Chapter 3
SLEEP IN HEAVENLY PEACE
*
"Eriiic..." I woke from a light sleep and twisted uncomfortably when I felt my brother's foot pushing against my back. Sometimes when he'd had a bad dream or when Maggie brought home another boyfriend, Eric would sneak into my room and when I opened my eyes in the morning there he would be, his hand draped across my face or his legs twisted up in mine. I was glad he chose me over Maggie. I'd gotten too old to creep into anyone's bed when I felt scared or lonely.
The sun hadn't come up yet, so I checked the glow-in-the-dark Scooby-Doo clock on my nightstand. Six AM. Not my favorite time of day to get out of bed, but I usually couldn't go back to sleep when the house was this quiet. I strained my ears against the silence, hoping to hear Maggie, the early bird, in the kitchen making breakfast or at least giggling across the hall like she'd done most of yesterday.
Something felt off, the way it does when you're going on a long trip somewhere and you know there is that one thing you've forgotten to pack but you don't remember what it is until miles down the road. I sat up and listened again. The wind pressed on my bedroom window and it rattled in protest. I eased my feet onto the icy floorboards, wishing I had worn socks to bed.
We had only lived in this apartment for a little over six months, but I was so used to moving that it took me no time at all to get the feel of a new place. By now I knew this one well enough to maneuver through it with my eyes closed and still avoid the squeaky spots on the floor, so mine was a noiseless passage from my bedroom to Maggie's. I put my ear to her door and held my breath, still not hearing anything. She was probably sleeping peacefully I told myself, but I couldn't resist turning the knob to have a look.
Her room was empty. Some of her clothes were strewn across the floor and bed like mine often were when I couldn't decide what to wear to school. I picked up her white cashmere sweater, the one I liked to touch and rub my cheek on when I was younger, and hugged it tight, dreading to continue my search of the house. I longed to curl up in her sheets and flower-print bedspread and pretend I didn't know what I would find on the table or stuck to the fridge, or wherever she had decided to leave it this time. But if my suspicions were correct and there was a note waiting for me, I wanted to find it before my brother woke up and spotted it.
I backed out of Maggie's room and closed the door, letting my feet carry me where my heart wasn't willing to go. It took me awhile to find the note, and I almost had to laugh at where she'd chosen to leave it. She knew how to fold those origami stars, and the white paper she'd used stood out on the tree branch it was propped up against. How wonderfully and ironically creative, I thought. A new decoration for the tree she hadn't even helped hang our collection of Christmas ornaments on. It had been me and Scott and Eric who put on all the lights and things, while Maggie and her boyfriend, whose name turned out to be, to my amusement, Beau, drifted back and forth from the bedroom and gazed through us half the time like we weren't really there. Maggie hadn't asked where we got the money for a tree and I didn't bother bringing it to her attention.
My name was written on the front of the star in her flowery cursive, the kind you would expect an artist to have, and I stared at it so long it began to look like nonsense. Swirls and loops and flourishes of the pen that didn't really mean anything except that I was supposed to read what was inside because I was the oldest and the one she relied on the most. I wondered if tearing the paper to shreds would do any good, maybe like reversing a spell by destroying whatever cursed item had cast it. But Maggie's spell was too strong and my hand plucked the star from the branch, unfolding the neatly creased edges as I sunk into her favorite armchair and switched on a lamp so I could see better.
Abby,
Beau and I needed a little time to ourselves. Be my big girl and take care of Eric while I'm gone. Don't know when I'll be back, but don't worry. You and your brother did a wonderful job with the decorations! There's plenty of food in the fridge. You're my angel.
Love, Mommy
I reread the lines, hoping I'd missed a clue as to how long she would be gone, but I knew there wasn't one. There never was. Last time it hadn't even been a full day, but the time before that it had been three whole days of Eric and I eating peanut butter and jelly at each meal and letting the phone ring itself out, because I never knew what to say when her bosses called to ask if she was coming to work. What bothered me the most in her note, though, was the ending. I hadn't called her Mommy for years. Mom, Mother, Maggie, whatever. Just not Mommy.
