her face into the soft folds.
Jenna let her head flop against the back of the couch and closed her eyes. “I still keep expecting him to come home.”
Her mother sighed softly. “Me too,” she said.
j enna entered her bedroom an hour later without turning on the light. She had been doing this ever since the evening she’dnoticed the boy sitting on the front steps of the church across the street. The first time she saw him from her bedroom window had been two days after her father’s death. He had been sitting on the top step, leaning back against the church doors. Jenna thought he looked familiar. But at the time she hadn’t paid much attention. Two evenings later he was there again.
At first she hadn’t been sure it was the same person. The second time she saw him, the boy had his arms wrapped around his legs, which were drawn up to his chest, and his forehead pressed against his knees. But when he finally stretched his legs forward, letting his head fall back against the door, the setting sun spilled over his face, and she knew for certain it was the same boy. She thought she recognized him from school, although she didn’t know his name. She had wondered what he was doing waiting outside the church, then decided he was probably meeting someone.
But on the evenings when he showed up—and she had counted ten so
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