November 29, 2006

Chapter 25

(Filed under: The Novel)

"I think that'll be perfect," Jack said. Anwyn was holding up a blue baby outfit with a dinosaur playing basketball on the front.

"I like it, too," Anwyn said.

"You know I don't Catalina is in dire need of baby clothes," Jack said.

"No, probably not," Anwyn said. "But that's OK."

"I think I remember getting the announcement from them," Jack said. "It showed up a week or two later. At that point we were just culling the bills out of the mail and letting the rest pile up."

"Lost in the pile," Anwyn said. "Not where I'd like to end up."

"I’m just amazed she managed to get out an announcement so soon," Jack said. "Those things are a lot of work."

"They are if you like to procrastinate," Anwyn said.

"And what do you mean by that?" Jack said, playing like he was offended.

"We should have done this a while ago and we're just making up for it," Anwyn said, "Whether or not Mateo needs more clothes."

"You know you can't make up for everything," Jack said.

"I know," his daughter replied. "And I'm not going to." They wandered out of the baby aisle and headed towards the checkout. "I just think this one is important."

"It's a dinosaur playing basketball," Jack said. "I don't know about you, but I don't think it gets any more important than that."

"Nope, it doesn't," Anwyn said. She let her dad stand in line and pay for the gift while she wandered towards the entrance. She watched a couple little kids playing on one of the coin-operated rides in the entryway.

She remembered always wanting to ride those, but her mom always said no. But one time her and Isabelle walked past the ride with their father.

"C'mon, Dad, please?" Anwyn asked, tugging on her father's sleeve.

"Yeah, Dad, let the kid have a ride," Isabelle said, too old and too cool herself to be seen riding a fiberglass fire truck in the vestibule of a grocery store.

"Oh, I don't know," Jack said, using his mock worried voice. "Do you think it's safe?"

"Oh, c'mon, Dad," Anwyn pleaded. Jack reached into his pocket for change, but he came up short.

"Sorry kid," he said, this time dropping the voice and being serious. "But I don't have any change."

Anwyn's face fell. She let out a sigh and stuck out her lip. She was prepared to continue the pouting for the entire ride home.

"You know, you can't have everything," Jack said. He was prepping another of his speech's, ready to pick up Anwyn in his arms when Isabelle spoke up.

"Hold on," she said as she started digging into her purse. She pulled out two shiny quarters and handed them to Anwyn. "Here." She held them out to Anwyn and her little face lit up. She took the quarters and plunked them into the box next to the fire truck and then climbed aboard, managing to sit down just before the machine jolted into action and the siren started howling and the lights flashing. She beamed as the firetruck rocked back and forth and rumbled. Her mom never let her do this.

But Jack wasn't watching Anwyn enjoy the fire truck. He was watching Isabelle. She had a faint smile as she watched her little sister on the fire truck, but Jack knew she was hiding a much larger smile. He put his arm around his oldest daughter and together they watched Anwyn glow and giggle.

Now Anwyn was doing the watching.

"You ready to go?" her dad asked, coming up behind her.

"Yeah," Anwyn said, and they walked out the door towards the car.

"You know," her dad said, "I think you're a little old to ride the fire truck."

"You're never too old," Anwyn said.

"OK, true," Jack said. "But you are too old to not look ridiculous."

"Would you be embarrassed if I rode the fire truck?" Anwyn asked.

"Just a little," Jack said.

They drove back to home and arrived just in time. Oliver was picking up Anwyn for the usual Saturday trip to the nursing home.

"Un minuto," Anwyn called to Oliver as she slammed the door and ran into the house with her bag from the store. Jack got out of the car and gave Oliver a smile and a shrug. Oliver waited in the pickup truck and after a few minutes Anwyn came back out with a blue gift bag.

She climbed into the truck and handed it to Oliver.

"What's this?" he asked.

"It's for Mateo," Anwyn said.

"You didn't need—"

"Why does everybody say that?" Anwyn asked. "That's not the point. I don't need to do anything. But we do it anyway."

"Gracias," Oliver said, giving up on fighting her.

"De nada," Anwyn said. Oliver fired up the pickup and they pulled out of the driveway and headed through town, past the neighbor with his collection of unworkable cars lined up in the front yard, past the neighbor with the garden gnome guarding the front door, past the post office, the gas station and the old Richmond Café and on out of town.

"I heard you talked to Dominic," Oliver said.

"News travels fast," Anwyn said.

"Nobody has anything better to talk about," Oliver said with a shrug.

"Yeah, we talked on Monday," Anwyn said.

"Learn anything," Oliver asked.

"He's got two brothers and a sister," Anwyn said.

"I meant about Isabelle," Oliver said.

"No," Anwyn said. "I didn't ask. I don't need to know anymore."

"That's good," Oliver said. "Though I'm still wondering about truth or dare." They both laughed and started trading their theories and ideas about how Isabelle had managed to get Dominic's underwear.

When they pulled into the nursing home parking lot Oliver was still arguing for a make out session. Anwyn was standing by her trade theory and refused to budge.

"It'll be an unsolved mystery," Anwyn said as they got out of the pick up.

"You could just ask Dominic," Oliver said.

"Or you could ask him," Anwyn said.

"You don't ask another man about his underwear," Oliver said, holding the front door of the nursing home open for Anwyn.

"Then I guess you'll never know," she said with a smile.

The nurse gave both of them a forced smile and they went their separate ways, Oliver to talk to Guadalupe and Anwyn to Grandpa Frank's room.

She knocked on her grandfather's door as usual and pushed it open.

"There you are," said Grandpa Frank. "I was beginning to wonder about you."

"Oh, c'mon, Grandpa," Anwyn said. "You know I'll be here." She kissed his sandpaper cheek and sat down on the bed. She curled her legs on to the bed and leaned back on her hands. Grandpa Frank sat in his usual chair, wearing the same faded bathrobe.

"So how's my girl?" Grandpa Frank said. He had a big smile, accentuating the wrinkles on his face.

"I'm good, Grandpa," Anwyn said.

"And how are you really?" he asked, his face stern but understanding.

"I'm great, Grandpa," Anwyn said.

"Good to hear," he said, his smile back.

"I went to Lily's grave on Sunday," Anwyn said.

"You found it, huh?" Grandpa Frank said. "It's been quite a while since I've been out there myself. Though there's not really much to see."

"No," Anwyn said. "Not really. But it was good to go. I never had a chance to thank you for telling me what really happened to her. Thank you."

"No problem, kid," Grandpa Frank said. "There are some things you need to know and there are other things you don't really need to know. Most people don't really need to know about that. But some of us do."

"Thank you, Grandpa," Anwyn said. She hopped off the bed and gave her grandfather a hug. It wasn't the tear-filled, dramatic hug of last week when she had just been told about Lily's suicide and it was all washing over. Instead it was a warm and happy hug, full of joy and warmth that went deep. She soaked it up, holding her grandfather tight and breathing in the faint scent of Old Spice.

She suddenly remembered sitting on her grandfather's bed many years ago, back when he still lived in his old house and Anwyn and Isabelle were visiting for a summer. She was young and had skinned her knee when Isabelle pushed her and she fell on the concrete driveway.

The tears had started flowing and dotted the concrete as Anwyn slowly tried to stand up and brush the dirt from her bare legs. Her knee was scraped and bloody and the sight of the wound made her take the crying up a notch.

Grandpa Frank came outside to investigate and Isabelle denied it and Anwyn just blubbered. He sent Isabelle up to her room—which had actually been Jill's room when she was a girl—and took Anwyn by the hand and led her inside. He took her into his bedroom, the only bedroom on the main floor, just off the kitchen and the bathroom. The room had the scent of Old Spice and the six-year-old Anwyn found herself looking around her grandfather's room. She rarely came in here and couldn't help taking things in.

Her grandfather sat her down on the bed and kissed her on the forehead. He grabbed a box of band aids from the bathroom, pulled the little red string to open the package and then peeled back the paper backing and applied the band aid to Anwyn's skinned knee.

"There," he had said. "All better." But Anwyn didn't smile or say thank you. She just sat there looking sad. Another tear trickled down her cheek.

"What's wrong?" Grandpa Frank asked.

"Why did Isabelle do that?" Anwyn asked. She ran her finger over the fresh band aid over her knee. She could still feel a slight sting from the wound below.

"Sometimes people do mean things," Grandpa Frank said.

"How come?" Anwyn asked.

"I don't know," Grandpa Frank said. "They just do. I imagine if I asked your sister she wouldn't know why she did it either. Sometimes we can just be mean."

Anwyn didn't seem particularly cheered up by her grandfather's response.

"But what's important," Grandpa Frank said. "Is how we respond to things that happen to us. You could sit in here and cry all day, you could be mad at your sister and not talk to her again. You could hold it against her and not share your Barbies and be mean right back to her. You could do that and it'd be perfectly understandable."

Her grandfather paused for a moment and Anwyn thought about what he said, imagined being mean right back to Isabelle.

"Or," Grandpa Frank said, "Or you could choose not to let your life and your choices be defined by someone else's meanness."

"What do you mean?" Anwyn asked.

"Instead of being mean right back to Isabelle," Grandpa Frank said, "You could be nice to her."

"And then she'll be nice to me?" Anwyn asked, looking up at her grandfather.

"Maybe," he said. "Maybe not. It doesn't really matter what she does. What matters is what you do."

The words sunk in and Anwyn remembered sliding off the bed and going upstairs to find Isabelle. They played with their dolls and not a word was said about the pushing incident until they finished and were heading downstairs for lunch.

"I’m sorry I pushed you," Isabelle said.

"It's OK," the six-year-old Anwyn said. "I'll live."

THE END

Posted by kevin at 7:49 PM | TrackBack (0)

Chapter 24

(Filed under: The Novel)

Anwyn walked into Howe High School on Monday morning with a new smile. She still had to face the many whispers and odd looks that were still circulating the school after her encounter with Dominic last week. But she didn't care.

"Hey," Anwyn said to Lynn when she walked into Mr. Craven's biology class.

"Hey yourself, cemetery girl," Lynn said.

"That's a fun new story to add to the rumor mill," Anwyn said.

"I thought so," Lynn replied. "You won't let me torture Dominic, so I've got to have some fun somehow."

"I think Dominic's probably had enough," Anwyn said. "We'll end up touching off some kind of Capulet vs. Montague feud if we're not careful."

"And then your grandchildren will fall in love with each other and slip into some murder-suicide pact," Lynn said.

"My family's got the suicide part covered," Anwyn said with a weak smile.

"Is that a little weird to joke about?" Lynn asked, suddenly a little uneasy.

"No, it's OK," Anwyn said. "I don't want anyone walking on eggshells around me."

"It's a little late for that," Lynn said.

"Well, I don't need my friends walking on eggshells," Anwyn said.

"Good, because I don't think I can just give up all suicide jokes."

Anwyn smiled and felt how strange it was to be laughing and smiling about all of this. A week ago she was stewing in it. She remembered months and months ago it just nagged at her, alternating between remorse for not feeling bad and just forgetting about the whole thing. It would come back to her mind and she'd feel bad for not feeling bad.

Ms. Jonas, the counselor in St. Paul, kept telling her it was OK to feel however she felt. They were only emotions and that was just how she reacted. What was more important was what she chose to do with those emotions.

That comment never made much sense to Anwyn. Until Grandpa Frank told her what really happened to Lily and she realized that Grandpa Frank has been putting that idea into practice his entire life. He probably had incredible emotions, crippling emotions, but he didn't choose to wallow in them. Not that someone like Grandpa Frank would be likely to wallow in his emotions. Nobody would expect him to sit around and cry, but it wouldn't be surprising if he developed a temper or a thick, sarcastic edge. He could have developed any number of unhealthy coping mechanisms to help him deal with the overwhelming feelings of pain, betrayal and loss surrounding Lily's suicide.

And nobody would have blamed him. It just would have been the explanation. Why is Grandpa Frank so surly? His wife committed suicide and left him all alone with two kids. The person asking the question would grow suddenly silent and nod in agreement as they thought over how they'd feel if their loved one killed themselves. Almost any type of anti-social behavior could at least be understood with those kind of circumstances.

"But do you really want people just understanding your situation and stepping back?" Ms. Jonas had asked in one of their sessions. "It would create incredible distance in your life. No one would be close to you. I imagine that's the kind of loneliness Isabelle must have felt for whatever reason, and if you respond to her death in that way you'll just be repeating her mistakes."

At the time Anwyn just nodded and pulled at a loose thread hanging off her shoe.

But now it clicked.

Grandpa Frank didn't become a surly and bitter old man. Instead he overflowed with life and joy and hope. He loved to laugh and loved to enjoy life. In the end if you knew Grandpa Frank at all you had to wonder why on earth anyone so close to him would have wanted to kill themselves. His outlook on life could overcome so much.

And that made Anwyn wonder even more what Grandpa Frank had been like before Lily died. Was her suicide the cause of his incredible jovialness? Anwyn couldn't imagine her Grandpa not being her Grandpa, but also seemed impossible that Lily could have done what she did being married to a man like Grandpa Frank.

But that begged the question of why Lily did it, and it was the same unanswerable question as why Isabelle did it. It wasn't a road worth going down.

Mr Craven walked up to the chalkboard and Anwyn came back from her thoughts and started writing her notes.
She had changed for gym class and was coming out of the locker room when Dominic Warren came out of the men's locker room at the exact same moment. They walked out in step with one another and instinctively turned to acknowledge each other's presence when their eyes met.

Dominic stopped walking. Anwyn did a double take and then stopped as well.

"Oh," she said. "Hi."

"Hi," Dominic said, quieter and less sure of himself. They started walking again.

"Look," Anwyn said, after they had crossed the free throw line. "I'm sorry about last week. I just reacted. My sister had been on my mind and it was driving me a little nuts. I just snapped and you had the unfortunate position of being there when I snapped."

"I'll live," Dominic said.

"And you know, you were right," Anwyn said.

"I was?" Dominic asked.

"Yeah, Isabelle could be a bitch sometimes." By now they had reached the huddle of their classmates gathered around Mr. Graves and awaiting the instructions for the day. More than a few students gave Anwyn and Dominic odd looks, wondering why they were talking to one another and still standing next to each other. Even Mr. Graves noticed and paused for a second when his eyes came to them. But he quickly glanced down at his clipboard and started barking instructions.

He clapped his hands and the crowd of students started sauntering off toward the door to make the warm up lap around the school. It seemed like every gym teacher had some sort of elaborate warm up routine where the class would have to run a specified route. Even back in St. Paul Anwyn remembered having to run around the backstop, out to the foul pole, across the field to a tree and then across the bus circle and back to the gym. In Howe High School it was a little less elaborate and just meant running around the school. Every now and then they'd have to do an extra leg around the football field, and that was the path they had to run today.

Just like when they ran the mile the class spread out, the faster runners taking off and leading the way then the class spreading out with a clump of the slower runners jogging together. Anwyn often found herself near the front and today she found herself taking the lead and breaking away from her classmates.

Just as she was enjoying the air and the smell of the grass she realized someone was coming up beside her. It was Dominic.

"Well hi again," Anwyn said between breaths.

"Hey," Dominic said. They jogged in silence for a minute or two, passing the windows of the cafeteria.

"I wanted to apologize, too," Dominic said. They slowed their pace a little so they could talk easier, but they were still far ahead of their other classmates. They both ran enough that even a slow warm up pace was much faster than the rest of the class. "I shouldn't have said that about your sister. I had no idea what happened to her."

"You didn't know," Anwyn said. "It's OK."

"I had pretty strong memories about her," Dominic said, visibly wincing. "I'm sure you heard the rumors."

"Oh yeah," Anwyn said. "I guess I’m not the first one to do that to you."

"I guess it runs in the family," Dominic said.

"I don't think so," Anwyn said. "I think we make of ourselves what we will. It just happens that Isabelle and I are more alike than we care to admit."

"I hope not too alike," Dominic said, "for your sake."

"I don't think you'll have to worry about that," Anwyn said.

"That's good." They jogged on in silence, pulling away from the high school and making a loop around the football field.

"Do you miss her?" Dominic asked.

"Yes," Anwyn said. "And no. We never got along that well."

"Siblings are like that," Dominic said.

"Do you have brothers or sisters?" Anwyn asked.

"Two brothers and a sister."

"And do you get along?"

"Yes and no," Dominic said. "Times three." They both smiled.

"I get along the best with my sister, but she's also the youngest," Dominic said. "We have less to fight about. I'm not likely to steal her Barbie and she's not likely to play my video games. We stay out of each other's way and that makes it a lot easier to get along."

"It also makes it harder to be close," Anwyn said, knowing what it was like when her mother stayed out of her way.

"I suppose," Dominic said. "I think it'd be tough to lose any of them."

"You find a way to deal," Anwyn said. They were running away from the football field and back towards the gym. The warm up was almost over.

"You're pretty fast," Dominc said as they reached the gym and slowed to a walk. "You should join the track team."

"That's what they tell me," Anwyn said. "I think Mr. Graves ordered a uniform for me already."

"So you'll do it?" Dominic asked.

"Yeah," Anwyn said. "I haven't told him yet, but I will. I prefer cross country, but I guess I'll take what I can get."

"So are we cool?" Dominic asked.

"Cool?" Anwyn said. "Yeah, we're cool." Dominic smiled at her and walked away, going to ask Mr. Graves a question. Anwyn watched him go. He had a certain handsome appeal. She could see what Isabelle had seen in him. But he was also cocky. Anwyn thought being kneed in the groin by multiple girls might do something to tone down the cockiness, but apparently not.

As he walked away Anwyn realized she still didn't get anything about Isabelle out of Dominic. But she also didn't care.

Then she smiled, realizing that the one thing she would still care to know about was how Isabelle got her hands on Dominic's underwear the night they played truth or dare. That remained a mystery and even though her and Dominic were now "cool," she didn't think she'd be asking him anytime soon. And he wasn't likely to volunteer the information.

Posted by kevin at 6:51 PM | TrackBack (0)

November 28, 2006

Chapter 23

(Filed under: The Novel)

If Anwyn had brought Charlie with her on her run that Sunday morning he would have been whining by now. She was still standing on the bridge, lost in the water below. Her mind was replaying the day Isabelle had died, remembering her thoughts and emotions.

Anwyn sat on her bed with her dad and they heard noises outside, car doors opening and closing.

"That's probably them," Jack said, meaning the ambulance or the police or both. Anwyn nodded. Jack stood up, wiped his eyes and headed for the door.

"Are you going to stay here?" Jack asked, stopping in the doorway.

"Um, yeah," Anwyn said, "I guess." She didn't know what else to do. She watched her dad go and the thought occurred to her that she could have Isabelle's room. She had never really wanted it before—it wasn't any kind of dream. But the thought just occurred to her.

The front door opened and Jack stood back as two paramedics came in. They carried gear in bags slung over their shoulders and rushed as if it mattered. Anwyn came to her doorway and watched the paramedics come up the stairs and go in the door across the hall.

She just stood there, not wanting to follow, not wanting to leave her room since she told her dad she'd stay here. With the door to Isabelle's room open Anwyn could just see her limp form spread across the bed. She was still wearing her faded green high tops—the one with the hole in the sole.

She could see the paramedics working on the body, checking vital signs and doing standard procedure tests. But as soon as they touched the body they knew as Jack did that it was way too late. One of them picked up the empty pill bottle from the table, read the label and called in to dispatch. The walkie-talkie's cackle echoed throughout the house.