I attempted to fold her letter into a star again, but it didn't work for me, so I folded it the regular way and tucked it into the waistband of my pajama bottoms. The cashmere sweater was balled up in my lap and I unrolled it, slipping it over my head and stretching my arms inside the sleeves. They covered my hands completely and I left it that way. I must have been sitting there for a while, my legs curled underneath me and my eyes glazed over as I fretted about Maggie - whether she'd taken warm enough clothes and what if Beau was a psycho serial killer or something? - because when I snapped back to reality the sun was shining and Eric was standing in front of me, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"What are you doing?" he asked through a yawn. His dark brown curls were flattened against one side of his head, the other half sticking straight up. I loved the way he looked in the morning before his energy kicked in and he was still disoriented enough from sleep that I could cuddle with him and treat him like my baby brother without making him mad.
"Just sittin' and thinkin'."
"Thinking about what?"
"That someone needs to plug the Christmas lights in," I replied, giving him a sly look. I always tried to put off telling him that Maggie had split in the middle of the night as long as I could. He had a habit of begging to stay up way past his bedtime and I knew it was because he wanted to make sure she didn't leave us. I guess that was why I sometimes laid awake for countless hours before finally dozing off, too. It didn't matter if I was at a slumber party or lazing around with relatives for the traditional Thanksgiving nap, I was inevitably the last to fall asleep.
Instantly dropping to his hands and knees, Eric found the plug and stuck it in the socket. I patted the chair cushion and he willingly scooted in beside me, the weight of his head pressing against my shoulder as he leaned back and we looked at the tree, neither of us wanting to disturb the silence that made the moment seem sacred. He caved before I did.
"Hey, Abby?"
"Yeah?
"Do you like Scott better than you like me?" His face was serious when I gazed down at him in surprise.
"What? Of course not. Why would you even think that?"
He shrugged but gave his reason. "He makes you smile."
"Well, so do you, goofy." I squeezed him lightly on the side where I knew he was ticklish. He squirmed and laughed, pushing my hand away.
"Yeah, but not like that. You smile different when Scott's around."
"Different how?" I questioned, intrigued. Did my infatuation with Scott really show through that much?
"Just... different. Like you want him to kiss you or something."
I blushed and hid my mouth behind the floppy sleeve of Maggie's sweater. Eric never teased me about boys and I paid him the same respect when it came to girls he liked, but I did not want my ten-year-old brother to be this aware of my feelings for Scott. I didn't want him to know I fantasized more and more about what it would be like to press my lips to Scott's or wake up beside him in the morning, our heads on the same pillow. It stirred something inside of me that I didn't quite know how to deal with, and I certainly didn't want anyone else finding out about it. Least of all Eric.
"Like that!" he said, pointing a finger at my face and sounding annoyed. "Are you in love with him??"
"No," I lied.
"You're not gonna do S-E-X with him, are you?"
"Eric!" I shrieked, springing out of Maggie's armchair and planting my hands on my hips. We had a television, friends who talked about sex, and a mother who didn't exactly try to hide her romances, so it didn't shock me that he knew about such things. It just wasn't something we talked about and I had no intentions of starting now. "That's disgusting! Don't ask me stuff like that."
"Geez, Ok! Sooorry," he drawled sarcastically. "I just wondered. I think you'd get in trouble if you did anyway, 'cause he's old, so don't."
"Stop talking." I covered his mouth with my hand that was covered by Maggie's sleeve and urged him to stand, guiding him to the table. He followed obediently and sat down in his usual spot. "I'll make breakfast. What do you want?"
"Eggs Benedict and fresh squeezed orange juice," he said, smiling angelically.
"Pancakes it is." I stuck my tongue out at him and ducked into the kitchen, making a racket with the pots and pans in my search for the one Maggie had taught me to cook pancakes on. When she was depressed I either had to fix the food or we didn't eat, so I had learned early on to ask a lot of questions when she was in the kitchen. Nothing I made ever tasted as good as Maggie's cooking, something Eric wasn't too shy to state, but at least it was edible.
I was pouring the batter for the first pancake when Eric wandered in to watch. He eyed the white sweater and the bowl in my hands. "Why isn't Mom making breakfast?"
"How many pancakes do you want?" I asked, hoping to dodge the question until I'd planned a better way to tell him Maggie was gone.
"Why isn't Mom making breakfast?" he demanded.
