“Don’t go giving Jeremy ideas, Mom. Short people are just as good as the rest of us.”
Jeremy swore at me, right in front of Mom, but she didn’t reprimand him. That, more than anything, killed the fight always simmering between the two of us.
“Who’s hungry? I made fried chicken, and there’s apple pie for dessert.” We both responded eagerly and let her precede us into the house. We exchanged a glance. No smiles or mouthed words, but I knew that we’d both do everything we could to make her forget that she’d been alone all weekend. Jeremy wasn’t inclined to place blame on either of our parents, and right then, being half-right was all I needed from him.
An hour later, Mom pretended to be horrified when Jeremy and I polished off the entire pie.
“Got any more?” I asked. She really did look horrified then, but probably more out of self-recrimination that she should have made a second pie just in case. “Mom, I’m kidding. I’m seriously on the verge of throwing up.” No joke. I would have stopped after two pieces, but when Jeremy had gone back for thirds, my little-brother inferiority complex kicked in.
“I can make another one.” She started to push back from the table, but I stopped her with a hand on her wrist.
“Mom. Sit. It wasn’t even that good.”
Mom exhaled but it turned into a laugh. “I know you’re teasing me, because you ate the whole thing.”
“That last piece was pure pity. Awful pie. I mean, I feel bad for the apples.”
More laughter from Mom, and each sound was better than the last.
“I liked it,” Jeremy said, and Mom leaned over to pat his hand.
“Thank you, sweetie.”
She tried to shoo us to go unpack while she did the dishes, but I lingered until Jeremy left. “Mom?”
She was standing at the sink, rinsing plates and loading the dishwasher. She looked at me over her shoulder. “Change your mind about the pie?”
I took a newly rinsed plate from her and put it in the dishwasher. “I’m glad to be home is all.”
She kept running another plate round and round in her hands under the faucet. “Me, too. I—I didn’t think it would be this hard. How many mothers would love to have their house to themselves for a few days? I’ll be better next time. I’ll plan some things, and it’ll go by faster.” She nodded at me and finally relinquished the plate. “Your dad okay?”
“Fine, I guess.” I could have added that I didn’t really know, because we’d barely spoken the whole weekend, but she’d find a way to feel guilty about that. Instead, I brought up the subject that had served me so well last time I needed to cheer her up. “Did you get the picture?”
“Is that what that was? My phone made a chirping noise and I couldn’t figure out what I was supposed to do.” Mom had grown up Mennonite and had been slow to embrace technology even as an adult. She wiped her hands dry on a towel and retrieved her purse from the other room. When she handed over her phone, she was already smiling.
“Before you get any ideas, please remember that I just met this girl.”
“Adam, I know.” She tried to sound calm, but she was practically bouncing up and down on her toes, which ruined the effect. This was either going to be the smartest or dumbest thing I’d ever done. Thinking about Jolene, I decided it was probably both.
I showed her the picture without looking at it too long myself. Based on Mom’s expression, I had woefully underestimated the impact it would have. Her smile, which had been big and bright only a moment before, dimmed before my eyes.
“Mom?” When I tried to pull the phone back, she seized my wrist and made a sound like a wounded animal.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She pulled the phone closer, and I watched her gaze flick from corner to corner over and over again. “She’s very pretty, Adam.” Then she pressed the phone back into my hands. “Take another one for me next time, okay?” When I nodded, she smiled. “I guess all that cooking exhausted me. I’m going to go to bed early tonight.” She brushed a kiss on my cheek. “Glad you’re home.”
When she left, I looked at the phone in my hand, and it took only a second to see what I had missed before. Her reaction had nothing to do with Jolene or the two of us together. It had everything to do with that fact that, in that hastily taken photo, I looked just like my dead brother.
Greg.
SECOND WEEKEND
October 9–10
Jolene
There’s this famous sci-fi movie from the ’50s, I think, about aliens who come to Earth, only humans don’t realize they’re being invaded, because the aliens snatch people and replace them with aliens who look just like them. Also, there’s something about pods. I should probably watch the movie at some point, but pre-1970s sci-fi doesn’t really do it for me.
Still, it would have been helpful to know how the humans defeated the aliens in the movie—they did, didn’t they?—because I was 96 percent sure there was one in my kitchen.
