Chapter 11 An Empty Home
An Empty Home
Things at home were bad. Mom wouldn’t stop crying.
Dad tried to console her, but it was no use.
The twins were fighting, Owen kept calling for his great-grandma, and my sister kept telling him she was gone, that now she was a star up in the sky.
Spencer was trying to be the head of the family and bring some order to the house. And I was helping out as best I could.
In most families, people have set roles.
The oldest child takes care of some things, the middle children have their duties, then there are other things left for the little ones.
But when a tragedy strikes, all that goes by the wayside.
I found myself running back and forth, doing everything in my power to make everyone feel better.
And that meant that I never had time to cry or let someone else console me.
Everyone was so upset, it hadn’t even crossed my mind that I had that right.
That was how I started talking with my family again.
Spencer, Dad, and I were the only ones who could hold them all together.
The twins were too immature and self-centered, and it was all I could do to get them to make peace for a moment.
Mom would gather her strength for a moment, come over and thank me for all I was doing, then break down again, and Dad would hurry over to dry her tears.
The funeral was more of the same: I cheered up this person, greeted that one, tried to keep everything running smoothly.
We had a reception at home afterward, and Mom went up to her room because she couldn’t deal with anything anymore.
Shannon tried to get her kid to quit crying, the twins argued, Spencer sat in the corner ruminating.
I hated to see him suffering, but there was nothing I could do.
People came over to clap me on the back and try to comfort me.
Others talked about how wonderful Grandma was, how strong she’d been despite her age.
I hated it. I hated it because I knew they didn’t know her the way I did.
Seeing her in the coffin, she hadn’t looked strong at all.
She was a tiny, ancient woman. I’d taken her hand in mine.
It was fragile and cold. Mom had cried when she’d seen her.
For me, the tears wouldn’t flow. In some corner of my mind, I must have believed everything would turn back to normal all of a sudden, as if I’d awakened from a bad dream.
Unbelievably, Mom and Dad had invited Monty’s parents.
I refused to speak a word to them. But still.
They came over and played sympathetic, just like all the other people who had called me a liar behind my back and complained that I’d gotten Monty in trouble and then run away when things turned ugly.
Honestly, it didn’t even get to me. Not that day.
I just kept telling myself that no matter how I felt about them, these people had shown up for Grandma.
Dad came up to me at some point and said, “Jenny, why don’t you get a little rest? Let me handle things for a while.”
I nodded and thought about going upstairs but decided at the last minute that the back porch was a better place to be.
It was February, and there was a thin carpet of snow glowing on the grass.
I sat down on the bottom step. The cold afternoon air felt good.
It cleared my head. I stayed out there a while just breathing and relaxing. But then I heard someone.
I thought it would be Mom, but it was my former best friend Nelle, the one who had stopped talking to me and then hooked up with Monty.
I had seen her once or twice because the gas station I used to work at was by her house, but we hadn’t talked, and I preferred to keep it that way.
Our friendship was over to me. There was nothing to go back to, and I just assumed she felt the same way.
Nelle was pretty. She always had been. Her hair was light brown, almost straw-colored, and she had big brown eyes and good taste in clothes.
She stood out, and she liked to. That need for attention was one of her weaknesses.
So I was surprised to see her in a black sweater and baggy black pants instead of some skimpy, low-cut dress.
I didn’t say anything. I could guess who had told her she needed to dress discreetly. I could even hear Monty’s voice in my head saying, Nelle, you look like a damn whore. I hated that word. He had used it with me, too. I wondered then what Nelle felt like when she heard it.
She must have read my mind, because she growled, “I’m dressed this way because I feel like it.”
“I didn’t say anything,” I responded.
“You didn’t need to.”
I looked away. “Nelle, this isn’t the day.”
But she didn’t care, and she didn’t ask permission to come down and sit on the same step with me.
I could feel her eyes on me, I could sense the tension in her, but she took a long time to talk.