The day turned to a blur from there. The paramedics left. The coroner was on his way. The police were coming to take statements. Jill came home in complete hysterics—Anwyn didn't actually remember much of that.

Standing on the bridge Anwyn did remember that she didn't have breakfast that day. In the midst of everything she forgot and when she did remember she felt guilty for wanting something to eat and had started crying again. That's how it went in those first few days. There were phone calls, friends, home-cooked meals on strange platters that filled up the fridge. There were funeral arrangements, flowers, hugs.

It had all came in a flood. And it seemed like a million years ago and a million miles away. In reality it was a little more than seven months and 700 miles away. And through it all there were never any answers. The police asked their questions, family and friends respectfully didn't ask theirs—but they buzzed among themselves, and Jack, Jill and Anwyn had their own questions. But there were never any satisfying answers.

As the water flowed below Anwyn knew there never would be. Just days before she had stood on this very spot and thought about suicide. It could come up that simply and there was no explaining why Isabelle had done what she had done. But she did it, just as her grandmother Lily had done it before.

Her Grandpa Frank's words echoed in her ears. Searching for answers was a fruitless game. It happened. Anwyn could either struggle on, grasping for answers that weren't there and punishing herself for not missing her sister. Or, she could come out from under the long ugly shadow her sister's actions had cast and make her own life something more.

Isabelle couldn't find a reason for living. She couldn't find enough hope to carry on. But Anwyn would be different. Just as Grandpa Frank had gathered himself up and moved on, so would Anwyn.

She would no longer be a prisoner to questions with no answers. She hadn't been close to Isabelle, and she would no longer feel bad for that. It's just the way it was. Suicide didn't change anything. Figuring out what went through her sister's mind in those final moments wouldn't make her feel better. Isabelle would still be dead and life would still have to go on. She couldn't bring her sister back, she couldn't fix her messed up family, she couldn't repair her broken life. It's just the way it was. Healing would only come through living.

She broke her gaze with the water and turned north to Richmond, starting in a slow jog, building speed and increasing her stride to a full sprint. Her shoes landed in the pebbles and dirt with a soft crunch-crunch. Her lungs sucked in oxygen and she felt alive.

She hit the railroad tracks before stopping. Her heart blazed within her chest and she loved it. She shook out her arms and trotted home, letting her heart rate slowly return to normal.

Oliver.

It occurred to her suddenly. She needed to talk to Oliver.

She turned around where she was, home within sight, and started trotting to Oliver's house. She skipped the blacktop and when straight, cutting across a backyard and over a fence. She went across the railroad tracks where her and Isabelle had flattened pennies, across another yard and down the road to where Oliver and Catalaina and Mateo lived.

Mateo. She still hadn't gotten a gift for her little once-removed cousin. She made a mental note and knocked on the door.

"Hola chica," Oliver said, smiling when he saw her standing there. "Out for a little run this morning?"

"Of course," Anwyn said. "I've got an image to maintain. Look, we need to go to Lynn's house. Can you drive?"

"We?" Oliver asked. "What's this all about."

"I can explain on the way," Anwyn said. "Can you go? Or are you watching Mateo?"

"No, but I was on my way to church," Oliver said. "I pick up Guadalupe every Sunday and we go to the little church a few blocks down from the nursing home."

"Church, huh?" Anwyn asked. "Can you skip it? Just this once?"

"For you, I'd do it," Oliver said. "But Guadalupe relies on me to get her there. I can't just let her down. She looks forward to Sunday about as much as she looks forward to Saturday."

"She looks forward to Saturday?"

"Yeah. She loves getting visitors. It's the simple things."

"I guess," Anwyn said, her mind spinning. "You could just drop her off. We won't take that long. You can be back to pick her up before church is over."

"This is that important to you?" Oliver asked. "It needs to be now?"

"Yeah," Anwyn said, "I think it does."

"OK, let's go."

Oliver opened the door for Anwyn, feeling a little awkward wearing his good jeans and a button down shirt while Anwyn still wore her running shorts and a ragged long sleeve T-shirt. He walked around the pickup and climbed in the driver's side, shaking his head.

"So what are we doing?" he asked as they pulled onto the highway.

"I'll tell you when we get there," Anwyn said, smiling as she turned away and looked out the window, watching the corn fields go by.

When they arrived at the nursing home Oliver suggested she go in and say hello to Grandpa Frank while he loaded up Guadalupe and drove her the few blocks to church. The pickup was pretty tight and it wasn't worth cramming the three of them in the cab. Oliver said he'd come back and pick her up and they could finish her little errand.

Anwyn nodded and the two went inside. The nurses smiled at Oliver and waved him through as usual, and the two parted company.

"See you in a few," Oliver said. Anwyn nodded and wandered down to her Grandpa Frank's room. She rapped on the door softly and slowly pushed it open when she didn't hear anything.

Her grandfather was sound asleep in his chair. He wore the same faded blue bathrobe he always did and it looked like he hadn't yet shaved. He actually never shaved on Sundays. He always said that Sunday was a day of rest, and so he'd give shaving a rest just for that day. His face was leathery, full of pock marks and wrinkles. The stringy remains of his gray hair were messy. It looked like he'd woken up and moved straight to his chair and fallen back asleep.

Anwyn quietly tiptoed into the room and curled up in the chair opposite her sleeping grandfather. He looked so calm and peaceful that she didn't want to bother him. She knew what he'd say, that it wasn't a bother at all, but she let him sleep just the same.

She watched her Grandpa Frank sleep, thinking about Isabelle and Lily and how Grandpa Frank had carried on all by himself. The tragedy of losing his wife was never a secret, but the true details of that loss made it so much more painful and his story so much more tragic. But also so much more hopeful. She suddenly realized how much more amazing her grandfather was because of it. The fact that he could go through so much worse than what everybody thought and still come out as strong and amazing as he was just floored Anwyn.

She saw the same strength in her father, carrying on despite Isabelle, despite Jill's implosion. It was a solid strength, a sure strength. It wasn't rock solid or impenetrable. It had to flex and give and grow. It allowed for love and pain and weakness and failure, and perhaps that's what made it so strong.

A soft knock came at the door and Oliver poked his head in.

"Hey, you ready?" he whispered. Anwyn nodded and followed him out the door, turning to shut the door as quietly as possible.

"Sound asleep?" Oliver asked as they climbed back into his pickup truck.

"Yep," Anwyn replied.

"Guadalupe says he always sleeps in on Sunday morning," Oliver said. "She tries to get him to come to church with her, but always says he's busy having his own church."

"So, where to?" he asked.

"Lynn's house," Anwyn said. "The house next to the cemetery in Carver."

Oliver nodded and steered his pickup back onto the highway. Carver was halfway between Richmond and Truss, the three forming a triangle. They rode in silence as usual. They came to Carver and slowed to the town's speed limit, driving through town and heading for the cemetery on the far side. Oliver parked the truck outside the house and a dozen feet from the cemetery entrance.

"This would be kind of a creepy place to live," Oliver said, eyeing the looming gravestones that started in neat, orderly rows just beyond the fence around Lynn's yard. Anwyn didn't say anything. She just climbed out of the truck and slowly walked up the path to Lynn's front door.

"What, did you run all the way here?" Lynn asked when she opened the door. Her hair was still messy and she was still wearing her pajamas.

"No, Oliver drove me," Anwyn said, gesturing to the pickup on the street. "C'mon. We have something to do."

"And what would that be?" Lynn asked. "You do realize it's before noon on a Sunday morning."

"Yeah," Anwyn said. "I want to show you guys something."

Lynn sighed and went back inside to get her shoes. She put a jacket on over her tank top and followed Anwyn outside. Oliver was leaning against the pickup truck and nodded to Lynn.

"What are you all dressed up for?" Lynn asked.

"Church," Oliver said. "And you?" Lynn ignored him and followed Anwyn. Oliver fell in line behind them and Anwyn led them to the front of the cemetery.

"Seriously?" Lynn asked. "This place creeps me out all the time and you want to have a little picnic?"

"You live next to it," Anwyn said. "Haven't you gotten over the creeps?"

"Well yeah, but I don't need to go for a visit and stir things up again."

"And we're not having a picnic," Anwyn said.

"Then what are we doing?" Lynn asked.

"I think we're having church," Oliver said. Anwyn didn't say anything. She was leading them up and down the rows, reading each tombstone as they passed.

"At least you're dressed for it," Lynn said. "I'm not sure this is the proper attire."

"You're dressed perfectly," Anwyn said. "Here. This is it."

It was a small, flat gravestone that sat flat on the ground. The stone wasn't polished and perfected like the newer gravestones. It also wasn't towering and covered in gothic motifs like some of the ancient gravestones.

The words read, "Lily Nelson, 1924-1957. Beloved mother, wife and friend."

The three teens stood in a semi-circle around the gravestone. Anwyn stood in the middle. Nobody said anything. They just read the words, over and over. Finally, Anwyn spoke.

"Lily Nelson was my grandmother," she said. "She obviously died pretty young. I had always known that, though I never thought anything of it. But yesterday Grandpa Frank told me something I didn't know. Lily had committed suicide."

It suddenly became clear now. Lynn pulled her jacket tighter around herself, suddenly feeling cold. Oliver slowly nodded his head, realizing how very much like church this was. Anwyn smiled in spite of the sadness she felt for her grandmother. She noticed the broad Kansas sky in that moment, stretching for miles and miles and miles all around them.

"It really doesn't clear anything up for me," Anwyn said after a few minutes of silence. "Isabelle is still dead. If anything a history of suicide in the family should be a little disturbing, but it's not. It somehow makes it all a little easier."

"So no more kneeing Dominic in the balls?" Lynn asked. "Sorry—couldn't help myself."

"No," Anwyn said, ignoring Lynn's apology, "No more searching for answers that aren't there. I don't know what my sister said or did to Dominic, but it really doesn't matter."

"None of it really matters," Oliver said. "Does it?"

"Not really," Anwyn said. "I'm not living under Isabelle's shadow anymore."

"I feel like we should leave flowers or say a prayer or something," Lynn said. "I don't go to church myself, but it seems like something like that would be appropriate." She looked to Oliver, thinking he might know what to do, but he didn't say anything.

"No," Anwyn said. "We're here. That's enough." They stood in silence for a few more minutes.

"Grandpa Frank loved her," Anwyn finally said, again breaking the quiet. "And you could tell that without him telling you. I think that's what amazes me the most."

"Do you love Isabelle?" Lynn asked. It was a forward question and she almost regretted asking it. But she asked it anyway.

"Sometimes," Anwyn answered, searching her heart. "I just can't say I loved her just because of what she did. We didn't always get along. We didn't always bond. But she was my sister."

"Sometimes you love your family no matter how much they drive you nuts," Oliver said. Anwyn nodded.

"Then I must really love mine," Lynn said.

Anwyn smiled and wrapped her arms around Lynn and Oliver. "C'mon, let's go," she said. "Who wants to hang out in a cemetery all day?"

Posted by kevin at 9:58 PM | TrackBack (0)

November 27, 2006

Chapter 22

(Filed under: The Novel)

Chapter 22

The sun came up over Richmond as Anwyn ran. It was a new day.

As she pumped her arms she felt life and her pulse and everything she loved about running. The sky stretched in every direction, just beginning to be lit up by the rising sun, and it seemed to be stretching with hope.

After Grandpa Frank revealed his forty year secret, Anwyn stayed with him and they didn't go out to see Guadalupe for their usual Spanish lesson. She just sat in her grandfather's lap, crying and holding him.

When she finally got up to go they both wiped the tears away and laughed at each other. They didn't say anything. They didn't have to.

Oliver found Anwyn and the two drove back to Richmond in silence, though Oliver noticed it was a different kind of silence. But again, Oliver didn't ask.

Anwyn ran south of the tracks and down to the river like she always did. It occurred to her that nothing had really changed. She still didn't know anything more about Isabelle and why she did what she did. She didn't have any answers. But something had changed.

As she turned left at the blacktop and headed south for the river she noticed again the dying and fading bits of Richmond. The empty Richmond Café with the name stenciled on the window, but the building dark and faded. A window or two was broken and the brick façade was beginning to crumble. Through the windows you could see that the roof leaked and had even caved in back in the corner.

Next to the old restaurant was another decrepit building, this one used to be a grocery store or a drug store. It had been closed for decades, empty and forgotten. The windows had been boarded up long ago, the door nailed shut. On the other side of the empty restaurant was the gas station, still humming with life. Its building was just as old as the others, but it had a fresh coat of paint—relatively fresh, it was still a decade or two old—and clean windows. A thousand tiny repairs had kept the building in better shape, plus the constant flow of people that doesn't allow weeds to grow up through the floorboards.

The town felt empty and deserted, but there were also hints of life. It was haunted with the past, with remnants both visible and invisible. There were the physical traces that you could measure and analyze, but there were also psychological traces that you could feel just by walking down the street.

Lily had once walked down this street. She had perhaps shopped in the old general store, maybe ate in the Café and surely picked up her mail at the post office. She might have taken Robert and Jill into the gas station to pick up a candy bar and a soda pop on a warm day.

Anwyn really didn't know. She didn't know anything about her grandmother Lily. She was tempted to have the same questions and anger over Lily's suicide as she did for Isabelle's. Perhaps if Lily hadn't done it her mom wouldn't have felt such pain and would have been stronger in the face of Isabelle's death. Maybe the presence of a grandmother in their lives would have given Isabelle some extra measure of hope and grace and she wouldn't have felt the need to do what she did.

And who knows. Perhaps Grandpa Frank is only the man he is because of what he endured, and if he hadn't gone through it he would have been a lesser man, and would have inspired lesser things in Jack, in Isabelle, in Anwyn and in Oliver.

She could quickly see that asking the questions and playing the 'what if' game didn't get her very far. She found strength in her grandfather's acceptance. What's done is done.

By now she had reached the bridge. She looked out over the flowing muddy water of the Arkansas River and she remembered the day her sister died.

It was like any other summer day. It was August 11 and both Anwyn and Isabelle could feel the summer slipping away, could feel the coming school year closing in.

"I want you girls to clean up the basement today," Jack called as he stood at the door, ready to head out for work. Jill had already left hours before, needing to get to the office early. Jack waited for a response.

"I'm waiting," Jack said, beginning to grow impatient. He finally heard two mumbles of agreement from the kitchen and decided that was good enough.

That was when Anwyn flicked on the radio to listen to some music while she ate her breakfast. Isabelle was sitting at the table reading a magazine—though really just flipping through it for something to do. The ready-made pop song came on the radio and Anwyn moved her head back and forth to the beat. Isabelle mocked the song, one of the conversations Anwyn had already recollected.

"So after breakfast should we start on the basement?" Anwyn asked. But she already knew the answer. Isabelle would want to put it off as long as possible. These kind of tasks that their father threw out just before he walked out the door weren't unusual. He didn't like his daughters sitting around and wasting away their summer, so if they didn't have something planned he usually gave them something. Earlier this week they had reorganized the kitchen pantry. Back in June he made them clean out the garage, a project that lasted an entire week. While each project involved a lot of work, Jack didn't have outrageous expectations. The first day he came home to find the garage barely touched. Anwyn had found a set of Nerf guns and her and Isabelle had spent hours shooting little foam balls back and forth at each other.

Jack just nodded in approval and ducked inside before he was pelted with foam balls. The next day the dove a little deeper into the garage and deeper still the next day. By the end of the week they had made clear progress, and that was all Jack cared about.

He just didn't want to see his daughters sitting around in front of the TV every single day for an entire summer.

"Maybe," said Isabelle. Her one word answers were especially annoying to Anwyn. It was as if Isabelle were trying to save her energy so she minimized her words.

"Well I'm going to get started on it now," Anwyn said. That was often how these tasks went. Anwyn would get started on her own and Isabelle would join in out of guilt or boredom, depending on the day.

After putting her dishes in the dishwasher, Anwyn flicked on the light and started down the basement stairs. The stairs themselves were old, worn wood, big and thick like you could only find 100 years ago when the house was built. The basement walls were rough concrete, not the smooth, well finished walls you find in newer houses.

There were a few shelves at the bottom of the stairs and then the washer and dryer in the corner, along with a drying rack and other miscellaneous laundry supplies. The water heater and boiler were in the middle of the basement and the far back corner, the opposite one from the stairs, had both floor to ceiling shelving on both walls, each shelf bowing from the weight of the random boxes and junk stacked upon it. There were even a few overflowing boxes stacked on the floor in front of the shelves.

The mission, much like every other job they undertook that summer, was to go through the boxes, pull out the junk and the garbage or anything that could be sold or given away, reorganize what had to be kept, and put it away neatly. Hopefully they would end up with space on the shelves and a hefty load to take to Goodwill.

Anwyn pulled the string and the bare lightbulb came on with a buzz, lighting up the drab corner of the basement. She pulled one box off the shelf and got to work. Inside the box was old cords and various electronic miscellanea. As she pulled out some of the cords she could hear her sister's footsteps on the old wooden steps.

"Hey," Isabelle said when she came up behind Anwyn.

"Hi," Anwyn said. "Check out this ancient stack of telephone cord. Do you really think we need this much phone cord?" Isabelle took the length of cord Anwyn had been holding up and looked closer at it, noticing the left over residue from various bits of tape used for who knows what.

"Trash it," Isabelle said. That had become their favorite phrase as they dug into these old clean up jobs. At times it was a game to see how much stuff they could possibly throw away. "I swear, Dad thinks he needs to keep everything and then makes us clean it all out."

"Yep," Anwyn said. But she knew it wasn't just their dad.

"Oh, check this out," Isabelle said, reaching into the box and pulling out an ancient rotary phone, all fancy with a thin handle and chrome parts. When it hung up the entire cradle went down to disconnect the phone and hang up. It was the kind of phone you saw in movies being used by women who wore fur coats and smoked cigarettes in those long sticks. She picked up the receiver and spun the rotary dial, watching it click as it went around.

"I am so keeping this," Isabelle said. That was another hazard of the clean out projects. Junk that should probably end up being trashed ended up being reclaimed.

"It doesn't have any speed dial," Anwyn pointed out. "More like slow dial. By the time you dial your friend's number they'll already be busy."

"But that's not the point," Isabelle persisted. "Just imagine how I'll look talking on this phone." She threw her hair back and picked up the phone, flashing her eyes and giving a fake, movie star smile.

"Because the people you talk to on the phone can almost see how you'll look," Anwyn said.

"But I'll know how I look," Isabelle said, refusing to be dampened by Anwyn's simple logic.

The phone went in a pile and they continued digging into the treasures lost in boxes in the corner of the basement. Sometimes they talked and laughed, telling stories related to random bit of junk, other times they just worked quietly, and sometimes they snapped at one another, simply getting testy from the dust and work and boredom, as siblings do.

When they quit for lunch the job was half finished. Isabelle grabbed an apple and a magazine and sat down in front of the TV, leaving Anwyn to pull something out of the freezer and put it in the oven. Isabelle would later pick a few chicken nuggets from Anwyn's plate. At this point in the summer she was used to it and just cooked a few extra.

"I'm heading back down," Anwyn said after she finished lunch.

"OK, I'll be there quick," Isabelle said. But she wasn’t. As Anwyn dug into another box, this one full of old college text books bearing bright yellow 'used' stickers across the spines, Isabelle sat upstairs and flipped through her magazine, willfully avoiding the work in the basement.

It wasn't anything new for Anwyn. She finished up the shelf she was on, dealt with the various piles, and called it a day herself. Their dad would be happy as long as they just made progress, and they'd made enough progress for the day.

