by Paul Curtin
Soon he realized that Elise was praying and everyone else had their heads bowed. He looked at them, his eyes resting on the boy, Michael, and Kelly. He watched as they each raised their heads and started eating the soup.
At first, he tried to block it, but soon the noise started to break through. Michael brought a spoonful of soup to his lips, and the slurping sounded as loud as a firecracker. Sean saw the boy hold the bowl to his lips. As the boy’s teeth ground out the chunks, Sean could have sworn that the noise grew louder and louder until it was all he could hear. Teeth gnashing against one another. Soon, he heard everyone slurping and chewing and swallowing.
Relentless. Every few seconds someone was sucking in the soup like a shop-vac. They didn’t understand how much work Sean had put into collecting all those ingredients or the money he had sacrificed to get it. They just consumed, like it was their right to eat his food without a thought or care or thanks. With each bite, he imagined the jars and cans downstairs and the supplies shrinking in size and the shelf space laying empty. Cobwebs forming in the corners of the shelves until they were all that remained.
His wife’s voice came out of nowhere. “Sean, you okay?” she asked.
Everyone stared at him, though Aidan kept eating. He said, “I’m not feeling too good.”
She nodded, and he got up and walked toward the stairs. They gawked at him—he knew it. The ringing in his ears arose again with even more intensity. His head felt like it was baking in an oven. His intestines were stabbed with barbs. He sprinted up the stairs and shoved the bathroom door open. Grabbed the toilet bowl and dropped to his knees in front of it just in time for the fiery vomit to erupt from his mouth. He heaved and gagged and more spewed forth. After what felt like an eternity, he finally fell back and wiped his lips with his shirt, the acidic taste still spread across his tongue.
He rested his head against the tub. Although the ringing subsided, his mind didn’t shut off. Sean could no longer ignore the situation. There was only six months of food left.
Six months.
He thought of his neighbor Lilly, gaunt and freezing to death with a gunshot wound in her leg. He vowed that he wouldn’t let those he loved end up like that.
And he intended to keep that vow.
Elise
Elise twisted the last bit of water out of the shirt. She sniffed it and stuck out her bottom lip. It didn’t stink, but it didn’t smell great either. It was the nature of her homemade soap. It never smelled like normal.
The water grew unbearably cold, so she grabbed a dry towel and hung the last shirt on the drying rack in the back mudroom. She sighed and wished she could run the dryer. Oh, the sensation of warm clothes fresh out of the dryer, the softness of the fabric. She longed for that warmth and comfort again. But the sun never shone so the solar panels couldn’t create the power needed to run it. For a moment she let herself imagine the sun shining, standing outside and basking in its heat, closing her eyes against its intense light and letting it soak into her skin like a hot bath. Feeling like everything would be okay.
She grabbed the basket and turned around to find her husband standing in the doorway. She yelped and dropped it. “Oh, Lord. You scared me,” she said. She watched him for a second. His eyes focused across the room at something. She turned to see what, but he was just looking at the wall. He had been acting strange—stranger than usual—since dinner the two weeks before. Since Molly passed.
“Something on your mind?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know, or you don’t want to share?”
“I’ve done things, Elise. Things I’m not proud of.”
Her mind flashed to the woman on the front lawn. She never saw the body, now covered in a layer of snow, but it always looked grotesque in her imagination. The woman’s guts were spilled out, her blood dotted around the dirty snow. And then her mind took her to the man at the top of the stairs, his head cocked to the side, half his neck missing. She shook her head.
He said, “I think about the hard things I’ve had to do, but I always thought—in the end—there was a reason for it. Even though it was terrible, I understand why I did it.”
“I know.”
“But they can still be wrong, even if I did it for the right reasons.”
“I don’t know.”
“Elise,” he said and paused.
She met his eyes, and he looked away, shaking his head. As she waited for his next words, her stomach flooded with nausea.
“Do you think I’m a monster?”
She frowned. “No,” she said in a whisper, “No, no.”
Elise took a step forward and then hesitated. It had been a while since she had been intimate with her husband, but she pushed through the awkwardness. Snuggled her face into his chest and wrapped her arms around him. A welcome, long-forgotten warmth filled her chest.
Sean said, “You always told me you would love me no matter what. Do you still mean that?”
She waited a second to answer. “Of course.”
And she meant it, but there was a thought she didn’t want to acknowledge, one she pushed back against. Kept it at bay. No use engaging it. It was all a bunch of lies from Michael’s mouth anyway. No use in drudging it up.
But it was there.
It was there.
Andrew
Andrew made himself useful and helped prepare a meal.
Elise seemed more detached than normal, not saying much to him other than a few terse commands to grab an ingredient and bring it to her. Molly would have been the one helping her with the meal instead of him, so he thought that might be it. They were all enduring her absence.
Elise’s mood could have stemmed from their discussion about Sean the day of Molly’s burial. She hadn’t been willing to talk about it after, and Andrew didn’t want to bring it up again. The whole idea made him shudder. This wasn’t a game, and the people in the house weren’t pawns. But that’s what the conversation had made it seem like.