It was sad that after ten years of friendship, there was so much distance between us that even in a moment like that, we couldn’t be kind to each other.
“I’m sorry about your grandmother,” she finally said. “I mean… I know you loved her a lot. I won’t pretend I understand what you’re feeling, because I’d be lying. I’ve never lost someone who mattered to me like that. But, you know…if you need anything…”
They weren’t the most touching words of consolation, and I had the feeling they weren’t especially honest, either.
I’m sure she felt bad or whatever, but the idea that I could turn to her in my moments of need was beyond laughable.
Our friendship had never felt like it was entirely on solid ground.
I’d always had the feeling one wrong step could shatter it.
But the tables had turned now, and she was the one who had screwed up.
She was nobody to me anymore, not a friend, just another guest. Maybe she’d known my grandmother, but she wasn’t mourning her, she had no idea how amazing Grandma had been.
And somehow, I had the sense she was trying to make herself feel better, not me.
Like she wanted to tell herself: I did it, I said my condolences, I showed what a good person I am, now my job here is done.
That angered me, but I didn’t bother telling her.
I just pulled my knees under my chin and said, “Thanks,” hoping she’d get the message.
Unfortunately, Nelle was too self-centered for that. “Are you mad at me?” she asked.
“Nelle, seriously…let’s do this another time.”
“When? Because you don’t even live here anymore.”
“You’re right,” I said, almost accusingly. “You could pick up the phone, though.”
“I don’t have your number.”
“How is that possible?”
She didn’t answer and turned away, almost blushing. Then I understood. “Let me guess. Monty made you erase all your old contacts.”
“He didn’t make me do anything, Jenna. I do what I want.”
“Sure. Tell me something, then: last year, when I left, were you guys already together? Is that why you stopped answering my calls?”
“It’s complicated.”
I’d always suspected, of course. I’d been too blind to see what was obvious, or else I hadn’t wanted to see it.
Later, when she wasn’t around to defend herself, I’d preferred to tell myself everything was Nelle’s fault, because I wasn’t ready to admit the reality that Monty was a bad person.
Plus, he was scary, and she wasn’t, and instead of confronting him, I took the coward’s path, the easy path, believing him when he swore that it was Nelle who had seduced him because she was sly and underhanded and had never really been my friend.
That was easy to believe because Nelle had always been above me, she was never insecure, she was number one. Not that any of that was really true. Everyone feels insecure sometimes. Everyone has their weak side. The only difference is she hid it better than I did.
As I thought of all those things, it was hard to stay angry at her. I looked over, and what I felt wasn’t anger, but pity. She reminded me of myself.
She didn’t like me analyzing her, though, and defensively, she hissed, “What is it? You want to tell me to leave him?”
“That’s not my place, Nelle. You’re an adult. You have to make your own decisions.”
“You’re exactly right. And my decision is, I’m staying with Monty.”
“If you think that’s the best thing you can aspire to, then go for it.”
I’d touched a nerve. “You wish you could aspire to something as good as Monty,” she said.
Before she could go on, I stood and went inside.
That was the best thing for both of us. It wasn’t long before I bumped into her parents.
They looked older and much wearier than the last time I had talked to them.
I had nothing against them. They were actually some of the only people we knew who had believed my accusations against Monty.
The reception dragged on, but I was done making nice with people. I sat on the couch next to Sonny and across from Steve, who was drinking a beer in the armchair and staring off into space. Sonny touched my knee softly and tried to smile, and I spent a while just staring at his scarred knuckles.
“I wish these people would fuck off so we could play some video games,” Steve murmured.
“Is this really the time to be killing ogres?” I asked.
“What else am I going to do? It’s a good stress reliever. I need it.”
“He’s telling the truth,” Sonny interjected. “The thing is, though, everyone here’s nosy as shit, if we turn the TV on, they’ll be gossiping for weeks about how little respect we have for the dead.”