"I’m going to the library," Anwyn said from the door. "You want to come?"

"No, that's OK," Isabelle said, not looking up. Anwyn shrugged and walked out the door. It was the last time she saw her sister alive. Alive perhaps, but not lively. It was a typical summer day.

When Anwyn came back from the library Isabelle was gone and her dad was home. Isabelle had gone out with friends and wouldn't be home until later, though it was so normal that Anwyn didn't even ask.

She had dinner with her parents, watched some TV, read a book about physicist Richard Feynman—the book belonged to her dad and she thought it sounded interesting. Something about a science nerd with a sense of humor appealed to her. She went to bed just before 11, shutting off the lights and making sure the porch light was on for Isabelle. Her parents had long since retired to bed.

When she woke up in the morning it was early and her dad was sitting on the edge of her bed.

"Hey beautiful," he whispered in as calm a voice as he could manage. She rubbed her eyes and moaned, thinking her dad was waking her up early for some ungodly chore.

"Wake up, Anwyn," he said a little louder. "I need to tell you something." Now his voice gave himself away. It wavered this time and as her eyes adjusted she could see the emotion in his face. He looked old.

"What is it?"

"It's Isabelle," Jack said, pausing while he searched for the words. Anwyn immediately assumed she hadn't come home last night. Anwyn remembered thinking that Isabelle had finally taken her drama to new heights. She wandered if it was another boy, another make-out session in a semi-public place.

But her father didn't continue with some tale of Isabelle's late night indiscretions. Instead he ran his hand through his hair and cleared his throat. He reached for Anwyn's hand and finally choked out the words.

"Isabelle's dead," he said, simply and to the point. Any of the usual euphemisms felt awkward to him and he stuck with the plain language he knew. "She—she killed herself last night." He squeezed Anwyn's hand as he finished and lost it, the tears streaming down his face again.

As Anwyn stood on the bridge south of Richmond remembering how she first found out about her sister's suicide, it still pained her to think of her initial reaction.

As she looked at her weeping father and realized this was no joke and no simple night of poor teenage choices, Anwyn realized she'd have to finish cleaning out the basement by herself.

Thankfully she kept the thought to herself and instead managed to question her dad.

"What? What do you mean?" she asked. "Suicide?"

"As I was getting ready this morning her door was open and I looked in on her," Jack said. "She was sprawled across the bed, still dressed. I thought she must have gotten home really late and crashed and I came in to check on her and make sure everything was OK. I was rehearsing my lecture when I saw her eyes. They were open. Glazed over. That's when it hit me. I checked her pulse, but she was already cold. The ambulance is on the way—I wanted to tell you before they showed up."

The simple reality of it set in.

"Is she—is she still there?" Anwyn asked.

"Yeah, she is," Jack said. "The police said to—"

"The police?" Anwyn interrupted.

"Yeah, the 911 operator said they'd need to investigate," Jack explained. "I told them there was an empty bottle of pills on the floor—I don't even know where they came from—but they said it's standard procedure or something."

By now Anwyn was sitting up, legs crossed in front of her, still holding her daddy's hand and picking at her lip with the other hand. Her dad had a vacant stare, old and pained. He was clinging to the simple facts in order to cope. Simple, straightforward procedures. It reminded him or programming language and it kept the emotions from overwhelming him.

"Mom's on her way, too," Jack said, remembering another detail. "She had just gotten to work—she might have to fight traffic to get home. She's really upset—she'll need you." It was a thought that proved fruitless. Jill was indeed upset—she started screaming into the phone when Jack told her. He somehow managed to calm her enough, and she said she was on her way before hanging up. But then she flung the phone against the wall and stormed out, leaving it lying in pieces on her office floor. When she did make it home she was distant and cold and even though Anwyn wrapped her arms around her mother she didn't feel close.

Anwyn and Jack sat there on the edge of her bed holding each other. Jack kept thinking through details, checking them off and sorting them by priority. Anwyn found herself thinking how disruptive it would be—an ambulance coming down the street (would they use their siren? she hoped not, it was still early and she didn't want it to wake the neighbors), strange people in Isabelle's bedroom, the body (it felt so very odd to suddenly call her sister a body), her distraught mother trying to fight traffic on the way home, breakfast—would it be rude to have breakfast while they hauled her dead sister's body out of the house? The random questions and thoughts kept coming, and tears dripped down her face.

Her dad reached up with his sleeve to dab them, and it made Anwyn cry all the more because they weren't tears of pain and loss, they were tears of guilt for thinking such terrible things in the face of her sister's death. She wasn't crying for Isabelle, she was crying for herself.

Posted by kevin at 10:17 PM | TrackBack (0)

November 24, 2006

Chapter 21

(Filed under: The Novel)

The question still rattled around inside Anwyn's head on Saturday morning when she jogged down to the bridge south of town again, with Charlie again panting at her side.

She remembered Isabelle waking up early on Christmas morning, waking up Anwyn and together the two snuck down stairs to check out the haul. They pawed the presents, inspected the stockings and climbed back into bed with their parents none the wiser. Of course it was obvious to their parents that something had happened when they weren't up at the crack of dawn to tear into presents.

Anwyn felt guilty and apologized to her parents, vowing never again to snoop around the presents. But Isabelle didn't apologize. She kept on playing with her toys, pretending she didn't hear Anwyn's apologies. She discovered her presents when she wanted to, and that's all there was to it. They were her presents anyway. No apology needed.

"There's our little runner," Mabel said when Anwyn came into the post office with Charlie after her run. Mabel had surely heard the news about Dominic and the rumors about Anwyn's sister, but she didn't act like she knew anything out of the ordinary. Anwyn just smiled and retrieved the mail without saying much.

"Hola, chica," Oliver said when she climbed into the truck for their usual Saturday drive in to Craver to visit Grandpa Frank and Guadalupe.

"Hey Oliver," she said. She felt quiet, which was beginning to become the norm for that week. Oliver noticed, but he was also used to being quiet himself, so he didn't feel the need to force a conversation. He liked that about Anwyn.

The questions that had haunted Anwyn all week were plainly on her face when she walked into Grandpa Frank's room and curled up in the chair opposite him. He set his newspaper down when she walked in. He looked a little tired and distant.

"Well, good morning," Grandpa Frank said.

"Hi Grandpa."

"You look like you've got a lot on your mind today," he said, trying to bring his wandering mind back to the present.

"Yeah, it's been an interesting week."

"What was so interesting about it?"

"I kneed a boy in the groin," Anwyn said, the thought of it still making her smile, though she didn't want to be mean about it. Her Grandpa Frank laughed out loud at that and slapped his knee.

"That's a good one," he said. "Wow. I didn't expect that kind of interesting."

"What kind of interesting did you expect?" Anwyn asked, suddenly curious.

"Oh, I don't know." Grandpa Frank said. "Teenage girl interesting."

"Well what's that?"

"Boys, I guess," Grandpa Frank said. "Hell, I dunno."

"Well a boy was involved," Anwyn said, looking sheepish.

"What did he do?"

"He called Isabelle a bitch." And then Grandpa Frank grew quiet. The story was a lot more interesting now, though in a more somber way. Though he knew better than to expect teenage girl interesting from Anwyn, he almost wished that's what it had been.

"And you reacted?" Grandpa Frank said. "I can understand that."

"He had some, um, history with Isabelle," Anwyn explained. "She had met him during one of our summer trips before. I wanted to ask him what he knew about her."

Grandpa Frank laughed again, a deep, gutsy laugh.

"I don't think he's going to be very likely to want to tell you now."

"No," Anwyn said, smiling at herself. "I don't think so. My friend Lynn thinks we could torture him."

"Well, you're off to the right start if that's your goal," Grandpa Frank said. "What did you think this boy was going to tell you, anyway?"

"I don't know," Anwyn said. "Something. I just wanted something. Anything."

"You're not likely to get much," Grandpa Frank said, offering his wisdom. "Unless he talked to her the day of—and even then it likely wouldn't tell you anything. I mean you talked to her the day of, didn't you? And it's not helping you much."

Anwyn shook her head. She did talk to Isabelle the day of.

"Ug," Isabelle had said as a song came on the radio the morning of her last day alive. "This group sucks. Bunch of aging rock dinosaurs." The song was an characteristic pop number from a band with decades of rock 'n roll street cred.

"I like it," Anwyn protested, eating her cereal at the kitchen table, glancing at the newspaper and listening to the radio. It was a pop number, and that's what made it so likable. The group of aging rocksters had figured out the secret to making a likeable song.

"Bah," Isabelle said dismissing her sister's opinions with a wave of her hand. "It's just tripe." Of course some thought that just because you knew how to manufacture a likable song didn't make it OK to do so. They apparently wanted something else, something more.

Thoughts on a random pop song didn't exactly say much about Isabelle's mental state. It was one of many completely ordinary conversations Anwyn had with her sister the day she died. None of them told her anything about why she did it or what she was thinking or when she first started thinking that way.

"Assigning blame is a net loss game," Grandpa Frank said. "No matter whose door you're able to lay that blame at, it won't change anything. And I'd guess the blame lies squarely on the hands of the ones who did it."

"Can it really be that simple?" Anwyn asked, picking at her shoe.

"Why not?" Grandpa Frank said. "Nobody labeled it a homicide, did they? There's no foul play afoot is there? It's just a teenage girl doing what she thought she had to do."

"But she didn't have to," Anwyn insisted, letting her feet fall from the chair and standing up. "She could have found another way out. She could have dealt with it somehow. She could have gotten help."

Grandpa Frank swallowed. He looked to the floor and to his faded bathrobe and to his granddaughter pacing around his room in a nursing home in Carver, Kansas.

"Sit down, Anwyn." She stopped pacing and sat tentatively on the edge of her grandfather's bed. She was angry, worried, and puzzled at the same time—puzzled as to why her sister was causing her so much concern so many months later. It's like it wouldn't go away. Her grandfather looked to the floor and then up to the ceiling as if wrestling with something, and then he finally looked Anwyn in the eye.

"Did anyone ever tell you about your grandmother?" Grandpa Frank began. Anwyn nodded. Her lip quivered and she was afraid to speak. Her Grandpa continued slowly, "Her name was Lily. I loved that woman."

Anwyn looked up and could feel a faint smile forming at the corner of her mouth. Hope. In her entire life she had never heard her grandfather say something so genuine.

"She died when your mother was real young," Grandpa Frank continued. "She was maybe 9 or 10. A young little girl. Robert was 12. It wasn't easy."

He paused for a minute, remembering those early weeks and months, having to be a dad and a provider and a counselor and so much more for his two kids. Those were hard days.

"Did anyone ever tell you what happened to her?"

"No," Anwyn said, emboldened by her grandfather's voice. "I remember my dad saying something about her dying while Mom was young, but Mom never told us anything."

"No, she probably wouldn't," Grandpa Frank said. "That's her nature, as you've seen, to avoid the tough things." He paused again. Reflecting on those days. He hadn't spoken with anyone about this in years. He hadn't actually spoken of the full details with anyone.

"You see Anwyn," he said, "I know you're not going to find any reasons or blame or anything to help you through this because there probably isn't any reason that will make sense to you for what Isabelle did. It's just what she did."

"I know this," he said, "Because Lily's death was a suicide."

Anwyn looked up from the bed, into her grandfather's deep blue eyes. He wasn't crying, but he could have been—she thought she could see the start of tears forming in his eyes. The tears were flowing from Anwyn's eyes. She couldn't help it and she really couldn't explain why.

"Forty years ago I came inside and found Lily sprawled out on the bed," her grandfather said. "I thought she was taking a nap or tired or something. I tossed my keys on the table and sat down on the edge of the bed next to her. I thought she'd wake up and I went to put my hand on the small of her back and it was cold. Then I saw her face and her eyes were glazed over and I knew something was wrong. She was dead. I found an empty pill bottle on the nightstand and I could put two and two together."

Anwyn didn't say anything. She had put her hands to her mouth as soon as her grandfather started talking about how he found Lily. He didn't need to tell Anwyn that he'd never told that story before. If you asked around town you might found a few folks who knew the story, but none would volunteer it. Most would disavow it. Even Mabel, the woman who worked at the post office didn't know the barest details of the story.

Grandpa Frank sat back in his chair and ran his hand over his scratchy beard, just as he'd done when it dawned on him that his wife was dead.

"I asked myself the same questions you're asking. I searched for answers. I tried to figure out what I had done or what I had said that pushed her over the edge. I thought there most be some logical explanation. But in forty years I've found nothing but heartache. Looking for somewhere to lay blame is a fruitless game."

"All I know," Grandpa Frank said, "Is that I loved Lily. She decided to kill herself, and I wish she hadn't—obviously. But what's done is done. There's nothing I can do about it. I have to live my own life and not let her actions cast a shadow over mine. That's what I've tried to do anyway, whether or not I've been any good at it…"

"Oh, Grandpa," Anwyn cried out, throwing her arms around her grandfather's neck and letting the tears come. Her grandfather reached up with a weak arm and patted his granddaughter on the back, slowly. He remembered doing the same thing to his daughter some forty years ago, trying to comfort and reassure a mere child when her own mother had killed herself.

In such a situation there is so little you can do and Grandpa Frank felt lost to it all again as he held his granddaughter in his arms.

Anwyn, on the other hand, felt relief and hope and grace, all flooding in at once in unbreakable waves. Grandpa Frank hadn't told her anything that answered any of her questions, but somehow they seemed insignificant now.

Posted by kevin at 2:05 PM | TrackBack (0)

Chapter 20

(Filed under: The Novel)

Gym class the next day was interesting. Dominic was sullen and grumpy, sticking to the edge of the crowd and not acting his usual cocky, self-assured self. Anwyn felt bad. It was pure reaction.

Some of the other students avoided her, too. The rumor was circulating that her sister had killed herself, and now the obvious questions about Anwyn herself were buzzing about the school.

"It'll blow over," Lynn said, by way of comfort. "It always does. Pretty soon we'll be back to nothing to talk about except the weather."

"Yeah," Anwyn said. "How 'bout that weather?"

"Sure is some weather," Lynn said.

But amidst all the fuss Anwyn still had her central questions. Why did Isabelle kill herself?

On Wednesday Anwyn, Lynn and Oliver sat around outside after school. Anwyn's detention would be starting soon, and Lynn and Oliver were helping her kill time.

"So Mr. Graves wants me to join the track team," Anwyn said.

"You didn’t scare him away?" Oliver asked.

"Apparently not."

"He's a gym teacher," Lynn said. "He saw how fast you ran the mile and your—shall we say assertiveness—with Dominic. He knows a team player when he sees one."

"I'm not so sure Mr. Douglas knows a team player," Anwyn said.

"He just wants everything under control," Oliver said. "He's a principal. That's what he does."

"How was your chat with Chet Dahlman?" Lynn asked.

"Oh, it was all right," Anwyn said. "The guy is just so old. I'm not sure he has any idea what he's talking about."

"He kind of creeps me out," said Lynn. "They have too many after school specials featuring teachers just like Dahlman."

As they sat near the front entrance to the school the door opened and Dominic Warren walked out. Their conversation instantly stopped. He looked their direction, saw Anwyn and stopped. Then he looked down and started forward again, refusing to change his path for her. He already faced enough from the other students, he didn't need to be walking the long way around just because of her. He scowled as he walked past, more to the ground than anything as he didn't look up at the three.

Oliver and Lynn just watched him walk by, Lynn ready with some sharp verbal barbs and Oliver ready to just take the larger senior out. Anwyn was staring at the ground, the same bit of ground Dominic kept his eyes on.

"Well that was awkward," Lynn said when Dominic had passed.

"You should see my gym class," Anwyn said. What frustrated her the most about the whole thing was that she still didn't know anything. Perhaps she knew that her sister was strong enough to fight back, doing her own kneeing of a boy's crotch, but it didn't tell her a lot.

It did tell her that Isabelle may not have been the complete princess, flirt she thought she was. Perhaps Isabelle had a bit more strength. But that didn't provide any answers. If anything it made it harder to understand why such a strong person would kill themselves.

She remembered one summer in Kansas when they had done the tourist thing with their Grandpa and Grandma Miller. They piled into the Buick, the grandparents, Isabelle and Anwyn, and drove off to some 1800s historical site. It was an old fort, full of period characters in costumes, canons, blacksmiths and lots of historical accuracy.

They took a guided tour—Anwyn found it interesting and Isabelle tried to look as bored as possible. Their grandparents were rather oblivious, talking among themselves and not really focusing on their grandchildren. They were much the opposite of Grandpa Frank in so many ways.

It was when they were having lunch that Anwyn and Isabelle finally got a chance to wander off on their own. Though it was more Isabelle than Anwyn who yearned to get away and be on her own. Isabelle asked if she could wander around first, and the prospect of sitting alone with her grandparents prompted Anwyn to finish up her sandwich and ask if she could be excused as well. Their Grandma Miller said certainly and asked that they be back before too long. Their Grandpa Miller didn't say anything. He was never wild about the trip in the first place and just wanted to sit back and enjoy his lunch, now content to sit back and digest without the chatter of two young girls.

During this particular recollection Isabelle was perhaps 13 and Anwyn 9. The age difference was acute, with Isabelle yearning to be older and wiser and more mature, and of course she was much less mature than she wished to be. Anwyn was still a child and found her sister's attempts to be mature laughable at best.

Isabelle wandered off towards a playground, Anwyn following close behind. Anwyn played on the swings and met another young girl named Sara. They played on the swings and talked a little, both visiting with family and eager to get away from all the educational stuff for a moment and just play.

Isabelle joined a small crowd of other kids her age crowded around a picnic table. There were maybe three boys and a girl when Isabelle walked up. Anwyn couldn't hear what they were saying, but she watched as Isabelle joined them, walking up and talking easily and then quickly becoming a part of the group. She never understood how her sister could do that so easily. It always baffled her.

Whatever the group of teens had been doing before, now it was most assuredly flirting. Anwyn would hear Isabelle's voice, carrying on the wind, followed by the easy laughter of boys.

Their Grandma Miller collected them again and they continued the tour of the old historical fort. As they wandered around looking at displays another group or two seemed to move along with them, and one of the boys from the playground among them.

Anwyn noticed the boy, and of course Isabelle did, too, though she acted like she didn't. When she could avoid it no longer she looked right at the boy and gave him a warm smile. He practically waved back at her and she turned her attention back to the display showing techniques for making sod houses, acting as if it were the most interesting thing she had seen.

For the rest of their time there Isabelle stayed just far enough away from the boy to keep from talking, close enough to her grandparents to make it seem like that's where she had to be. Anwyn remembered watching the whole scene with confusion. If Isabelle liked the boy why didn't she just talk to him?

But now looking back, Anwyn wondered if that was part of it. Was it all just a game to Isabelle? She had been toying with that boy. She had no intention of talking to him again. She knew she would never see him again and so she just flirted with him, seeing how long she could make it last.

That poor boy probably thought of Isabelle the rest of his trip and most of the way home and probably came up with a few lame ideas for trying to figure out who she was so he could possibly see her again.

But none of it gave Anwyn any answers. It was time for detention now and she gathered up her stuff and Lynn and Oliver said bye and watched her go.

In detention it was just Anwyn today. She took a desk near the back, embracing her rebel status, and sat down to wile away her time.

She remembered Friday nights when she was in still in middle school, only a few years ago, and Isabelle was in high school. She poignantly remembered the feeling of watching Isabelle go off with her friends and Anwyn stayed home, on Friday night, with her parents, and didn't do much of anything.