“Andrew,” she said, snapping her fingers.
He shot his gaze over to her. “I’m sorry, what?”
“The dried basil,” she said, motioning with her fingers to bring it.
He grabbed it from the coffee table next to him and handed it to her. “You all right?” she asked, taking a pinch from the jar and sprinkling it into the soup above the fire.
“Today’s been a rough day.”
“We’ve all had some rough days lately.”
He looked to his side and watched Michael reading a book on the couch in the adjacent room while Kelly and Aidan played a speed card game. A speed card game that Aidan and Molly used to play. A speed game Andrew’s child would have played with his mother…
Elise’s voice came out of nowhere. “Thinking about her?”
He brought himself back to the present and nodded, though he shrugged while doing it.
“Or not?”
He pointed to his head. “There’s a lot rolling around in here.”
She sprinkled more basil into the pot and said, “You know, this isn’t my first time losing a child.”
He leaned closer to her. Andrew knew the story, but Molly had always told him Gracie was a topic the family didn’t talk about. For Elise to share was almost like he was being accepted into the family.
“I remember the day it happened. I was at work, and Sean was working from home. When I got the call, I remember wanting to throw up right before I picked up the phone. I knew something was wrong.”
Andrew nodded.
“I still, to this day, can’t get Sean to talk about exactly what he saw.”
“I don’t blame him. When I saw the—” He stopped.
“It’s okay,” she said.
“When I saw what happened to Molly—” He sighed. “I would do anything to get that image out of my mind.”
>
“Not seeing it happen wouldn’t make it any easier.”
“I think it would.”
She nodded. “Maybe.”
Andrew considered his words like he was on hallowed ground. “Why does Michael blame Sean for Gracie?”
She paused. “I forgot you overheard that.”
“Remember the dinner when they first arrived?”
“That was a fun night.”
“If by fun you mean terribly uncomfortable.”
She lowered her voice. “Truth be told, Michael never liked Sean. He’s thought nothing but bad about him. But he never liked any of the boys I brought home. My dad passed away when we were young, so he always filled that kind of role for me. Protective. He’s kind of like Sean in that sense. There was no hope for you because unless Sean had hand-selected you for Molly, there was nobody who was ever going to be good enough. Initially, Michael didn’t blame Sean for what happened to Gracie, I don’t think. Nobody did. Everyone was just in shock. Sean had been watching her that day—went upstairs for just a minute and when he came downstairs the door was open and—” She wiped a tear away. “It was an accident. Not his fault. But it happened on Sean’s watch, so Michael never forgot that. When he moved the family away—my whole family was in New York, mind you—I think Michael thought Sean was running away from the problem.”
“What problem?”
“Having to look my family in the eye. Then when we moved here it was all, Sean’s paranoid and Sean’s reckless.” She blew a blast of air from her barely parted lips. “Gracie was the cutest thing: blonde hair—curly, unbelievably curly—had big brown eyes. Could make your heart melt just by looking at you. And Michael thought Sean wouldn’t take responsibility for her death.”
“But he did, didn’t he?”
“More than he should. Always has. But that was between Sean and me. And himself. He didn’t feel like he had to answer to anyone else.”
“And he never talks about her?”
She shook her head.
“Do you think he’ll do that with Molly?”
“I hope not,” she said and kept stirring the soup.
“I feel like every time I think about her, I end up with this bitter feeling. Like there’s this residue in my gut, just lingering there. But I don’t want to forget her. I don’t want to act like she never existed.”
“Then keep her alive. Think about her. Speak her name.”
“I think you can make him do it—to make him talk about her.”
She stopped and looked back at him. “I don’t know.”
“I know.” He looked at the ceiling and then back to Elise. “My mom was—she was a doormat. My dad walked all over her. He controlled every part of her life. She had to ask for everything—can I go to the grocery store, can I go visit my friend, can I go to bed now. She—she had to ask if it was okay to use the bathroom. And sometimes he would make her wait. Make her wait until she pissed herself and then he would scold her for being filthy.”
“I’m so sorry you had to experience that.”
“I’m not saying it to get sympathy. What I’m trying to say is, that’s not what’s going on here. I’ve watched it. Both Sean and Michael listen to you—they both care about what you think—because you’re what’s keeping this place together. Making the meals, keeping the peace. There’s enough wood cut outside to keep this room warm for years. The pile is overflowing under the tarps. Nobody else is really doing anything to keep us alive but you. So Sean and Michael—they both listen to you.”
“Not very well.”
“But they do.”
She rubbed her lips, and her face grew dark. “I want you to tell the truth. No filter,” she said, hushing her voice even more.
He opened his mouth to speak but resealed his lips instead.
“Do you think he was going to kill you?”
Andrew rubbed his mouth. “Why?”
“I want to know.”
