Chapter 12
Twelve
The next morning, I went directly to Rose’s house.
I had gone to bed angry, and I woke up even angrier.
I felt somewhat ridiculous over how mad I was.
It was stupid to be upset with someone when they were acting as they had always acted.
Plus, it would only make Mom happy to see me angry.
It would only give her more encouragement to try to be even worse.
It was me I should be angry at. Maybe I had been gone so long that I was out of practice in dealing with her.
When you expect her to try to screw you over and be cruel for pure enjoyment of it, it somehow didn’t really hurt anymore.
I should have known that not even a stroke would cause my mother to change her disposition.
I pulled up behind her car, reached over to the passenger seat and took the cleaning supplies I’d bought from Woods Supermarket on the way over, and walked up to her front door.
Apparently, I was starting to remember all I had learned growing up with her.
I wasn’t surprised in the slightest when I reached out to turn the doorknob and it didn’t budge.
I only rattled it for a few seconds before knowing that it wasn’t simply locked.
“Good morning, Rose.” I made my voice cheerful and singsongy.
I knew that would make her madder than if I had started yelling.
“I see that the front door seems to be stuck. Let me see if I can find an open window. I’ll be right in!
” I sat the bag of cleaning supplies on the porch and hopped off, heading left around the house.
If she didn’t want me here, I should go back to Denver.
Let her have her little miserable life, whatever might be left of it!
Well, of course she didn’t want me here.
She had never wanted me. Why should I be surprised at that fact now?
Wasn’t that even more reason to simply go back home?
It would be easier for both of us. I could be back with Jed.
I could be in our home again. I could just go back to work and forget ever coming back here.
I wouldn’t even have to come back for the funeral.
I paused in my pacing as I remembered. Mom wasn’t the only reason I was back here.
She had just made a convenient excuse to leave without it completely looking like I was running away.
Well, I could go somewhere else. Maybe Seattle.
Jed would love to be close to his family again.
So would I. They were more family to me than Mom ever had been.
I paused as I came to the first window. It was my bedroom window.
It looked directly into the forest. I would often sit on my bed gazing out the window and fantasizing of running off into the woods, living like Tarzan or the Swiss Family Robinson, building a house in the trees, making friends with all the forest animals, perfectly content to become part of the wild.
Maybe getting helplessly lost in the thick trees and not being able to find my way back; my mom, desperate to find her vanished son, would locate my dad and have him come rescue me.
Maybe wander deeper and deeper into the woods and find a hollow in the base of a tree or a little cave in a bank washed away by the stream that I could crawl into, fall asleep, and die.
The window looked like my bedroom door. Hundreds of nails jutted out in a riotous pattern.
They were rusted and the wood around them stained with orange streaks that made their way over the window seal and down the wall.
The window was plastered with brown paper grocery bags on the inside. I couldn’t see a thing.
What had she been trying to do? Had she been afraid I would try to sneak back home through the window? Did she have something trapped in there, held captive? Had another one of her boyfriends died, and she threw his body in my old bedroom, certain it would never be disturbed?
I jiggled the window frame, but it didn’t move at all.
Struggling to rip my eyes away from the window, I forced myself to continue around the house.
Neither Mom’s window nor the one in the living room could be opened.
They weren’t nailed shut from what I could see; they were just locked or had welded themselves shut in the years of neglect.
I could always break the glass, but I knew that would be one more thing I’d have to pay for and fix later. I’d keep that as a last resort.
Back at the porch, I again tried to turn the knob.
This time, after a few moments, I thought I felt it slip.
I still couldn’t get the door to budge. “Rose! It didn’t seem like the windows were unlocked, and I don’t want to accidentally break them.
” Syrupy sweet. “I don’t want to leave you in there by yourself.
What if you fall and get hurt? If you can’t get the door unlocked in a few seconds, I’ll try to see if I can shove it open. ”
I waited for her to say something. She didn’t make a sound.
I tried the knob again. It was definitely turning now.
However she’d secured the knob, it was losing its grip.
I pushed on the door around the frame; it didn’t move at all.
“Okay, Mom.” I couldn’t believe how calm my voice sounded.
Dealing with her was naturally coming back to me. “I’m gonna shove the door. Stay clear!”
I stared at the door for a few seconds. I had never tried to break down a door before.
I had seen people in movies do it several times.
It looked pretty easy, but I had a feeling that was more a miracle of film and not reality.
Should I go in SWAT-team-style and open it with one swift kick or run into it with my shoulder?
After picturing kicking the door, losing my balance, and crashing through the rotten porch, I opted for the shoulder method.
I thought it best not to take a running start; it seemed like that would be a good way to end up with a broken collarbone.
I planted my feet perpendicular to the door, shoulder width apart.
I leaned away from the door and threw all my weight into my shoulder and side, ramming my body into the door.
To my surprise, there was a loud wooden cracking sound, and I could see the door had moved a half an inch or so from the doorjamb.
I reached over and felt my left shoulder.
It seemed okay. I must be tougher than I thought.
Judging from the first attempt, I determined it would take four or five more crashes to get through the door.
I fixed my feet again, reared back, and threw my shoulder into the door with more force this time.
I heard the cracking sound, louder this time.
It gave way and before I could catch myself, I fell through the doorway and landed on the floor.
I managed to put my hands out before my face crashed against the wood.
After realizing I was already in the house, I looked back at the door.
It was swinging back and forth, already slowing down.
I could see old two-by-fours still attached to the door and some attached to the doorframe.
All at once I felt a stinging on my right thigh.
My jeans had a rip. I lifted up the torn piece of denim and saw a jagged cut on my leg.
It wasn’t deep, but it was long, and it looked like it was going to bleed for a while.
I glanced back up at the doorframe and saw a two-by-four still attached with a twisted nail jutting out from the end that had been secured to the door.
I groaned. How long had it been since my last tetanus shot?
At the sound of a snort, I looked behind me to see Rose, still in her recliner, grinning from ear to ear, or at least as much as she was still capable.
I closed my eyes and let out a slow, drawn-out breath.
“Well, it’s good I can make you smile, at least.” Of course me falling and bleeding is what makes you smile, not seeing me walk through your door after all these years.
“Maybe this afternoon I’ll accidentally splash bleach in my eyes and can make you laugh. ”
Her smile turned back down into its perpetual grimace. She let out a low growl.
“Oh, by the way, I had dinner with the Durkes last night.” I pushed myself up off the floor, careful to avoid the rest of the splintered two-by-fours.
“They were shocked to hear that you hadn’t spoken to me yet.
” I looked at her to see if there was any reaction.
There wasn’t, of course. “I should’ve known it wasn’t the stroke that had taken your power of speech but your pure hatefulness and love of being miserable and bitter. ” Her lips drew together tighter.