She'd sit in her room and listen to Isabelle get ready all afternoon. It would start with calls to various friends, seeing who was free and who wasn't and who was in the mood for what and what they might possibly do. Anwyn could have done the same thing, but having her mom take her and friend to the mall or having her Dad drive her to a friend's house just didn't seem as exciting. One of Isabelle's friends would be driving and they were going out on the town. There was an appealing amount of freedom to that, even though Isabelle and her friends would just end up bouncing around from one friend's house to another to some restaurant to a quick, giggling stop at the store.

It was depressingly similar to what teens did in central Kansas.

Anwyn remembered sitting in her room and watching out the window as Isabelle's friends pulled up and honked. The car was already half-full, giggling high school girls not really sure what they were ready for. Jack would stop Isabelle before she raced out the door and go over a few of the usual ground rules, though Anwyn never paid much attention to the restrictions. It was the freedom that intrigued her.

That evening Anwyn opted to go for a run, bringing Charlie along as it was pushing into twilight and beginning to get dark. She ran along the road, soaking up the feeling and the air and the wide, wide horizon. She loved running at dawn and dusk because the endless sky stretched that much farther. The sun's rays would bend in the atmosphere, evoking emotional colors and sights.

She never much noticed the sun rise or set in St. Paul. It came and went everyday, but it was more felt in how light or dark it was outside. The event itself was secondary, inevitably blocked by buildings or trees or the curvature of rolling hills. Going for a run meant following whatever maze of sidewalk she wanted to, perhaps winding through a park. In Kansas it was something else entirely. It had always been an escape for Anwyn, but in Kansas it was something more. It was counter-cultural. It was unexpected. It was weird. And she liked it.

She liked the crunch of gravel under her feet, she liked the stretching sky overhead, and she liked—in an odd sort of way, because it also made her feel a little subconscious—the eyes that would watch her go past. There was Mabel in the post office, the gas station attendant, the old woman who lived next to the old Café and liked to sit on her porch. Mabel had been right, Anwyn had become known as the runner of Richmond.

She made her usual trek past the railroad tracks, down to the bridge and back. She paused as usual at the bridge and looked down at the water, at the sandbar where her and Oliver had watched Isabelle and Dominic kissing. She guessed correctly that this is where Isabelle had kneed Dominic in the groin, stopping him from going farther than she was willing to go. It just seemed unlikely that Isabelle had kneed him in his own house in an attempt to steal his underwear. It seemed more likely that she used some other ploy to get his underwear. Otherwise her attempt wouldn't have taken so long and wouldn't have been pulled off so calmly. You don't sneak into a boy's house after midnight and knee him in the groin and come out calmly. More than a simple injury, that would be breaking and entering and assault.

As she stood atop the bridge and watched the water flow beneath her Anwyn felt a familiar urge. She felt it often lately and couldn't quite explain it. She had the urge to climb up on top of the concrete railing and leap, sailing as far out from the bridge above the water as she could and then soar down, down, down to the water.

It was a suicidal thought and she hated it. She wasn't suicidal herself. She didn't actually want to do it. It was just a speculative thought: What would happen if I leaped to my death?

And she had a good idea what would happen. She would crash in to the water at surprising speed. She probably wasn't high enough to be killed on impact, but if the water was shallow enough or she landed just right, it certainly could kill her. No matter how she landed, it was definite that a fall from this height would be painful. The shock of it would likely knock her out, and her limp body would float down the river, maybe able to suck in oxygen and maybe not. Likely not, with the current flipping her around and maybe under. She'd flow past the bridge and to the southeast, carried with the water. She might wake up on a sandbar, but more likely she'd be found dead by some hunter, either washed up on a sandy shore or maybe stuck in a tree that once overhung the water but fell in and partially blocked the stream, acting as a filter and collecting various bits of river trash, like suicidal girls.

Her father would freak out. Losing two daughters in one year to suicide. It was enough to add a third family member to the statistic—why not. Though Jill would be the one more likely to do that. Jack would solider on. He would become a recluse, even more introverted and quiet than he already was. He wouldn't be able to move again and would content himself with just closing the door to Anwyn's room and never opening it again. Oliver would come over and get rid of any of Anywn's things that weren't in her room; her toothbrush, her jacket, her backpack, her stack of magazines next to the couch, her collection of teen dramedies. Jack wouldn't be able to do it himself.

Oliver. Anwyn smiled to herself, wondering how Oliver would react to her suicide. He'd be pissed. He'd curse, probably in Spanish. He'd chalk them up as suicide sisters and wonder what happened to Anwyn—she had been moving on. She'd be trying.

He'd wonder why she didn't ask for help. And the question would haunt him.

Grandpa Frank would find himself alone. He'd be angry that his body was so weak and tired, that he couldn't take Anwyn to the river himself and keep her out of trouble. He'd be even more distant with Jack, the quiet moments between them stretching into forever. He'd probably give up on his Spanish and as a result avoid Guadalupe.

Charlie whined next to her and she realized that her little scenario would leave Charlie behind on the bridge. She didn't know what Charlie would do. If he had grown attached enough to her he might leap in after her and face the same fate. Or perhaps he'd survive and pull her to shore and she'd face even more awkwardness for having attempted suicide and survived.

That was almost harder—to have tried and failed. To have announced to the world that you can't handle it, that you don't want to handle it and that you want out, but to be unable to finish the job. You'd be refusing to face consequences, but then you'd go right on living and have to face them anyway. You hadn't wanted to ask for help, and now you'd be getting help at every turn. Every comment, every question would be analyzed and no one would quite feel the same around you. You would be a mystery—not a potential mystery like any stranger on the street—but a known mystery, perhaps not solved, but studied and labeled and watched.

More likely, Charlie wouldn't jump after Anwyn, but he'd bark and go nuts and watch her fall in and then run down to the bridge to where he could safely leap to shore and then follow her body down the river, perhaps rushing into save her—or perhaps finding her already dead. At the least her body would be found faster.

Dominic would feel worse than he already did. He'd feel some what justified—the girl was crazy. But he'd also feel remorse for saying 'bitch' in the first place. He'd wonder what would have happened if he'd held his tongue and heard Anwyn out. Maybe she wouldn't have done it.

Lynn would say something sarcastic, full of piss and rage that Anwyn had done it and not confided in her, but it would also be hilarious.

The waves of pain would radiate out from Anwyn, haunting everyone who knew her. The town of Richmond itself would be haunted, suddenly given its own story of teen tragedy. The runner of Richmond would be a story for the ages. It'd be the campfire story for generations. If you listen closely you can hear her running in the night.

Anwyn wasn't suicidal. It was just a passing thought. A curiosity. She watched the river flow beneath her and scratched Charlie behind the ears while he licked her other hand. The curiosity disappeared as logic returned Anwyn knew it was just a thought.

She hoped that wasn't the explanation for Isabelle. What would happen if I took these pills? What would happen if I just took the whole bottle and laid down for a nap?

It seemed ridiculous. But for whatever reason it happened, and the waves of haunting echoed out from Isabelle. Her parents grew apart and divorced, her mom heading east to pursue her career and her father returning home to Kansas to try and regroup and make it through life. Her good friends were left scratching their heads, crying together and listening to old favorite songs, banding together to be there for each other and making lame promises into the night that they wouldn't go the way Isabelle had gone. The truth was it could happen to any of them. They realized, just like Anwyn, that they didn't know Isabelle at all.

And they also realized that they didn't know each other, that they could keep a portion of themselves—their true selves, and hide it away from everyone, like they all thought Isabelle had done. That true nature only came out when she made that final, fateful act. Or so they thought.

Grandpa Frank broke down crying when he heard the news. He sat in his chair and bawled like a baby, having just hung up the phone and hearing the news from Jack. He cried, burying his face in his hands and just cried. Tears, poured down his face and when the nurse came in she couldn't figure out what was wrong. She was getting ready to sedate him when he finally was able to wave a hand and mumble that was OK, that he just need to cry, damn it. Can't a man cry?

And the repercussions of Isabelle's actions were currently haunting Anwyn most of all. She wasn't heart broken like her father or grandfather, but it went to the depths of her soul. Partially because she wasn't close to her sister, and partially just because of what it was. Death does not come and go easily. It barges into lives and leaves great swaths of destruction in its wake, especially when it comes at one's own choosing and comes so very early.

But all of the thoughts and recollections and questions and possibilities didn't answer anything for Anwyn. Her sister was still dead and she still didn't know why.

As she ran back to town with Charlie she turned left down suddenly and jogged down a different street, still south of the railroad tracks. She slowed to a walk and then came up to a hedge separating two yards.

She had been here before, almost four years ago late at night with Catalina and Oliver as they waited for Isabelle to fulfill her dare. Anwyn watched Dominic's house with interest, wondering where he was and what he was doing. She could see lights on inside, and rather than add to the rumors and to Dominic's shame, she turned around and jogged back the way she had come.

Then she turned unexpectedly again and came to a familiar house. Oliver's truck sat in the driveway. She knocked on the door and could hear a chair being scooted back on the kitchen floor.

"Hola, chica," Oliver said with a surprised smile, opening the door wider and stepping back so Anwyn could come in.

"Hey cousin," Catalina said from the table. Mateo waved his arms, not necessarily at Anwyn but just because he could. He was sitting in a high chair, getting a late dinner before he went down for the night.

"Hi little guy," she said, ruffling the small amount of hair that had sprouted on his head.

Anwyn sat down at the table and just smiled for a minute. There was warmth in this house, in this odd assemblage of family. Nobody said anything for a moment and Anwyn just sat there, with Charlie lying on the floor next to her, his dog brain plotting how he could move closer to the high chair and catch any falling crumbs.

Posted by kevin at 2:04 PM | TrackBack (0)

November 22, 2006

Chapter 19

(Filed under: The Novel)

"So you're Dominic?" Anwyn asked, catching up to the taller senior after they both finished with the fastest miles in their class. Dominic looked back at her. It was the new girl in his class. He'd never met her before, never seen her since she showed up at Howe High School a few weeks before. But her face struck him as oddly familiar.

"Yeah," he nodded, still breathing hard. He also just realized the freshman had nearly ran as fast as he did. Anwyn shook her head, understanding the coincidence. Of course she'd end up in one of Dominic's classes. Why not?

"You were pretty fast," Dominic said when Anwyn didn't follow up with anything.

"Yeah, I run all the time," Anwyn said.

"I guess so," Dominic said. "What's your name?"

"Anwyn. You knew my sister?"

"I did?" Dominic asked.

"Yeah. Isabelle Miller."

"Name doesn't ring a bell," Dominic said.

"It'd been a while. Probably four years," Anwyn said. Dominic searched his mind trying to place the name and the familiarness of Anwyn's face.

"You're the girl from Minnesota, right?" Dominic asked. Anwyn nodded. It was starting to click. "Your sister came to visit four years ago, right? She hung out with Catalina?" Anwyn kept nodding. Dominic slowly smiled.

"Yeah, I remember now," Dominic said, turning to spit in the grass. The rest of the class was starting to finish now, Mr. Graves was calling out times and shouting for the pack to hurry up. "I remember, yeah. What a bitch."

And it happened so quickly. There wasn't any forethought or shock or planning—only a reaction. Anwyn took a step forward, put her arms around Dominic—he thought he was about to get kissed, which was his fatal flaw the first time around—and as she pulled the senior in high school who had at least a six inch height advantage towards her, she viciously raised her knee to his crotch.

Dominic's body thundered to the ground like a felled tree. His hands went to his groin, his mouth fell open, his eyes watered. The other students in gym class turned in shock, trying to see imagine what could have happened, how the senior jock had been floored by the freshman new girl. Mr. Graves stopped calling out times and just stared, his whistle falling out of his mouth.

Anwyn stepped forward towards Dominic, still writhing on the ground, and leaned into his field of vision.

"That bitch," she said, "killed herself. Show a little respect."

And with that Anwyn calmly walked off to the locker room. The rest of the class, including Mr. Graves, just watched her go. When the rest of the class finally showed up in the locker room Anwyn was cleaned up and ready to go. The other students avoided her and finally Missy stopped in front of her.

"Uh, geez, Anwyn, are you OK?"

"Yeah."

"OK," Missy said. "Um, Mr. Graves wants you to go to the office."

"I thought so."

"Do you want me to go with you or anything?"

"No thanks. I'll be fine." Anwyn walked off to the office, leaving Missy gawking.

The school office was quiet and empty. The secretary point to a chair and Anwyn sat down. Mr. Douglas marched into the room, avoided Anwyn, and marched back with Chet Dahlman. He motioned for Anwyn to come with them and the three sat down in a claustrophobic conference room, Chet Dahlman and Mr. Douglas across from Anwyn.

"So what happened?" Mr. Douglas asked.

"He called my sister a bitch," Anwyn said, deadpan.

"And that's it?" Mr. Douglas said. "He didn't touch you or threaten you or anything?"

"No," Anwyn said. "Why?" Mr. Douglas didn't respond. This was apparently new for him. Either Dominic Warren had a habit of getting in trouble and the fact that this time wasn't his fault was a complete and total shock, or Mr. Douglas expected some sort of trumped up story to match the retribution.

"The boy will be lucky to have kids someday," Mr. Douglas muttered. "From what he says that's the same thing your sister did to him."

Anwyn looked up, suddenly surprised and brought back to the immediacy of the situation.

"What?"

"He says your sister kneed him in the groin as well," Mr. Douglas explained. "He talked about it running in the family and said some other colorful things that we don't need to repeat. But he'll need to be a little more sensitive from now on—and I imagine he will be."

Anwyn's mind raced. She never imagined her sister doing anything like this. It was such a bad girl thing to do, which wasn't quite Isabelle. It thrilled Anwyn a little that she had done something Isabelle did, but also scared her that they could repeat the same mistakes.

She wondered when it had happened, if it was the end to the little make out session along the Arkansas River that she had always assumed ended in something much more stereotypical.

Or was that the end of the underwear raid? It hardly seemed likely that the way to get a boy's underwear was to knee him in the crotch. Removing said pair of underwear would be a little difficult in that position, but maybe Isabelle did that to get him out of the way and then just rifled through his dresser and snatched a clean pair.

Or maybe there was something else. Maybe there was more to the story.

"Ms. Miller," Mr. Douglas said, returning to his official disciplinarian voice. "You'll have detention for a week. If anything happens again you'll be suspended. And I'm not interested in your fancy excuses or reasons—" he turned a wary eye to Chet Dahlman, "—there's no reason to injure a boy like that. I also want you to meet with Mr. Dahlman here, at least for today."

Anwyn nodded. The punishment didn't matter to her. Mr. Douglas nodded, then exchanged glances with Chet Dahlman—who looked tired and annoyed—and left the room. Now it was just Chet Dahlman sitting across from Anwyn.

"Well," Chet started. "Despite what Mr. Douglas said, we are concerned about your reasons …" He continued, rambling on and on about how it was OK if Anwyn felt the need to act out, but she needed to find constructive ways to do so and kneeing a boy in the balls wasn't one of those ways, though it was good that Anwyn could take care of herself, and on and on it went. Anwyn nodded at the right spots and wondered what she was missing in Spanish. She finally spoke up and said enough kind-hearted, remorseful things that Chet Dahlman felt pity on her and decided it would be best if she returned to class.

He walked her to the door of the office and told her his door was always open and it was always better to come visit by choice. Anwyn nodded and stepped into the empty hall.

And then the bell rang. The hall filled with students and voices and laughter and movement. And eyes staring at Anwyn. As she walked down the corridor towards her English Literature class she felt like the students parted in front of her, not wanting to get too close. It was more her imagination than anything, but the students were buzzing about the freshman girl who had toppled a senior guy. One story had it that her blow had made him impotent. Another said that Dominic had tried to touch her and he got what he deserved. But every story contained the detail that Dominic had called Anwyn's sister 'bitch' and that the sister had committed suicide. It was also starting to make the rounds that the sister had reportedly done the same thing to Dominic, though no one quite understood how the puzzle pieces to that one fit together.

"You know, if you wanted to get the story out of Dominic, that probably wasn't the best method to use." It was Lynn. She saddled up next to Anwyn and walked with her down the hall to their English Literature class.

"Yeah, I know," said Anwyn.

"I mean, I'll back you if you want to use torture," Lynn said. "I've got spare car battery we can hook up to his nipples. It's the American way." Anwyn smiled.

"I don't really know what I was doing," Anwyn said. "It just happened so quickly."

"Of course you knew what you were doing," Lynn said. "Achieving justice for women everywhere. So is it true that your sister did the same to Dominic?"

"I don't know," Anwyn said. "That's what Mr. Douglas said."

"Well, you're probably not going to get the real story out of Dominic now," Lynn said. "Unless we keep going with that torture plan." They reached their English class and sat down. Anwyn noticed Mrs. Summers watching her from the door to her chair. Apparently word traveled fast, even among teachers.

"What did he do?" Oliver asked as soon as he came in. He looked furious, like he was ready to go after Dominic himself, even though Dominic was the one already hurting.

"He just said Isabelle was a bitch," Anwyn said, trying to keep her voice low, though she could tell the whole class was straining to hear. It even looked like Mrs. Summers was trying to hone in on their conversation from the corner. "And I snapped."

"He didn't do anything to you?"

"No," Anwyn said. "Why does everybody ask that?"

"It'd give me more reason to kick his ass."

"No, I think I've done enough," Anwyn said.

"Kicking his ass would fit with our torture plan," Lynn chimed in.

"He didn't do anything wrong," Anwyn said. "Isabelle could be a bitch. It just, I've never had anyone say anything like that about Isabelle to my face. I snapped."

"You say the word and I'll hook up that battery," Lynn said as Mrs. Summers dimmed the lights and flicked on the overhead projector to start class.

The eyes continued to follow Anwyn the rest of the day and she was glad for the quiet of detention. Gossiping about the sister of a suicide case was not tolerated in detention, as two kids quickly found out with a doubled punishment. It turns out the office had called her father and he'd be picking her up after detention.

As she waited outside the school Mr. Graves stuck his head out the front door.

"Ms. Miller," he called. She looked over. "That was a nice mile today. If you can keep that knee to yourself I want you on my track team." She nodded and the door closed behind Mr. Graves. At least not every teacher pretended like they didn't know.

Jack pulled up to Howe High School in his Saab and picked up his daughter from detention.

"Hey beautiful," he said.

"Hi Dad."

"So I know you had talked about getting into some after school activities, but is detention really what you had in mind?"

"Sorry, Dad."

"I bet that boy is sorry," Jack said. "What was his name? Dominic Warren?" Anwyn nodded. The silver Saab pulled onto the main highway and cruised back to Richmond. "I probably know his parents. Boy is that going to be embarrassing when we run into each other at the post office. And I don't think Mabel running interference will help."

"So why'd you do it?"

"He knew Isabelle," Anwyn said, starting from the beginning. She told her dad about the scene at the river—quickly filling in the rumored information that Isabelle also had a knack for kneeing Dominic in the groin when Jack's grip on the steering wheel tightened—and about the truth or dare-inspired underwear raid. "I thought he might know something about Isabelle that we didn't know."

"So you kneed him in the groin?" Jack asked. "Honey, that's generally a good way to make a boy incapable of spilling the beans."

"Dad," Anwyn intoned.

"Sorry," Jack said. "I'm not just not used to handling discipline cases like this."

"Do you want more practice?" Anwyn asked. Jack should his head and she continued. "He finished ahead of me in the mile in gym class and I realized who he was. It clicked and I went up to ask him about Isabelle. As soon as he remembered who she was he said she was a bitch. Then I just snapped."