A stark seriousness in her tone that suddenly made him uneasy. “Mrs. Cain, I’m not really comfortable—”
“I want to know what you really think was going to happen.”
He puckered his lips inward and stood up. “I don’t want to get involved.”
“You are involved. I just want to know—”
“I don’t know.”
“—what you saw. What was going through your mind.”
“I was scared. I remember I was just frozen.”
“Did you think he was going to kill you?”
“I don’t know. I replay it over and over every single time I close my eyes and I just—I don’t know.” A clarity rose to the surface, like he had an answer. But he ignored it. “I don’t know.”
She stared into the soup.
Andrew said, “Did you think he—did you think he was going to kill me?”
She looked up at him, but her eyes darted away and her posture became rigid. She grabbed the ladle and stirred the soup. Andrew could hear him walking in from the kitchen. Sean approached with a tray stacked with ceramic bowls that clattered when he set them on the fireplace hearth. He put his hands on his hips. “Almost done?”
Andrew waited for Elise, who hadn’t so much as turned a degree toward her husband. Andrew said, “We’re almost done, I think.”
Sean didn’t look at him. “That’s good to hear.” He planted a kiss on Elise’s head. “How about I serve it up tonight?”
She had the most genuine smile, one that showed none of the concern she had a moment before. Sean turned his head toward the other room and shouted that it was dinner time. There was a rousing there, and Aidan zipped into the living room. Sat next to his dad. Sean kissed his forehead.
For a moment, Sean’s tenderness toward his son made Andrew doubt all the awful things Michael had said before. About how Sean was a heartless, cruel man one act away from being a sociopath. The moment reminded him that people were not defined by one thing. Even flawed men could have some good in them.
As everyone took a seat, Sean filled the bowls with the hot soup, handing one first to his son and then to Elise. Andrew stepped away from the group, outside the circle of chairs, and watched. Kelly asked for an extra scoop, and Sean obliged. She had put on some weight recently—enough to fill the hollows of her face. Michael squeezed her knee, and she smiled at him. For a while he had thought she was a goner, wasting away. Now she looked to be in an upswing.
Pleases and thank yous were exchanged and, for a brief second, Andrew felt normal. Supplies may have been running low, and the most horrible experiences life could serve had been thrust upon them, but he felt at home, like there might be hope for them after all.
Sean filled up a bowl, stirred the broth around with a spoon, and handed it to Michael. Michael’s eyes rested on Andrew. “What’re you doing back there?” he said. “Grab a seat.”
Andrew did, and Michael handed him the steaming bowl.
“Thanks,” Andrew said.
Sean was busy filling the last bowl when he looked back at Andrew, confused. “Did I give you a bowl?” he asked.
“I gave him mine,” Michael said.
“That one was yours.”
“He eats about as much as me.” He waved toward himself. “I’ll just take his. It isn’t a big deal.”
Sean said nothing for a while. “Yeah, sure,” he said, handing over the bowl.
When everyone had their meal, Elise said a prayer as she always did. Then they ate.
Andrew took a spoonful into his mouth, and the warmth coursed down his throat. It almost warmed his soul. He watched the others eat as well and felt a kinship—a bond with these hardened and weary people who got to eat a nice meal in peace. He thought about Molly, and the memory was pleasant instead of painful. Slurping noises filled the air. After a few minutes of not touching his food, Sean set his bowl down and rubbed his s
on’s back.
“Is it not good?” Elise asked.
“No, I’m just not feeling great,” Sean said.
Andrew chewed on the meat and softened carrots. The flavor wasn’t the best, but it was better than some other recent soups. It seemed to warm his whole body and tingle in his throat and chest. He cleared his throat and took another bite, but the tingle returned. He cleared it again.
“Something wrong, buddy?” Michael asked with a smile. “It’s kind of insulting to groan about the food, especially when you’re the one who made it.”
Andrew smiled and swallowed. The tingle intensified. A knot of phlegm filled his throat, and he forced it down. A dizziness rose to the top of his head and settled into his body in waves. He coughed up a gob of snot into his sleeve and set the bowl down on the coffee table. He ripped another forceful cough, but when he tried to recover, the action felt strange, like he was trying to breathe through a straw.
He swallowed again just in time for his windpipe to seal shut.
Michael
Andrew tipped forward, planting one hand on the coffee table before his body collapsed onto it. The spoons and bowls rattled. Hot broth shot over the edges of the bowls. Everyone jumped, startled. It took a few seconds for the stimuli to register. Andrew dropped to the ground, grasping at his throat and rubbing it. He rolled onto his stomach, his legs bending and straightening in a struggle.
“What’s going on?” Kelly shouted.
Michael shot out of his seat and tossed his bowl onto the coffee table, the bowl sliding across the wood and wobbling to a stop. He dropped to his knees and turned Andrew around, holding him. Andrew’s eyes expanded wide, never blinking. His mouth opened and closed like a fish pulled out of water, and he held his hand over his Adam’s Apple.