"Well, I suppose fond memories of being kneed in the groin might make you call someone a bitch," Jack said.

"Do you think that's all it is?"

"I don't know," Jack said. "What do you think?"

"I don't know," Anwyn said. "And I suppose now I won't find out."

"Unless maybe you knee him again," Jack said, laughing until he turned to see Anwyn straight-faced. "Sorry—do I need to be serious again?" Anwyn nodded.

"Well, it's not every day that a father learns both his daughters could defend themselves. It's encouraging." Anwyn didn't say anything. She loved her dad, but sometimes she expected something more normal. This wasn't exactly the punishment lecture she was expecting.

"So you ran the mile today?" Jack asked. "How'd you do?"

Posted by kevin at 4:18 PM | TrackBack (0)

November 21, 2006

Chapter 18

(Filed under: The Novel)

Monday morning was back to school.

"Spot any celebrities this weekend?" Lynn asked before biology class started.

"Does Mabel count?"

"Who?"

"Richmond's postal lady and gossip queen," Anwyn answered.

"Not unless she goes crazy and shoots the place up," Lynn said. "But she's probably the only employee, and if you don't kill anybody in your postal rampage I'm not sure that qualifies as criminal celebrity. No one ever got a made-for-TV movie just for shooting an empty building."

"But what about all those poor, innocent letters?" Anwyn asked.

"Oh, they'll be mourned, perhaps get a commemorative postage stamp, but I don't think that gives Mabel a TV movie," Lynn said. "Maybe an indie film starring Susan Sarandon."

"Why the questions about celebrities?" Anwyn asked.

"Sounded better than just asking how your weekend was," Lynn said with a shrug. "So, how was your weekend? See, it's just blah."

"Not much of a weekend anyway," Anwyn said. "More running and old folks visiting."

"Geez, you're really getting into this visiting thing," Lynn said. "Do you have a route? Do the Meals on Wheels folks know about you. They could save a lot of volunteers."

"Sorry, I don't drive yet," Anwyn said.

"Really, I thought—"

"Yeah, yeah," Anwyn interrupted. "I know everybody else in town my age already drives. I'm the poor city girl who always took the bus and never needed a license to drive as a farmhand."

"My bad," Lynn said, holding up her hands like she was innocent. "It is one of our redeeming qualities so I had to make sure you knew. But no matter, the Meals on Wheels folks can get you to do the visiting and Oliver to do the driving. I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

"No, probably not."

"Prom material," Lynn said. "Totally."

"So how about you," Anwyn said. "Did you spot any celebrities this weekend?"

"I saw Chet Dahlman hanging out at the Carver Cemetery on Saturday. He's the guidance counselor, right? That's kind of celebrity-like."

"Yeah," Anwyn said, remembering sitting in his office on her first day at Howe High School. "He's the guidance counselor. What was he doing in the cemetery?"

"I don't know, looking at gravestones?"

"What were you doing in the cemetery?" Anwyn asked.

"Putting flowers at grave of my sister—she killed herself. Tragic, really." Lynn held a straight face and Anwyn started giggling.

"That's not funny," Anwyn said, finally controlling her giggles.

"No, it's not. I should have told you earlier," Lynn said.

"I said I was sorry about that."

"I know, I just have to rub it in," Lynn said. "No, I live next to the cemetery."

"Creepy," Anwyn said.

"Sometimes," Lynn said. "Makes Halloween a lot more fun."

Anwyn just nodded, wondering about Chet Dahlman and graves and her sister.

"What does her tombstone say?" Ms. Jonas had asked during one of her counseling sessions with Anwyn back at St. Paul Western High School.

"I don’t know," Anwyn said, shaking her head and staring blankly at the wall behind Ms. Jonas. This was one of the early sessions, and it usually took Ms. Jonas at least 15 minutes to break through Anwyn's resistance and get her to talk.

"Sometimes tombstones don't sum up a person's life very well," Ms. Jonas said. "If you could have written the words, what would you write?"

Anwyn shrugged. But her mind started turning.

"C'mon," Ms. Jonas urged. "What would it say? 'Beloved daughter, sister and friend'? Or maybe 'Annoyed Older Sister'? Or how about 'Threw her potential down the toilet'?" Anwyn finally smiled and Ms. Jonas stopped pushing.

"I think the tombstone said something about potential," Anwyn finally said. "I don't really remember it. My dad picked it out. I think he thought it was kind of lame, but he didn't have much time and my mom was usually better at that type of stuff. And, well, she was kind of useless at the time. Still is."

Ms. Jonas waited a minute to see if Anwyn would elaborate on her mother, but she didn't.

"That's what I mean," Ms. Jonas said. "Often the words on tombstones are hastily chosen. So what would you say? Write a few things down, see what feels right." She handed Anwyn a yellow legal pad and a purple marker.

Anwyn sat back and thought and thought.

"It doesn't have to be profound or permanent or public," Ms. Jonas said. "Nobody has to see it. Write one or a dozen. Just think about your sister and how you'd want to remember her."

Anwyn put the marker to the paper and wrote, 'Isabelle Miller' across the top. She paused and then started scrawling several potential tombstone messages:

"Selfish daughter, sister and friend. Killed herself."

"She did what she wanted. Including dying."

"Killed herself, but ruined my family."

"Suicide. Nobody cared."

She finally pushed the legal pad back on to Ms. Jonas' desk.

"Can I read them?" Ms. Jonas asked before touching it. Anwyn nodded and Ms. Jonas picked up the legal pad and read over Anwyn's epitaphs. Then she set the pad down on the desk.

"How'd that feel?" Ms. Jonas asked.

"Good," Anwyn said.

"It's OK to be angry with your sister."

"I know," Awnyn said. "Sometimes it just doesn't feel like it, though. I'm supposed to be mopey and depressed and what people expect when your sister commits suicide."

"Is that what they expect?"

"Maybe," Anwyn said. "I don’t know. It just feels wrong being happy."

"It's not," Ms. Jonas said. "Isabelle killed herself. She didn't kill you."

Anwyn remembered writing those epitaphs in Ms. Jonas' office and later talking to her about feeling bad for writing them. She remembered thinking she should go back to Isabelle's grave and read the actual words, but she could never bring herself to do it.

Mr. Craven's introduction to cellular biology cut off Anwyn's bantering with Lynn and her recollections of St. Paul counseling sessions. But later in the day it would come back to her.

"Today we're running the mile," Mr. Graves shouted to the class after blowing his whistle. There were a few quiet groans in the back, but the gym teacher ignored them. Anwyn shifted her feet and stretched her neck to the left and then the right. They ran a decent warm up every day in gym class and then moved on to a game or whatever physical test Mr. Graves was required to put the students through. They'd apparently been building up to the mile for the past few months.

Mr. Graves led the class out to the football field encircled with a running track. The class of a dozen students followed behind, few talking. Anwyn was in the middle of the back, not talking to anyone. She usually didn't. She found she usually ran and played harder than most of the girls, which was something she experienced in St. Paul as well. It just meant she didn't connect with the girls while jogging slowly at the back of the pack. So she had yet to connect at all. Missy was in this class, the excitable pillar of school spirit that had shown Anwyn around on her first day. Everyday she's wave at Anwyn and make some attempt to talk to her, but she did the same with everybody. Anwyn didn't think of it as much of a connection.

Mr. Graves barked out instructions, how they'd have to run four laps around the track, how he's shout at times as they went, how they'd need to run each quarter mile in two minutes if they wanted to get a mile under eight minutes, a respectable mile for a bunch of untrained high school students.

The students started to line up and Mr. Graves called Anwyn over.

"I know you just moved here not too long ago," he started. "We've been training for this for a while, so if you want to sit out, it's OK. You can run it again before the end of the year."

"I can do it," Anwyn said.

"You sure?" Mr. Graves asked and she nodded, giving him a stern look. "OK, OK, I had to ask. Mr. Douglas told us all you were new and to take it easy on you. I didn't think a mile would be easy, so I thought I'd offer. But you're right, you always run hard in warm ups. Go get 'em,"

It was the kind of talk that could have ended with a pat on her butt, but that didn't happen in Kansas, no matter how white trash Lynn wanted to make it sound.

Anwyn lined up with the others and Mr. Graves blew his whistle and they all took off. It was still morning, the sun low in the sky and the dew still on the grass. Anwyn breathed in the air and felt the sky and the few puffs of clouds and could smell the freshly cut grass of the football field. The sky stretched in every direction around her, and she realized she loved that feeling. It made the world seem big, seem real, seem physical. It made her feel like she could run across the globe, to the very horizon.

She had broken away from the pack by the first corner and was now towards the front with a few boys in front of her and a couple stragglers behind her stretching back to a small clump of girls that constituted the pack.

Anwyn's thoughts jumped around as they always did when she ran. She thought of Isabelle. She thought of the boys she'd chased, Danny and what may or may not have happened with him at St. Paul Western High School on a Saturday; Nick, the terrifying boy from the library; Dominic Warren, the Kansas boy and victim of the underwear raid; Justin Crenshaw, a one-time crush and maybe nothing more. And maybe so much more. There were others. There were always others. Anwyn could remember other stories, other boys, other glimpses of Isabelle kissing a boy on the front porch before her dad flicked on the porch light and went back to his book with a sly grin.

But no matter how many instances Anwyn thought of, none of them gave her any more insight. None of them explained Isabelle's actions, none of them gave a reason or a pattern or a sense that something was wrong and dark and spiraling out of control.

Isabelle liked boys. What teenage girl didn't? She made a few dumb choices. What teenage girl didn't?

She thought of Oliver's words that simply asking for help could have saved a life. Would it have been that hard to ask? To cry out? Anwyn knew her father would have done anything. It really wouldn't have mattered what issue Isabelle had. Jack would have handled it with resolve and not erupted. Jill might have, but that wouldn't have mattered. Jack would have done what needed to be done.

And that was just it. Suicide didn't seem to want to do whatever needed to be done. It just wanted to escape. Isabelle permanently escaped something that could have easily been dealt with. So what made her think the easier route was so impossible?

The solutions didn't come to Anwyn. They never did come. She ran on, passing another boy and passing the halfway mark. Mr. Graves shouted out the times as they passed, well under the two minutes per quarter mile standard he had suggested, which was purely motivation and guilt for some of the crowd lagging back in the pack.

Anwyn thought about Isabelle's tombstone and the epitaphs she wrote in Ms. Jonas' office. Her dad had asked if she wanted to go back and visit Isabelle's grave before they moved. Anwyn just shook her head and her dad didn't say anything. He expected Anwyn not to want to go, and he went alone. He took a single flower, something he did every few months when he could stand to go. He always mentioned that he was going or gave some small hint to Jill—when she was around—and Anwyn in case either of them wanted to go. They never did.

Graveyards weren't exactly attractive to Anwyn. She wasn't sure how Lynn could handle living near one. And then she remembered her Grandpa Frank visiting a graveyard. It was probably the same one in Carver that Lynn lived next to. Anwyn and Isabelle waited in the car while Grandpa Frank got out—in the rain—and took a flower to a grave. He stood outside in the rain with nothing but a hat keeping the rain off. He came back to the car and they drove off, nobody saying anything.

As she finished the third lap and picked up the pace Anwyn guessed it had probably been Lily's grave. Her Grandpa Frank never said much about the trip, and he never said much about Lily. It was just a hunch, but it made sense.

And now another question nagged at Anwyn: How had Lily died? She tried to remember the story from what her dad had told her, but she just remembered that Lily had died when Jill was 10, and at the time Anwyn couldn't think about anything but the prospect of losing her own mother at 10 and what upheaval that would cause in her family. While Jill didn't die, Anwyn effectively lost her at 15, and it did cause upheaval.

Going into the final corner Anwyn finally shook the thoughts of Isabelle and Lily and death and graves and pushed harder, feeling her heart pounding and the blood coursing and seeing the sky stretch so far behind the finish line where Mr. Graves stood that she wanted to just run straight and not stop.

"6:04!" the gym coach cried in triumph when Anwyn crossed the line. She beat her last time by a good 20 seconds. She slowed to a walk and put her arms behind her head, sucking in the oxygen as fast as she could.

"Nice work, Miler," Mr. Graves said, turning away from his timer. Anwyn was far enough ahead of the next student that he didn't need to keep calling out times. "Another ten seconds and you would have beat Mr. Warren and been the best in the class."

The name clicked. Anwyn looked ahead and not ten feet in front of her, shaking his hands to relax them, was Dominic Warren.

Posted by kevin at 10:26 PM | TrackBack (0)

Chapter 17

(Filed under: The Novel)

On Sunday morning Anwyn got up early again and ran. She ran past the closed post office and the gas station, the light bulbs in its sign still humming even though the sun had already risen. She ran past the train tracks and south to the river.

The air felt clear and warm. It would be hot today. Anwyn's mind raced along with her, following all kinds of rabbit trails. She thought about Catalina's paranoid rantings, about Oliver's vigor defense of Guadalupe, about her Grandpa Frank's warm interactions with the old Hispanic woman. She had never really seen her Grandpa Frank close with a woman before. She had seen him joke around with Mabel at the post office, long before she knew Mabel by name. She'd seen him give the girls working at the Café a hard time. But she'd never really seen her grandfather be affectionate with a woman, in a romantic sense.

She wasn't sure that was what was happening with him and Guadalupe, at least not yet. But the seeds were definitely there. It all made sense since Grandpa Frank's wife had died long before Anwyn was born, before even Anwyn's parents had gotten together. Anwyn had never seen her grandparents interact.

She remembered her name was Lily. Grandma Lily. It sounded so odd. It didn't have the familiar ring of Grandpa Frank. Anwyn's mom never talked about her own mom much. Jill didn't really talk about that kind of thing. Lily had died when Jill was 10. Anwyn remembered her dad telling her that much, but she couldn't remember any of the details.

She had reached the river by now and as usual stopped at the height of the bridge and looked down on the sandy beach and the muddy Arkansas River. She remembered lighting firecrackers with Isabelle and Oliver on the shore. It was another summer trip. Anwyn had probably been 8, Isabelle 11 or 12. They were there during the Fourth of July and Grandpa Frank had picked up a stash of firecrackers. They were illegal in Minnesota, which made them all the more thrilling in Kansas. It was the kind of thing they could only do with their Grandpa Frank. Their Grandpa Miller would have loved it—he probably would have threw the firecrackers close to the girls and watched them scream at each sudden pop. But their Grandma Miller would have squashed those plans. Anwyn wondered if Lily would have done the same.

Grandpa Frank had outfitted each of the girls with a bucket of firecrackers and a torch—the long brown stick that burned slowly so you could use it to light the firecrackers and not mess with matches or a lighter. They joined up with Oliver and walked down to the river to blow stuff up. It was all too violent for Catalina who opted to stay home in a huff. Anwyn had thought Isabelle would back out and stay back with their cousin, but in a rare display Isabelle broke ranks and went with the younger kids.

Oliver would bury his firecrackers in the sand, leaving only the fuse sticking out. He'd light the firecracker, holler "Fire in the hole!" and scamper off, diving behind a tree or a shrub and watching expectantly as the firecracker popped, sending up a little cloud of dust and sand.

Anwyn would just set her firecracker on the ground and then stand as far back as possible while she reached to light it, often flinching and starting to run away before it was lit. Her dad had filled her with horror stories about misusing firecrackers and she didn't want to become another fear-inducing anecdote. Knowing she was only 8, Grandpa Frank had wisely repeated a few of the stories for good measure.

Isabelle didn't care much for the stories. She liked to hold the firecracker in her hand, light it, and then throw it. The dangerous stunt horrified Anwyn, as well as Oliver, and they both urged her not to do it.

Once the fuse had burned too quickly it exploded just a few feet from Isabelle. Her ears rang and her body tensed up. She looked around to make sure Anwyn and Oliver hadn't seen.

"You didn't use all your firecrackers," Isabelle complained when they'd finished and sat back in the sand to watch the river go by. Anwyn shook her head. Her bucket was still half full. She'd even shared a few with Oliver, but she couldn't bring herself to keep blowing things up.

"They're her firecrackers," Oliver pointed out. "She can drown them all in the river if she wants."

Anwyn remembered liking that idea. She wanted to see a few dozen firecrackers floating down the river. But she didn't want to hear what Isabelle would say, the hard time she'd get for wasting half a bucket of firecrackers. In the end they walked back into town and Anwyn handed her half a bucket to Grandpa Frank.

"Didn't use them all?" he asked. "That's OK. You can celebrate your freedom by choosing not to blow 'em up."

Anwyn smiled at her grandfather's words as she remembered that Fourth of July from the top of the bridge. After another moment's recollection, she turned and trotted back to town.

As she passed over the railroad tracks, Anwyn suddenly turned and starting jogging along the railroad bed. She just wanted to veer away from the pavement and the usual route.

Isabelle was always about the most convenient route—to her. Maybe that's why she killed herself. Anwyn was thinking of the time she walked with Isabelle to St. Paul Western High School on a Saturday. It was a week or two into Isabelle's junior year, Anwyn's eighth grade year. Isabelle had some project to work on and had forgotten one of her books in her locker.

"Then you can walk back to school and get it," Jack said. "I'm too busy to drive you up there."

"But Dad," Isabelle whined.

"No. You left the book, it's your problem." Isabelle sauntered off to get her backpack and head back to school.

"What are you looking at?" Isabelle sneered when Anwyn peered into her room.

"Nothing," Anwyn said. "Is your school even going to be open on a Saturday?"

"Somebody will be there," Isabelle said, zipping her bag shut.

"Can I come?"

It took convincing, but Isabelle didn't have much of an argument for leaving Anwyn behind. Besides, she knew from experience that if she didn't relent and let Anwyn tag along that she might just try to follow along anyway, and that could be so much more annoying.

They walked side by side, not saying much. Isabelle walked just fast enough that Anwyn had to hurry to keep up. Whenever they passed people Isabelle would charge ahead, forcing Anwyn to fall back and let the people pass. They reached the school and found the front door open. There were enough sports teams practicing and extracurriculars going on.

Without a word, Isabelle led Anwyn straight to her locker and stuffed the forgotten book in her bag. When she turned to leave she went the opposite direction from where they had come.

"Didn't we come in that way?" Anwyn asked.

"Yep," Isabelle said, not bothering to explain. She led Anwyn past the library and the auditorium. They heard voices ahead and rounded the corner to see an open classroom door and a few students spilled out into the hallway with huge swatches of paper spread across the floor. It was one of the drama classes, working on props and sets for an upcoming production.

"Hey Amy," Isabelle said, waving at a student who just came out of the classroom. The friend waved back and Isabelle sauntered up, Anwyn following reluctantly. Isabelle and Amy started talking immediately, barely pausing for a brief acknowledgement of Anwyn.

They eventually sat down on the floor with the intent of painting a backdrop, but they got more chatting done than anything. They eventually employed Anwyn so they didn't have to worry about her bored fidgeting.

The talk turned to some of the usual crushes of late. Anwyn didn't think much of it, carefully painting the edge of the billboard she was working on. But Isabelle and Amy's tones suddenly hushed. They spoke in whispers and Amy seemed to point down the hall. More whispers. Shock and disagreement from Amy. Stifled laughter.

"I'm going," Isabelle said.

"Seriously?" Amy asked.

"Oh yeah," Isabelle answered, putting down her paintbrush. Anwyn had already painted more than her. "I'll be right back, Anwyn. You stay here with Amy." Amy gave her a fake smile and Isabelle stood up and sauntered off down the hall.

Anwyn didn't bother asking where her sister was going. Amy wouldn't tell her and Isabelle likely wouldn't tell her later. About 20 minutes later Isabelle came back. Her face was red and when Amy questioned her she just nodded and wouldn't say anything more.

She motioned for Anwyn and they left, leaving Amy to the stage sets. They walked off in the direction Isabelle had just returned from. They walked to the back of the school and then circled back to the front, a circuitous route Anwyn only realized when they reached the front door.

Standing by the door waiting for a ride was a boy with long hair pulled back in a ponytail. When he saw Isabelle and Anwyn coming he smiled and waved.

"Hey Isabelle, good to see you again," the boy said.

"Hey yourself, Danny," Isabelle said, giving the boy the flirtiest look Anwyn had ever seen her sister give. Danny's eyes followed the girls as they went out the door and down the sidewalk towards home. Anwyn didn't bother asking, but she guessed Danny was part of Isabelle's little excursion, and probably the whole reason for the trip back to school on a Saturday.

Anwyn turned away from the train tracks, jumped a fence and started across a field that would bring her just behind her house. It wasn't her usual route, but sometimes that had made things more interesting with Isabelle.

Posted by kevin at 8:28 PM | TrackBack (0)

November 20, 2006

Chapter 16

(Filed under: The Novel)

"Hola, Guadalupe," Anwyn said, sitting down next to her Grandpa Frank and across from Oliver and his grandma, Guadalupe.

"Hola chica muy bonita," Guadalupe said, gesturing with her hands.

"Isn't anyone going to talk American?" Grandpa Frank asked with a laugh. "Or do I have to put my brain in gear?"

"Usted es tan obstinado," said Guadalupe. "Pero sabemos que es justo un acto."

"She said I look like a handsome actor, didn't she?" Grandpa Frank asked Oliver, but he didn't wait for an answer. "Yes, yes I know. Ruggedly handsome." He laughed again and Guadalupe just shook her head.

"Aceptable, aceptable, hablaré español," Grandpa Frank said, "Actuando obstinado." And then he turned to Anwyn, winked and said, "I'm so good at acting stubborn, too."

"Eso es major," Guadalupe said with a pleased look. She sat back in her chair and breathed in slowly, then began telling stories about her home country of El Salvador. Grandpa Frank, Anwyn and Oliver all listened intently, even though Oliver had heard the stories many times over and Grandpa Frank had coaxed them out of Guadalupe months ago. But they were fresh for Anwyn and she listened close.

Every few phrases Guadalupe would stop to make sure they still understood and Anwyn would nod for her to continue or ask a question to make sure she was still following. It was better than a Spanish textbook vocabulary lesson.

Oliver just sat back and took it all in, enjoying the familiar tones and rhythms of his grandmother's Spanish, watching the gleam in Grandpa Frank's eye as his brain worked to keep up with the new language, and feeling the warmth of family in the room.

"Adios," Anwyn said again as Oliver helped Guadalupe back to her room and Anwyn and Frank went back to his.

"She's a good woman," Grandpa Frank said as the shuffled down the hallway. "Ella es las buenas mujeres."

"Si," Anwyn said. "I think it's cool you're learning Spanish from her."

"I've got to do something to keep the brain sharp," Grandpa Frank said. "No going soft in my old age."

"Grandpa, you're not going to go soft," Anwyn said. They reached his room and she helped him sit down on the bed.

"Everything else is going soft," Grandpa Frank said, his breathing labored from the walk down the hall. "My mind is about the only thing I've still got going for me."

"Well, you are still ruggedly handsome," Anwyn said as she leaned forward and kissed her grandfather's rough cheek.

"You are too kind, chica," Grandpa Frank said. "Now you go off and enjoy your Saturday like a normal kid. No more hanging out with the old folks."

"I'll see you next Saturday, Grandpa," Anwyn said, pausing at the door.

"Damn kids," Grandpa Frank said. "Can't they see it's time for my nap." He winked at Anwyn again and smiled. She waved and then closed the door behind her. Grandpa Frank eased himself down into bed, and sat there tired and weary, but happy.

Oliver was waiting for Anwyn at the front desk. They walked out the front door together, cheerful but quiet.

Oliver's truck motored into Richmond, slowing for the turn and then crawling along as they came into town. Anwyn always wondered what would happen if someone came cruising through town at top speed. Would anyone notice? Would the gas station attendant fall back in chair and swear, maybe take off his hat like in the movies? Or would the offender be gone before anyone could look up?

"Do you want to stop off at my place and see if Catalina and Mateo are around?" Oliver asked.

"Sure," Anwyn said. "I suppose visiting the old folks on a Saturday doesn't quiet cover my Kansas visitin' allotment." Oliver shook his head.

"Are you ever going to stop ragging on this place?" Oliver asked.

"No," Anwyn replied without hesitation. "I don't think so. That would ruin the fun."

They parked in the dirt driveway and walked in the front door. Mateo was plopped in the middle of the living room floor, lying on his back and lazily kicking his feet in the air. Purple crocheted booties covered his feet, a gift from his great-grandma Guadalupe.

Catalina sat on the couch, keeping one eye on Mateo and another on her homework.

"Anwyn," she said, "It's so good to see you again."

"Hey cousin," Anwyn replied, giving Catalina a hug. Everything always seemed a little more formal with Catalina, a little more dramatic. Anwyn knelt down next to Mateo and said hello, poking his stomach and watching him smile. Then she sat down on the couch next to Catalina and Oliver kicked back on the floor, first trading faces with Mateo and making the chubby little baby laugh. He so easily became the center of attention. It took a few minutes before they could all break away from the baby's trance.

"So how was Grandma?" Catalina asked.

"Bueno," Oliver replied. "Old as dirt, but she still commands the galaxy." Anwyn giggled, thinking of the way Guadalupe had forced her grandfather into speaking Spanish. Catalina nodded, but didn't say anything.

"She said to say hello," Oliver continued. "She misses you and the bebé."

"Of course," Catalina said with a sigh. "You told her I miss her, too?"

"As per your request," Oliver said, a little more stiffly than usual. Catalina just nodded.

"Do you mind checking Mateo and putting him down for a nap?" she asked. Oliver just shook his head and gathered up Mateo in his arms. He started singing a soft song, probably made up as he went along. Anwyn strained to hear.

"Did you see Guadalupe?" Catalina asked.

"Yeah, we talked," Anwyn said. "Oliver and I managed to get her and Grandpa Frank out into the common room and we talked for a little bit."

"In Espanol, I suppose?" Catalina asked.

"Yeah," Anwyn admitted with a smile.

"That's Guadalupe," Catalina said, setting her homework down on the coffee table. "It's her way or the highway."

"Is there a little tension between you two?" Anwyn asked.

"Oh yes," Catalina said. "And you can probably tell that Oliver agrees with her."

Anwyn didn't say anything. She thought Oliver had seemed a little prickly, but she also didn't see what was so bad about Guadalupe. She was a strong, sure women.

"She just doesn't agree with how I want to live my life," Catalina said.

"And how do you want to live your life?" Anwyn asked.

"Well having Mateo about broke her heart," Catalina said. "I wasn't married and his dad, Cody, didn't stick around. I didn't want him to, but that doesn't seem to matter to Guadalupe."

"She's probably just worried about you," Anwyn said, trying to carefully balance the bruised ego of her cousin and the honor of an old woman.

"Oh, she hides it well," Catalina said, her eyes narrowing. "It's all concern about me and what I'll make of myself, but really she's just judging me. It's not like I'm the first. I should have had an abortion. That would have given her something to judge. Oh, that woman. I swear, family can be the worst."

Anwyn had stopped listening once Catalina got started. She remembered Catalina's 'poor me' rants from their childhood. Her step-father Carlos would ask her to shuck the corn and she'd drag Isabelle and Anwyn along with her, complaining all the while that Oliver didn't have to do it, and the sexist work roles, and if her real father—it went on and on. None of it was ever true. Anwyn couldn't be sure this time around. Old grandmothers could have deep judgmental streaks, but it could also be Catalina being herself. Frankly, Anwyn hoped Catalina had matured a bit by now, had made something more of herself.

Oliver closed the door to Mateo's room, not bothering to be as quiet as he could, and came back to the living room. Catalina finished her rant when she heard the door close.

"Anyway, how are you doing in school?" Catalina asked. Anwyn tried not to roll her eyes. She realized Catalina hadn't asked about Grandpa Frank—who was technically her blood relative. Guadalupe was Carlos' father and technically a step-grandmother.

Anwyn endured Catalina's small talk and then made an excuse to escape. Oliver offered to drive her home and for once Anwyn took him up on it.

"She hasn't changed, has she?" Oliver asked as they pulled away.

"Nope," Anwyn said, shaking her head and watching their house go by.

"I suppose she gave you the rant about my Guadalupe?" Oliver asked.

"Yeah," Anwyn said. "It's not true, is it? Guadalupe isn't like that?"

"No," Oliver said, shaking his head for emphasis. He stared straight ahead as he drove and didn't glance over to Anwyn. "Grandma was definitely concerned when Catalina got pregnant. Heck, everybody was. She might have been disappointed to see Catalina raising Mateo by herself, but that's only because she's seen so many in our family try to do that, and fail."

Anwyn just sat in silence, taking it in, trying to sort fact from opinion from hurt feeling.

"I love my hermana," Oliver said, "But sometimes she's full of herself."

Posted by kevin at 9:35 PM | TrackBack (0)

November 14, 2006

Chapter 15

(Filed under: The Novel)

Anwyn remembered that the trip to the library became even more interesting after she spotted Isabelle and the boy from the bus making out. After Nick spotted Anwyn spying she ran off and Isabelle did the same, stalking away from Nick.

Anwyn showed up at the front entrance 20 minutes early, not wanting to run into Nick in some far-flung corner of the library. Isabelle showed up in exactly two hours, completely unaware that her sister had witnessed the entire scene with Nick.

"Ready to go?" Isabelle asked, full of pep and smiles. Anwyn just nodded. The two started out the door, walking side by side.

"Did you get all the info you needed?" Isabelle asked.

"Yep," Anwyn said. "How about you?" Of course she knew the answer.

"I got enough," Isabelle said. "I may need to do some more later, but this will get me started." Anwyn didn't say anything.

There was a drug store across from the bus stop and while they waited Isabelle offered to go inside and get them something to drink.

"You want anything?" Isabelle asked, as if she always bought her sister something.

"Sure," Anwyn said. Isabelle popped into the store and came out with two soda pops. She handed one to Anwyn and looked down the street to see if the bus was coming yet.

"Thanks," Anwyn said, a little baffled. It was as if Isabelle were trying assuage her guilt. Isabelle just nodded. The ride home was quiet, no incredible sister bonding, but the drink had been unexpected and odd. It always went that way back and forth with Isabelle. Sometimes she was nice and sometimes she was something else.

Sitting in her bedroom in Richmond, Kansas—which used to be her dad's bedroom when he was a child—Anwyn realized how often Isabelle had chance encounters with strange guys that turned into more than a simple conversation. But that's the way she was. She always pranced around getting the attention of guys and then flirted with them mercilessly. Isabelle never had a steady, consistent boyfriend. She just bounced around from fling to fling, date to date, guy to guy.

Oliver was probably right. One random guy from four years ago probably wouldn't know anything about Isabelle. There had probably been so many random guys—more than Anwyn had spied on and could ever know about. It was doubtful any of them knew Isabelle any better than Anwyn did.

She tried to find reassurance in this fact, but it didn't mean a lot. The question of why still nagged at her.

The rest of that week at school went by in a blur and Anwyn found herself eating cereal on Saturday morning after another early run. Her dad had just staggered out of bed and was now in the shower. Oliver would be by soon to pick up Anwyn so they could go visit Grandpa Frank and Guadalupe.

She set her milky bowl in the sink and went outside to wait on the porch. It was warmer today, much warmer than when she had gone running. It was one of those warm spring days when everyone back in St. Paul would break out their shorts and celebrate the departure of winter, even if it was only in the high 40s.

Oliver finally pulled up in his rusty pickup.

"Hola, chica," he said, leaning over and unlatching the door for her.

"Hey, Oliver," she said. The truck lumbered out of the driveway and towards the highway and the town of Truss.

It was a quiet ride, a few pleasantries and gentle ribbings exchanged, and then they drove in silence most of the way. The pickup pulled up in front of the nursing home and shuddered to a stop.

"You ever worry if this truck is going to just up and die on the side of the road?" Anwyn asked as they slammed the doors shut and walked inside.

"Every day," Oliver answered.

The nurse manning the station by the door said both Guadalupe and Grandpa Frank were still in their rooms and hadn't yet come out into the common area. She told Anwyn and Oliver they welcome to go visit. If they could manage to coax their grandparents out of their rooms that'd be even better.

"We're talking about Grandpa Frank, right?" Anwyn said.

"Oh, we know all about his stubborn tendencies," the nurse said. "But sometimes the codgy ones will listen to their granddaughters."

"I'll see what I can do," Anwyn said. Then her and Oliver went their separate ways.

Anwyn knocked on her grandfather's door and slowly pushed it open.

"C'mon in, c'mon in," Grandpa Frank called from his chair in the corner. He was wearing the same faded bathrobe and wrapped in the same blanket as last week. He set a different book aside as she walked in. "Ah, it's good to see you, girl,"

"Hi Grandpa Frank," Anwyn said, leaning over to give him a hug and kiss his sandpaper cheek. She sat down in a chair opposite him.

"So how have you been?" she asked.

"I'm fine, forget about me," Grandpa Frank said, adjusting his blanket and pulling the bathrobe a little tighter. "How have you been? Are they teaching you anything at that high school?"

"I do OK," Anwyn said. "I'm in mostly sophomore classes, so it's challenging enough."

"Good, good," Grandpa Frank said. "So they have a few years before you outgrow them and they don't know what to do with you but let you teach the classes."

"I doubt that will happen, Grandpa."

"You never know," he said, nodding his head as he thought about it. "If you're in sophomore classes as a freshman, what's going to happen when you're a senior? They'll have no choice but to graduate you early." Anwyn just smiled and looked at the floor.

"How's your dad doing?"

"He's good," Anwyn said. "Working hard as usual."

"Good, good," Grandpa Frank said. "Your father always was a hard worker. I never quite understand what he works hard at, but he seems to be good at it. He doesn't work too hard, does he?"

"No, he usually quits by 5," Anwyn said, "Just in time for dinner." Grandpa Frank smirked.

"Dinner?" he said. "You eat dinner awfully late." He smiled at her, enjoying his role as kidder.

"Supper," Anwyn corrected herself. "Just in time for supper. Sorry Grandpa, I've only been here a few weeks—my vocabulary hasn't had time to adjust."

"You'll catch up," he said. He always loved to chide Anwyn and Isabelle about the differences in language between Kansas and anywhere else. They'd ask about dinner in late afternoon and Grandpa Frank would give them the strangest look and ask if they weren't sitting at the table with him eating cold turkey sandwiches. They'd roll their eyes and sigh and plead and try to convince him that supper and dinner were interchangeable, but he refused to budge, insisting that the noon time meal was dinner. They didn't seem to have lunch in Kansas, though Anwyn argued they should add it and have four meals.

"Good—your father not working late that is—he's a hard worker but he also knows what's important. I'm afraid that was your mom's problem. She's also a hard worker—too hard, I'm afraid." Anwyn nodded. She always remembered her mom bring her work home and staying up late, papers and file folders consuming the kitchen table. If her or Isabelle tried to sit down and chat while they had a snack their mom would shoo them away, muttering about KoolAid stains on her papers.

"Mom called earlier this week." Grandpa Frank just waited for her to continue. "I haven't talked to her since before we moved. She sounded happy—talking a mile a minute about New York and her new clients at the firm and how it was going. Sounds like she's still working too hard."

"That sounds like your mother," Grandpa Frank said. "Always jabbering faster than you can listen and always working too hard. I'm worried about her. No matter how far you run away or how you try to busy yourself your problems will always find you."

Now it was Anwyn's turn to nod and wait for her grandfather to continue. It felt weird to hear her Grandpa talk about her mom like this. It was a perspective she didn't normally see, the rough patches in her mother's life.

"What your sister did was a time bomb for your family, that's for sure. Something like that is hard for everyone to recover from, no doubt. But at some point you have to deal with it. You can't just runaway. One of these days it will come back to haunt your mother, you'll see. It will probably be too late, but it will haunt her just the same."

"But what about you," Grandpa Frank said, turning now to Anwyn. "Have you been able to cope with Isabelle's suicide?"

"I guess," Anwyn shrugged. She wasn't used to talking about it so suddenly and so openly. It felt awkward, like the last time she visited and her Grandpa just blurted out his sympathies. But it also felt reassuring in a small way.

"It's OK," Grandpa Frank said, "It's rarely something you feel sure about. I reckon you'll have questions and doubts about it for much of your life."

"That's not very reassuring," Anwyn said, raising her eyebrows but still managing a smile.

"No, it's not," he said. "But it is honest." He rubbed his scruffy chin and looked up to the ceiling, suddenly lost in thought. Anwyn readjusted in the chair, pulling her feet up on to the edge of the seat and wrapping her arms around her knees. She looked back at her grandfather and he was still lost in thought, contemplating what could possibly be reassuring and honest.

Posted by kevin at 8:12 PM | TrackBack (0)

November 13, 2006

Chapter 14

(Filed under: The Novel)

Anwyn climbed aboard the school bus after her final class and slumped into a seat halfway back. She sat next to the window and just stared out.

She remembered when Isabelle started high school. She was in a panic about everything—her classes, her friends, what to wear. Even something as simple as breakfast set her off into a panic.

On the first day of school she was flying around trying to find her new clothes and her new school bag. Anwyn and her father sat at the table having breakfast, like they did every day. Anwyn would have to start getting ready soon, but she didn't have to leave for another 45 minutes. She had plenty of time. Isabelle, on the other hand, had to leave in ten minutes. And she wasn't dressed yet.

"Isabelle," Jack called out. "Did you get some breakfast?" Anwyn grinned, but didn't look up from her cereal bowl. Isabelle never ate breakfast.

"Dad!" came the shriek from upstairs. Jack just chuckled.

"It does a body good," he called out again, this time breaking into laughter.

"You're bad," Anwyn said, trying not to laugh herself.

"Yeah, I suppose I am," Jack said. "Maybe I should help her out." He set his bowl and glass on the counter and walked towards the stairs. Then Isabelle came flying down the stairs.

"What are you looking for?" Jack asked.

"Nothing," Isabelle said. "I'm fine."

"Well, it sure looks that way," Jack said. "Let me help you out."

"No, Dad, I've got it under control," Isabelle said. "I'm in high school now." That had been her refrain for the summer. She was in high school now and she could handle it. She was in high school and she didn't need help. She was in high school now and she didn't lower herself to giggling with Anwyn or going to the library with her or any of the things they used to do. Though every now and then she'd slip and let out a girlish giggle or do something nice with Anwyn before realizing it and trying to be extra cold to make up for it.

Isabelle had changed her outfit one final time and now was trying to track down her backpack. She found it, crammed her notebooks and folders into it and took off out the front door. Anwyn just shook her head and kept eating her cereal. She had learned over the summer not to worry about it. Jack sighed and watched his firstborn march defiantly down the sidewalk towards the bus stop. She didn't need help anymore. She was above it.

When Anwyn came home from her first day of sixth grade, Isabelle was of course already home. She had claimed the TV and was stretched out on the couch watching reruns of The Cosby Show.

"Hey," Anwyn said. She sat down in the chair opposite Isabelle. Isabelle just grunted, hardly turning to look at her sister. They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching Cliff Huxtable talk about the quality of chocolate cake.

"So," Anwyn said, "How was high school?"

"It was fine," Isabelle said. Anwyn didn't say anything. These were the same lame answers she'd give her parents when they asked her later that evening. Anwyn stood up to leave her sister to the TV.

"How was middle school?" Isabelle asked. Anwyn stopped.

"What?" she asked.

"How was middle school?" Isabelle repeated. Anwyn sat down on the arm of the chair.

"It was kind of fun, actually," Anwyn said.

"I liked having different classes and different teachers all day long," Isabelle said, turning away from the Huxtable family.

"Yeah, that's pretty cool," Anwyn said.

"Who do you have for science?"

"Mr Johnson," Anwyn answered.

"Ooh, he's good," Isabelle said. "Just be sure to study hard for his tests." It was the old Isabelle, suddenly returning to be nice to her little sister.

"Any cute boys in your classes?" Isabelle asked. And there it was. Anwyn knew it wouldn't last long. There was the mature Isabelle, beginning to emerge.

Anwyn just shrugged. She had never been as eager to share the Justin Crenshaws of her life with her sister. And Isabelle knew that.

Isabelle turned back to the TV and Anwyn went to her room. Later that evening their parents would ask about school and Isabelle would shrug and say it was fine.

The bus stopped in the middle of Richmond and Anwyn filed off the bus with her other classmates and started walking home. She remembered Isabelle's momentary burst of kindness on her first day of high school. That's often how her experiences with her sister over the next, final few years would go. Excessive surliness and then suddenly, unexpectedly something kind and decent. It wasn't a precursor to suicide though, it was just being a teenager.

Anwyn scratched Charlie under the collar when she walked in, the dog turning and leaning into it. Anwyn gave him a final pat on the head and stuck her head into her dad's office.

"Hey dad," she said. Jack just turned and waved, pointing to his earpiece perched on the side of his head. Anwyn liked to call him a cyborg when he wore it. He was on a business call. He mouthed a "how was school" and raised his eyebrows like a question. Anwyn gave him the thumbs-up and he nodded.

"How's the call?" Anwyn asked softly. Jack rolled his eyes and then pretended to fall asleep.

"No, it's a database issue," Jack suddenly said, jolting back awake. He paused and gave Anwyn a look. He shrugged and continued, "Yeah, I'm sure. I've checked it twice." Anwyn grabbed a snack from the fridge and headed up to her room.

The floor of Anwyn's room was no longer completely consumed with boxes. There were only a few strays leftover, shoved off in a corner. They'd probably stay there for months. Anwyn had never moved before, at least not that she remembered, so she had no idea how it was done. She didn't realize that if she didn't unpack the boxes now she'd never do it.

She sat down on her bed and remembered another day when Isabelle's niceness had poked through, only to suddenly disappear again. They had taken the bus downtown to the big library. Their mom wasn't thrilled with the idea, but they both had big projects to work on and it seemed like the easiest way for both of them to get research done and not to have to worry about parking downtown.

"Mom, I’m 15," Isabelle kept saying. "I'm not a child." That made Anwyn 11 and not a child either, but Isabelle thought otherwise.

"Well then you can take your sister," Jill said.

"But mom," Isabelle intoned.

"But what?" Jill asked. "You both need to go to the library. You're old enough and responsible enough to take the bus as you've so persuasively argued. That means you're also old enough and responsible enough to take your sister and keep an eye on her."

"Fine." Isabelle huffed, exasperated. Anwyn didn't say anything. She didn't think she needed Isabelle keeping an eye on her, but she also didn't want to take the bus alone.

"Let's go," Isabelle muttered. They walked out the door together, but hardly together. Isabelle walked in front, with her quick, rushed strides. Anwyn struggled to keep up, wishing Isabelle wouldn't get so annoyed so quickly.

The bus pulled up to the stop and Anwyn followed Isabelle on. Isabelle paid for both of them, making a big deal of it and telling the driver she was also paying for her little sister. Anwyn resented the emphasis she put on 'little.' Isabelle led them to the back of the bus, and motioned for Anwyn to take the corner seat in the back. It was actually the seat Anwyn preferred, so she didn't complain about being bossed around. From that seat you could see the entire bus, you had a clear view out the window, and—best of all—you could put your feet up behind the seat in front that face the center of the bus.

Isabelle sat down next to her sister, but also next to an older, rough looking boy. Anwyn didn't realize it at the time, but Isabelle spotted the guy when she got on the bus and planned to sit next to him, forcing Anwyn to take the window seat so she could sit next to the boy.

Before she knew it, Anwyn realized her sister had struck up a conversation with the boy sitting next to her. She didn't even realize it had happened and afterwards wished she had. She was never good at starting conversations with total strangers and always wondered the best way to start—without doing something completely goofy like commenting on a T-shirt or making inane comments about the weather. Anwyn imagined her sister had better methods.

But there they were, Isabelle and this boy, talking. He had to be older, maybe a senior, maybe in college. Maybe just a drop out. They were talking about music now, bands Anwyn had never heard of and she wasn't entirely sure Isabelle had heard of them either.

It turned out that the boy was going to the library, too. At least that's what he said. Anwyn wasn't so sure. It didn't look like he needed to go to the library. He didn't have a bag or a notebook or anything. The bus stopped and the three of them stood up and went out the rear door of the bus. Isabelle and the boy—his name turned out to be Nick—walked in front, laughing and carrying, while Anwyn followed a few paces behind, clutching her notebook and looking at the pavement.

Her sister was flirting, with abandon, with a total stranger. Her parents would be pissed. But Anwyn wouldn't say anything. As much as she wanted to turn her sister in and watch her get busted, she also didn't want to tattle. She also knew that Isabelle tended to get herself in trouble. Anwyn had realized long ago that she didn't have to take the heat for getting Isabelle in trouble. She'd do it herself.

They walked in the big doors and Isabelle and the boy turned to the right and started heading towards the stacks. But then Isabelle said something, the boy stopped, and she turned and walked back to Anwyn.

"Meet me here, at the entrance, in two hours," she said, turning to walk away almost immediately.

"What?" Anwyn said. "Where are you going?"

"Nick and I are going to study and we don’t need you bothering us," Isabelle said. "You've been here before, you know what you're doing."

"What do you mean, you and Nick?" Anwyn asked, pushing the edge.

"What about it?" Isabelle asked. "Do you need me to take you by the hand and help you with your homework?"

"No," Anwyn said, defiance in her voice.

"Look, you're smart, you can do this yourself," Isabelle said, trying a different track. "Mom should have let you come by yourself. So what do you care what I do?"

"Fine," Anwyn said. "Two hours?"

"That's my sister," Isabelle said, pinching Anwyn's cheek and turning to rejoin Nick. Anwyn locked eyes with Nick who had been staring at her. He had his head tilted back slightly, like he was trying to look down on her even more than his height allowed. He gave Isabelle a smile—a sleazy smile, Anwyn thought—and the two walked together into the history section.

Isabelle looked back at the last second, looking back to reassure Anwyn. But Anwyn didn't see the usual confidence and strength in her sister's eyes. She saw the eyes of a scared little girl.

But Anwyn just shook her head and got to work. She went up the marble staircase to the third floor and started her research. She was doing a history project on St. Paul and asked the librarian to pull a few local interest books and documents. She holed up at a table with a pile of books and flipped pages and scribbled notes.

She worked for a solid hour, writing down names and dates and interesting tidbits. She took a detour reading about the origins of Mississippi Boulevard and East River Parkway, the roads that followed the Mississippi River on each side of the bluffs, but otherwise stuck to her work and finished earlier than she thought she would.

Anwyn packed up her notes and returned the books to the librarian with a polite 'thank you.'

Now she had an hour to kill. She was in one of the most amazing and interesting buildings in St. Paul. The library building was completed in 1917 and had ancient marble arches and rich woodwork. It was an architectural marvel.

But marveling at an old building isn't how Anwyn chose to spend her remaining hour. Instead she would marvel at her sister.

Anwyn wondered around the third floor, went down to the children's section and then back up to the second floor. She looked down every aisle of books, peeked in semi-private caddies and nooks where researchers were pouring over stacks and stacks of books. She checked the bathrooms and the café on the first floor.

Finally she went in one of the newer side rooms. Here the ancient building suddenly felt modern. It was as if an extra floor had been wedged into the building to accommodate more books and all the architecture flourishes were forgotten in an effort to cram more books into a tiny space.

Here the shelves were extremely narrow. There was hardly enough room to turn around. This room was also empty. Anwyn quietly tiptoed down the center aisle, pausing to peer down each row as she went.

And then she heard it. Muffled giggling, whispers, hushing and more giggling. It was coming from the corner. Anwyn came to the sixth row from the end and snuck down the row. Each shelf had slats where you could see through to the next row, and the row beyond that and across the room. Except where books were too tall and blocked the view. The result was that you could just barely find a sight line to peer all the way across the room. Peering six rows over was a little easier, but it was still a challenge.

Within six feet of the end of the row Anwyn got down on the floor and peered through the rows into the corner. She saw two pairs of legs—her sister and Nick. She sat up on her knees and tried to peer through a few shelves higher, but her view was blocked. She went up another shelf and could see Nick and Isabelle at waist level. They were standing close together. Then farther apart, then back together—depending on whether they were whispering or giggling or both.

Anwyn slowly moved up another shelf, carefully peeking to make sure she couldn't be seen. This time she could see higher. Isabelle's back was to her and Nick was facing her. His arms were around her.

Anwyn dared to go another shelf higher and this time she could see their faces, at least Nick's face—she saw the back of Isabelle's head. Nick's eyes were glued to Isabelle and he seemed oblivious to anything else. Isabelle didn't have the same concentration and she kept turning her head at every little sound. When she turned Anwyn could see her face, and she had the same scared, lost look in her eyes. She tried to hide it, to cover it up with her usual confidence and air of superiority, but she couldn't. Even Nick could see the fear in her eyes.

And that's when he kissed her. He moved in, his mouth opening in a sneer and he kissed Isabelle, not letting her turn to check the aisle for the umpteenth time.

Anwyn's eyes widened and she was about to turn away when Nick opened his eyes and stared straight at Anwyn, his lips still locked with Isabelle's. Anwyn couldn't move. She didn't know what to do, whether she should run or act like she hadn't seen anything. But it was too late for that now and she was too scared to run. Nick didn't seem to react either, he just kept staring.

And then Isabelle finally turned and pulled away from Nick, who broke his gaze at Anwyn. She took her chance and turned and ran, not caring how loud she was anymore. Isabelle didn't notice the footsteps but pushed Nick away. She glared at him and then turned and stalked off.

Nick watched her go, not saying anything.

Posted by kevin at 10:09 PM | TrackBack (0)

November 12, 2006

Chapter 13

(Filed under: The Novel)

The underwear raid, as they came to call it, had happened four years before Isabelle's death. When they got back to the tent Isabelle wouldn't tell them how she'd done it.

She wouldn't play truth or dare anymore, which was how Anwyn expected to find out what had happened. But Isabelle just laid back and looked at the stars and quiet slowly pervaded the tent and they all went to sleep.

As Anwyn walked home from babysitting with Oliver she still remembered that night and still didn't know how Isabelle had walked away from Dominic Warren's house with a pair of his underwear.

And now that she thought about it, Dominic Warren was a senior at Howe High School.

She didn't know him. She only knew him from a few childhood memories from summers spent in Kansas. Actually a single summer spent in Kansas, since that was the last time Anwyn and Isabelle had come to Kansas for the summer. The next year Isabelle got a job and it just seemed like too much.

The next day at school she decided to ask Lynn in biology.

"Do you know Dominic Warren?"

"Whoa," Lynn said, picking her head up from her desk. "Somebody's got an agenda this morning."

"Do you know him?" Anwyn asked again.

"There are only 265 students in this school," Lynn said. "Of course I know of him. But I couldn't introduce your or anything. Why?"

Anwyn sat down, letting her bag fall to the floor next to her desk.

"I want to talk to him," she said.

"And that's your big plan for the day?" Lynn asked. "What happened to coming in and sitting down and we could grunt at each other, maybe compare notes on Mr. Craven's hippy tendencies."

"Sorry, I'm just complex," Anwyn said.

"Ooh, big city girl," Lynn said, waving her hands in mock alarm.

"Well, if you must know, I'd like to inquire about a pair of underwear," Anwyn said with a devilish grin.

"Whoa," Lynn said, doing her best Joey Lawrence impersonation. "I don't think I need to know anything more about that." Anwyn laughed. She remembered watching Blossom back in the day. Isabelle had a crush on Joey Lawrence, perhaps in the pre-Justin Crenshaw crush days.

"Or I need to know everything about it," Lynn said, giving Anwyn a raised eyebrow. Anwyn leaned towards Lynn.

"It's a long story," Anwyn warned.

"Aren't they all?" Lynn asked.

"Well, I'm not sure if I can get into it now," Anwyn said.

"You can't just leave me hanging," Lynn said. "C'mon, how many stories do I get involving seniors and underwear? OK, more than I'd like to admit, but you still can't leave me hanging."

"It may be nothing," Anwyn said.

"And it may not be," Lynn insisted.

"At lunch," Anwyn said and turned back to her desk. Mr. Craven was about to start class.

At lunch Anwyn and Lynn holed up at a table in the corner so they could talk alone. Their usual table of friends gave them an odd look, but they ignored it.

"OK, my sister and I used to spend summers in Kansas and one summer we played truth and dare late at night with Oliver and his sister."

"Familial bonding. Nice," Lynn said.

"Catalina dared Isabelle to steal Dominic's underwear—and she did it," Anwyn said.

"How?" Lynn asked.

"That's just it," Anwyn said. "I don't know."

"That is steamy," Lynn said. "Though why the sudden interest?"

"There's more," Anwyn continued. She told Lynn the story about seeing Isabelle and Dominic kissing by the river, how her and Oliver had been watching and took off before they saw what happened.

"You and Oliver, huh?" Lynn asked. "I thought you guys had a history. Espionage and intrigue, apparently."

"And there's more," Anwyn said, looking down at her sandwich, which she really wasn't planning to eat.

"More?" Lynn asked incredulously. "Seriously, girl, you have some juicy stories."

"Isabelle is dead," Anwyn said, just throwing it out there. "She killed herself last August. That's why my parents got divorced. That's why my dad and I moved back to Kansas."

Anwyn had been sticking with the divorce story, not wanting to be the suicide girl's sister. She dealt with that in St. Paul and some people walked on eggshells around her. It wasn't worth it.

Lynn didn't say anything. She put her own sandwich down, and she wouldn't pick it up again.

"You're serious?" Lynn finally asked. Anwyn nodded. Lynn swore. "That's not a steamy story anymore." Anwyn nodded again. "So what do you want from Dominic?"

"I don't know," Anwyn said. "I never knew my sister that well to begin with, but things like the whole Dominic episode and of course her suicide really throw me for a loop. I want to know why she did it."

"You think Dominic and his underwear have something to do with it?" Lynn asked. "That's quite a pair of underwear." Anwyn smiled and looked down at her uneaten sandwich.

"It sounds stupid, doesn't it?" she asked.

"You want me to be honest or supportive?" Lynn asked with a grin. "Honestly, yeah it does seem kind of crazy. I don't think you're going to discover anything. But if you want me to be supportive gal, yeah, sure, let's go track Dominic down."

Then Anwyn spotted Oliver walking into the lunch room and she flagged him down and waved him over.

"Oliver, what do you know about Dominic Warren?" Anwyn asked. Oliver sighed and sat down at the table.

"Hola to you, too," Oliver said. "What's this all about?" He had a pretty good idea.

"Remember the night we slept in the tent in your yard and played truth or dare? We went to Dominic's house and—"

"Yeah, I think I remember sneaking across town after midnight," Oliver said. "What about it?"

"I think Dominic might know a side of Isabelle we never knew," Anwyn explained. "I just want to know if that side of Isabelle explains anything."

Oliver exchanged glances with Lynn.

"That was four years before Isabelle killed herself," Oliver said. "Do you really think it means anything?"

Anwyn exhaled slowly. Her sandwich still sat in front of her, uneaten and not looking especially appetizing. She looked at Lynn and then at Oliver.

"I'm sounding kind of obsessive, aren't I?" she asked. She watched Lynn look at Oliver and then back to her. Lynn nodded slowly.

"Forget about it," Anwyn said. "This is crazy. That was four years ago. It wouldn't mean anything."

"We can ask Dominic, if you want," Lynn said. Oliver didn't say anything. He had knew who Dominic was. For years he lived three blocks from him. If he had wanted to know what happened at the river or that night while they played truth or dare he could have asked. But he also knew Dominic was just as likely to tell them as Isabelle had been. Some things are meant to be secret. And some secrets die with people.

"No," Anwyn said. "I'm sounding crazy. Let's just forget about it." She pushed her sandwich away and sat there quietly. Oliver didn't know what to say. Lynn did.

"You know what this, don't you?" Lynn asked. Anwyn shook her head. "It's the biggest, craziest, story I've heard since moving to Kansas. Nothing happens here. This is amazing."

"Technically," Oliver said, "The suicide happened in St. Paul."

"Shut up," Lynn said, shooting him a look. "The make-out session at the river—OK, that happens all the time—but the underwear swap, and now you're back where it all happened. You and Isabelle are intimately tied to Kansas. I claim the story as one of our own stories of weirdness."

"I feel so honored," Anwyn said.

"You should be," Lynn said. "I don't have cable—I've got to work with what I have."

"And it wasn't an underwear swap," Anwyn said. "Isabelle just stole Dominic's underwear."

"That's what you think," Lynn said. "Why would a boy just hand over a pair of underwear? Don't you think he came up with some sort of trade? I bet they swapped underwear."

"Who swaps underwear?" Oliver asked.

"Did you check when she came back?" Lynn asked. "Was she wearing underwear? Or was she going commando style?"

"I didn't check!" Oliver said, his eyes getting wider and starting to feel a little weird.

"Nobody checked," Anwyn said. "We tried to pull it out of her when we got back to the tent, but she shut us down. No one thought of pantsing her to find out."

"Well, you should have," Lynn said. "We wouldn't be having this conversation if you had the forethought to just pants her back then."

"Because that's one of the memories I want of my dead sister," Anwyn said, "The time we pantsed her."

"Well, you couldn't have been worried about that at the time," Lynn pointed out.

"That's just it," Anwyn said. "Nobody expected what she did. There weren't any warning signs. There was no discernable reason." Now the table became quiet. Their lunches sat there uneaten and the minutes slowly ticked by. Before they realized it the bell rang and lunch was over.

Posted by kevin at 3:54 PM | TrackBack (0)

November 11, 2006

Chapter 12

(Filed under: The Novel)

Oliver and Anwyn closed the door letting Mateo drift off to sleep to the hum of the music.

"It is a terrible thing," Anwyn said. "Just asking for help. It's not even that hard."

"I guess it depends on your circumstances—what you're trying to escape from," Oliver said. They walked into the living room and sat down on the couch. "In some cultures suicide can be considered honorable."

"Yeah," said Anwyn, "And Catholics say if you commit suicide you go straight to hell. Not exactly much comfort for the survivors."

"Good thing you're not Catholic." Anwyn just back her head spinning and thinking.

"This is really bothering you, isn't it?" Oliver asked.

"I do think about it a lot," said Anwyn. "It's not like I’m slipping into depression of thinking about following in Isabelle's footsteps, I just wish I could understand it all."

"I blame it on our family," Oliver said. "We're a pretty messed up bunch."

"How so?" Anwyn asked.

"Well, we've got death," Oliver started. "That can always mess people up. There's Isabelle, of course, and Grandma Nelson died along time ago. There's the train wreck of Robert Nelson, Caterina's father. He took off before she was even born. History repeated itself with Caterina. Your parents are divorced. Mine are remarried, making for a blended family of half-siblings. Heck, I don't even live with my parents anymore, and I'm not even 16."

"And don't forget my racist, alcoholic Grandpa Miller," Anwyn added.

"Hey, that's your side of the family," Oliver said. "I've got no ties."

"You technically have no ties to my family anyway," Anwyn said. Oliver shrugged.

"I have a feeling most people are pretty messed up like this," Oliver said.

"Am I messed up?" Anwyn asked.

"You are preoccupied with suicide," Oliver said with a smirk. "That's pretty weird."

"You'd be preoccupied with it too if your sister killed herself," Anwyn fired back.

"No, I'd be pissed," Oliver said. "And too busy changing diapers to worry about the why."

"I should probably get going," Anwyn said, standing up and heading towards the door. "You can manage now that Mateo's asleep?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine," Oliver said. "You sure you want to go already? I could talk for another few hours about suicide."

Anwyn smiled. Oliver always did fine a way to make her smile.

"Yeah, I've got homework to do." This was only partially true. Oliver followed her to the door and held it open while she walked out. It was dark now, colder, but not enough to complain about. Anwyn turned and waved, and she headed home.

The night seemed darker and yet not darker than the city. It felt darker because there weren't light on everywhere. The lack of light pollution also meant the stars shone brightly, a blanket of them, stretched as far as they eye could see.

Anwyn remembered one night when her, Oliver, Catalina and Isabelle stayed out late to watch the stars. They were sleeping over at Aunt Alejandra and Carlos's house, and the kids had talked their way into sleeping outside in the backyard. Oliver set up the tent with the girls' help and the four laid out their sleeping bags, all lined up in a row inside the tent.

They had flashlights and a little lantern and stayed up late telling stories and jokes. They played truth or dare. Isabelle always said truth and Oliver always said dare.

They dared Oliver to do all sorts of goofy physical stunts, like jumping the neighbors' fence and staying in the yard for a full minute or running around the house in nothing but his underwear. Once Catalina and Isabelle ganged up and dared Oliver to kiss Anwyn. She argued that they were cousins and it'd be illegal, but Isabelle pointed out that they weren't really cousins.

Oliver didn't speak up, partially because it was late and dark and somehow that always fuels boys to do stupid things they wouldn't do during the calm and reason of the daylight, but also because as a 10-year-old boy kissing a girl was an intriguing notion.

"Then you kiss him," Anwyn had said. And she did.

She turned to Oliver. "I dare you to kiss me," Isabelle said. Catalina giggled. Anwyn's mouth hung open. Oliver tried to play it cool. Isabelle sat up and leaned forward slightly, her lips pouting and her eyes closed. She had the princess role down and she milked it.

Oliver sat up and suddenly he didn't look as cool. He looked a little nervous and wasn't sure if kissing a girl would be as intriguing as he thought, especially with two others watching.

He leaned forward to kiss Isabelle on the lips. Anwyn and Catalina both leaned in, though Catalina was about to explode in giggles and Anwyn still looked shocked. Isabelle was frozen in position, waiting for the dared kiss.

Oliver slowly moved in, and then quickly planted a kiss on Isabelle's cheek. He sat back down as quickly as he could. Catalina erupted. Anwyn's expression didn't change. Isabelle relaxed and opened her eyes. She thought for a moment and then smiled. "Not bad."

Catalina's alliance with Isabelle to get Oliver to kiss Anwyn had failed, so now Catalina turned on Isabelle.

"Isabelle," she said, relishing the surprise that registered on her face. Up until then they had always targeted the Oliver and Anwyn. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth," Isabelle said, as always.

"Have you ever done it with a boy?" Catalina asked. This time Anwyn cracked up. Oliver rolled his eyes. Isabelle mulled her options.

"Dare," she said after a moment's consideration. Anwyn stopped laughing. Oliver's mouth fell open. Even Catalina was surprised. Isabelle always went with truth, happy to lay out any detail. Anwyn and Oliver exchanged looks. It was only a few days before that they'd seen Isabelle kissing the boy with the hat down by the river. Later they would talk, debating whether or not anything had actually happened, whether or not Isabelle was just trying to create mystery and make everyone thing she was older and more mature than she was.

"Maybe she saw us," Oliver had said to Anwyn. "Maybe she knows we were watching and so she wants to play up what might have happened, when really nothing happened at all."

"But if she wanted us to think she was having sex," Anwyn said, "Why wouldn't she just say so? She didn't shy away from anything else when we played truth or dare." And it was true. Isabelle had told them she had a crush on Justin Crenshaw. She told them she had once cheated on a spelling test. She told them she kept a diary hidden in the vent—and she said that truth with eyes blazing at Anwyn, warning her to not even try sneaking a look at it.

Now Catalina had to come up with a dare, and after watching her brother do the stupidest, childish things it was time to do something serious. And she said it without hesitation: "I dare you to steal Dominic Warren's underwear."

Simply saying underwear after a certain hour was sure to cause hysterics, and it did. Oliver and Anwyn cracked up, rolling around on the floor of the tent. Even Isabelle smiled. After they finally settled down, Anwyn asked who Dominic Warren was.

"He was a boy who came down to the river today while you guys were swimming," Catalina explained.

"We didn't see any boy," Anwyn said, trying to play dumb.

"You guys were south of the bridge or something," Catalina said. "But he was there. Isabelle knows who he is." Now it was Isabelle's turn to be embarrassed. But this was the granddaddy of dares. This wasn't running around the house in your underwear or hanging upside down from the pole of the clothesline. This dare involved some serious work.

"How can I even do that?" Isabelle asked, not wanting to shy away from the dare, but unsure of how to even go about pulling it off.

"He lives three blocks over," Catalina said. "You sneak over to his house. You find a way to get his underwear." Oliver cracked up again.

"What am I supposed to do," Isabelle asked, "Ask his mom?"

"If that works," Catalina said, a wicked grin on her face. "Or you could knock on his window. His room is on the main floor."

"And what's she going to say?" Anwyn asked. "'Excuse me, can I borrow a pair?'" Her and Oliver cracked up again.

"I think she can figure it out from there," Catalina said. Isabelle nodded and started looking for her shoes.

"You'll have to come with me and point out his house," Isabelle said. "And his room. I'm not knocking on his parents' window."

"I'm coming, too," Anwyn said. She wasn't going to miss this.

"Me, too," Oliver said. "I'm not staying here while you guys run around town."

"We're not running around town," Catalina said. "We're going straight to the Warren's house and coming straight back. She unzipped the tent and turned back to shush everyone.

The four of them filed out of the tent and stole across the dewy yard. Catalina was first, then Isabelle, then Anwyn, then Oliver last. They were all wearing pajamas and tennis shoes. Oliver wore shorts and a long sleeve shirt that was too small. Anwyn and Isabelle both had patterned pajama pants, Isabelle's with hearts and Anwyn's with unicorns. Anwyn wore a T-shirt and Isabelle a tank top. Catalina wore sweatpants and one of her dad's T-shirts.

The four made it out of the yard, pausing in the street to listen. The town was quiet. It was well past midnight and dark, but the stars lit up the sky so they didn't even need flashlights. They'd left them in the tent. The group scampered down the street, turned left, and then went down three blocks.

They stopped by a hedge on dividing the Warren's yard from the neighbors.

"That's it," Catalina said, pointing to the house. Dominic's room is in the back, the far corner."

"You sure?" Isabelle asked.

"Yes," Catalina said. "I had to do a group project with him last year. We worked at his house. Their dining room is the corner closest to us, the back corner closest to us is the family room, his room is the far back corner, and his parents' and sisters' rooms are upstairs."

Isabelle looked convinced. She took a step forward and then turned back.

"Wait for me here," she said. "If you hear anything or lights go on or anything happens, run back to the house." Then she turned and hurried to the house, trying to keep low to the ground. She made it to the corner of the house and flattened herself against it. She looked back to the edge and the three faces that stuck out around it.

Isabelle nodded to them and then snuck around the house and out of view. Catalina, Anwyn and Oliver all relaxed now they couldn't see Isabelle. Catalina kept watch on the house, watching for signs of movement or light. Anwyn and Oliver sat down and waited, silently exchanging glances. Oliver picked up a stick and started fiddling with it. Anwyn looked up at the stars. Catalina laid down in the grass and continued to watch.

Five minutes passed. Then ten.

"Maybe we should go check on her," Oliver said.

"No way," Catalina said. "It's her dare."

"What if she got caught?" Anwyn asked.

"No lights have come on," Catalina said. "The whole place is quiet. She didn't get caught. We wait."

Another five minutes passed.

Then Isabelle reappeared at the back of the house. She stuck her head and looked both ways, spotted Catalina and waved. She snuck passed the family room window and then sprinted for the hedge. Her face was serious and it wasn't until she reached the hedge when she finally smiled.

"Well?" Catalina asked. Oliver and Anwyn looked on in amazement, unsure of what to expect.

Isabelle looked at each of them, her face blank. Then she pulled a pair of white Hanes underwear that had been tucked into the back of her pajamas. She tossed them at Catalina who squealed in the darkness.

Posted by kevin at 5:15 PM | TrackBack (0)

November 10, 2006

Chapter 11

(Filed under: The Novel)

That night Anwyn walked over to Oliver and Catalina's, past the railroad tracks and toward the river. Catalina had a class on Monday nights and Oliver watched Mateo. He had asked Anwyn the other day if she wanted to come over and help.

Now, the English Lit suicide discussion still fresh in her mind, she wasn't as eager to watch Mateo and hang out with Oliver. She had seen his look of concern and puzzlement and she knew the subject would come up.

She pulled her jacket closer. With the sun dropping the temperature had started to fall with it. She wasn't afraid of the forthcoming conversation, she just didn't know where she stood. She was never sure if yet another conversation would mean anything, would clear anything up.

She knocked on the door and could hear Mateo crying and shrieking inside. She tried the door and it was unlocked. Nobody locked their doors in Richmond. She went inside and found Oliver desperately trying to soothe his nephew.

"Hola," Anwyn said.

"Hey," Oliver mumbled. "Thanks for coming. Here, you try." He pushed Mateo into her arms and stepped back. Anwyn struggled, trying to shift Mateo around and get a comfortable grip on him.

His eyes got wide and he stopped crying and looked at Anwyn.

"Hi there," she said. Mateo's lip quivered. "What have you tried?"

"I tried a bottle, I checked his diaper, I tried putting him down for a nap," Oliver said. "Nada."

"Maybe we just need attention," Anwyn said. She saw a pile of toys in the corner and plopped Mateo down on the floor within reach. She grabbed a wooden ring with small, bright colored rings that looped around it. She put it in front of Mateo and he laughed, a chuckling, fake sounding laugh.

Oliver dropped onto the couch. "Sure, he just wants to have fun. I was trying all the serious things like food and comfort and sleep." Mateo picked up the ring, which was heavy and unsteady in his hands. He shook it and the smaller rings rattled. He chuckled again.

Anwyn sat across from him, her legs folded beneath her. She watched Mateo and wondered what his future might be.

"Why do you think she did it?" Anwyn asked abruptly.

"What?" Oliver asked.

"Lynn had that theory today," Anwyn said, "That maybe Ophelia didn't mean to kill herself. Do you think that could have been the case with Isabelle?"

"Oh Anwyn," Oliver said. "I don't know." Mateo started chewing on the ring.

"She didn't have a boyfriend, I don't think anyone turned her down and sent her spiraling into depression. Nobody died. My parents got divorced because of her, so it wasn't that. She wasn't depressed, no more than any teen is. I just don't understand why."

Oliver didn't say anything. He kept his eyes on Mateo.

"So are you doing OK with it?" he finally asked.

"I don't know," Anwyn said. "It just doesn't seem to go away. I don't know if that's normal or not. I talked to a counselor back in St. Paul about it—Ms. Jonas. We talked quite a bit actually."

"What did she say?" Oliver asked.

"Not much. They're supposed to get me to talk." Mateo dropped his ring and Anwyn picked it up again and held it out to him. "She did seem pretty miffed with Isabelle—apparently she'd been helping Isabelle get ready for college, and well, that was a waste of time now wasn’t it?"

"Ouch," Oliver said.

"Yeah, I didn't expect that from a counselor," Anwyn said. "But I think she was trying to break through to me."

"Did it work?"

"Yeah, actually, I think it did," Anwyn said. "It convinced me to actually talk to her anyway."

"Did you ask her about the why question?" Oliver asked.

"Not really," Anwyn said. "Before I wasn't so concerned with why. I was just mad that she'd messed everything up. You know, I didn't really miss her. I still don't." Oliver finally looked at her.

"You don't miss her?" he asked. "Really?"

"Not really," Anwyn said. "I mean I wish she hadn't done it, but more because we wouldn't have moved to Kansas, because Mom and Dad wouldn't have gotten divorced, because I wouldn't have to go through all this hassle. Isn't that kind of stupid? Selfish?"

"I don't know," Oliver said. "Maybe. I’m no shrink. She did leave a lot of chaos in her wake, didn't she? I can see being upset about that. But you don't miss her?"

"C'mon Oliver," Anwyn said. "You know we never got along that well. As we got older we just ignored each other. I was hoping that would change with both of us going to the same school. I was hoping for some sisterly bonding or something. There was a day or two that summer when we did bond, when she stopped being high and mighty and would talk to me, would seek me out and joke with me. But most of the time she was too prissy and too royal to deem me worthy of her time."

Oliver slowly nodded, his eyes lost in a gaze. Mateo was still content on the floor, alternating between shaking his ring and sucking on it. Anwyn reached out and smoothed his shiny black hair.

"More than anything," Anwyn said, "I feel guilty that I don't miss her."

Oliver exhaled.

"Sorry," Anwyn said. "This is all a bit heavy."

"No," Oliver said, "It's OK."

"No, I'm sorry," Anwyn said. "You thought we were just going to pal around and watch this cut little squirt. Instead we sit around and talk about morbid topics like suicide in front of your little nephew." Oliver smiled.

"You know," Oliver said, "He's not really my nephew. He's maybe my half-nephew, if such a thing exists."

Anwyn smiled warmly, for the first time that day.

"You hear that kid," she said, "Your tio just disowned you. I guess I'll have to claim you." She reached forward and grabbed Mateo, pulling him into her lap. He giggled and she started tickling him, his face lighting up as he threw his arms out and his head back.

"So you've got no idea, about Isabelle?" Oliver asked. "Why she did it?"

Anwyn just shook her head, took Mateo's hands in hers. He leaned to the left and the right, half-dancing.

"I think that's part of it," she said. "I wish I had a reason. Something to blame. I just don't get why you kill yourself."

"You have to be pretty desperate, I guess," Oliver said. "You need to have no way out."

"But isn't there always some way out?" Anwyn said. "I mean, take measures into your own hands. If you're willing to bail out on life, why not at least try something else before you go that far?"

"I don't know," Oliver said."

"Take Ophelia," Anwyn said. She plopped Mateo back on the floor in front of her and gave him an oversized truck. He leaned forward and sucked on the cab. "Let's say it's Hamlet's rejection that had her all mopey and pushed her to kill herself. Why not get back at the bastard—sleep with his best friend or something. Or do something drastic to get his attention."

"Like what?"

"I don't know," Anwyn said, "Show up in his bedroom naked? Not many guys would turn that away."

Oliver stifled a laugh. "And suddenly this is Jerry Springer and not Shakespeare."

"Oh come on," Anwyn said. "Shakespeare is just high brow Jerry Springer. Hamlet's uncle kills his father and remarries his mom?"

"I guess," Oliver said.

"I just think if you're going to throw your life out the window, if you'd go that far to end your life—why not try something just as drastic to save your life?"

"That's a good question," Oliver said. He leaned forward and put his feet up on the coffee table. Mateo had given up on the truck and was sucking his finger now. "Maybe societal limitations keep you from acting out like that."

"Yet you'll still try suicide?" Anwyn asked.

"Well, suicide may be breaking out of society's limitations, but you're not around to hear about it," Oliver explained. "Maybe they don't try something drastic because they'd still be around to take heat for breaking society's rules."

"Maybe," Anwyn said.

"I mean, Ophelia doesn't seem like the type to go strutting into Hamlet's room naked. She's too prim and proper. Society had a specific place for her, and she stayed in that place. Suicide was breaking out of that place, but it was the ultimate breaking out. She didn't have to live with the consequences." Anwyn nodded, starting to get his point.

"A drastic action to save your life would have consequences," Oliver continued, "And I think consequences are exactly what a suicidal person is trying to avoid."

Anwyn nodded. Mateo switched to his thumb and his eyes were starting to flutter. Avoiding consequences. It seemed to be a worthy definition of suicide. After all, how many people throughout history had killed themselves to escape the consequences of their actions?

"I don't know," Anwyn finally said. "I guess I'd rather at least go out in a blaze of glory, accomplish something with my death if it had to come to that."

"And that's part of my you and Isabelle are so different."

"I wonder sometimes," Anwyn said. "If I knew why she did it, I might be able to feel different from her. But if there's no reason—"

"It seems like something anyone could do?" Oliver interjected.

"Yeah."

"Well, what would make you want to kill yourself?" Oliver asked.

"Oh geez, I don't know," said Anwyn. "Maybe we should put Mateo to bed before he has to listen to more of this." The two stood up and Oliver bent down to pick up his half-nephew.

"I guess something tragic that seems insurmountable might make suicide seem like a good idea," Anwyn said as they walked into Mateo's room. She flicked on the light and Oliver set Mateo on the changing table. "Like if you did something terrible—killed somebody or committed some crime."

"Doesn't sound like Isabelle, does it?" Oliver asked.

"No, not really."

"Here, hold on to him," Oliver said, stepping away from Mateo and towards the dresser to find pajamas. Mateo pulled at Anwyn's shirt as she stood in front of the changing table to keep him from rolling off.

"Or if something awful happened to you—you found out a boyfriend cheated on your or found out your were pregnant or something," Anwyn said, now just grasping for reasons.

"But you didn't think Isabelle had a boyfriend," Oliver said, finding the pajamas and coming back to change Mateo. "That you know of, anyway."

"No, no boyfriend that we knew of," Anwyn said. "And pregnancy doesn't seem right. I think she would have been elated if that happened, even if Mom and Dad would freak out."

Oliver pulled off Mateo's onsie as he kicked and stretched, then pulled his pajamas on, wiggling each arm in and then a leg, a foot and finally zipping him in.

"You know," Oliver said, "I think something happened and she didn't think she could face the consequences. I think she was in a place where she needed help, but for whatever reason she didn't or couldn't ask for it."

He picked up Mateo and carried him to the crib and laid him down. Oliver pulled a blanket over the child and turned on the mobile, which played a peaceful, happy tune.

"It was probably something that any of us would have had no problem asking for help with," Oliver said. "But for whatever reason it seemed like too much."

Anwyn nodded as she looked down at Mateo, the boy born mere hours after her sister died.

"That's a terrible thing," Oliver said as they both watched Mateo suck his thumb and fight to keep his eyes open. "When simply asking for help could have saved a life."

Posted by kevin at 7:51 PM | TrackBack (0)