I didn't answer.
"That's her sweater."
"Yeah."
He heaved a sigh too big for a ten-year-old. "She left us again, huh?"
Reluctantly I nodded, watching the yellowish mixture pool and fizzle in the pan, succumbing to the heat. I pulled the note from my waistband and handed it to him. He took a long time reading it and when I peeked at him from the corner of my eye, he looked like he was staring right through the paper.
"What if she's not home in time?"
I flipped the pancakes and made my voice optimistic. "She will be. It's six days away, she's never been gone that long. And she loves Christmas."
"She didn't love it enough to get a tree," he mumbled. "Bet we don't get any presents, either."
"Yes, we will. We've always had presents before, haven't we? Even Maggie isn't crazy enough to forget that." I wanted him to buck up and yell at me for calling our mother not only by her first name but also crazy. It wasn't something I did a lot, but if it ever slipped out in front of him he instantly jumped to her defense. I did the same when the situation was reversed.
His jaw was clenched as he tore Maggie's note to pieces. It fluttered to the floor like a bunch of jagged snowflakes. "I hate her," he whispered.
We ate our pancakes in silence that morning and when Eric had disappeared into his room where he wouldn't have to look at our decorations, I rested my head on the table and wished there was no such thing as Christmas.
SLEEP IN HEAVENLY PEACE
*
"Eriiic..." I woke from a light sleep and twisted uncomfortably when I felt my brother's foot pushing against my back. Sometimes when he'd had a bad dream or when Maggie brought home another boyfriend, Eric would sneak into my room and when I opened my eyes in the morning there he would be, his hand draped across my face or his legs twisted up in mine. I was glad he chose me over Maggie. I'd gotten too old to creep into anyone's bed when I felt scared or lonely.
The sun hadn't come up yet, so I checked the glow-in-the-dark Scooby-Doo clock on my nightstand. Six AM. Not my favorite time of day to get out of bed, but I usually couldn't go back to sleep when the house was this quiet. I strained my ears against the silence, hoping to hear Maggie, the early bird, in the kitchen making breakfast or at least giggling across the hall like she'd done most of yesterday.
Something felt off, the way it does when you're going on a long trip somewhere and you know there is that one thing you've forgotten to pack but you don't remember what it is until miles down the road. I sat up and listened again. The wind pressed on my bedroom window and it rattled in protest. I eased my feet onto the icy floorboards, wishing I had worn socks to bed.
We had only lived in this apartment for a little over six months, but I was so used to moving that it took me no time at all to get the feel of a new place. By now I knew this one well enough to maneuver through it with my eyes closed and still avoid the squeaky spots on the floor, so mine was a noiseless passage from my bedroom to Maggie's. I put my ear to her door and held my breath, still not hearing anything. She was probably sleeping peacefully I told myself, but I couldn't resist turning the knob to have a look.
Her room was empty. Some of her clothes were strewn across the floor and bed like mine often were when I couldn't decide what to wear to school. I picked up her white cashmere sweater, the one I liked to touch and rub my cheek on when I was younger, and hugged it tight, dreading to continue my search of the house. I longed to curl up in her sheets and flower-print bedspread and pretend I didn't know what I would find on the table or stuck to the fridge, or wherever she had decided to leave it this time. But if my suspicions were correct and there was a note waiting for me, I wanted to find it before my brother woke up and spotted it.
I backed out of Maggie's room and closed the door, letting my feet carry me where my heart wasn't willing to go. It took me awhile to find the note, and I almost had to laugh at where she'd chosen to leave it. She knew how to fold those origami stars, and the white paper she'd used stood out on the tree branch it was propped up against. How wonderfully and ironically creative, I thought. A new decoration for the tree she hadn't even helped hang our collection of Christmas ornaments on. It had been me and Scott and Eric who put on all the lights and things, while Maggie and her boyfriend, whose name turned out to be, to my amusement, Beau, drifted back and forth from the bedroom and gazed through us half the time like we weren't really there. Maggie hadn't asked where we got the money for a tree and I didn't bother bringing it to her attention.
My name was written on the front of the star in her flowery cursive, the kind you would expect an artist to have, and I stared at it so long it began to look like nonsense. Swirls and loops and flourishes of the pen that didn't really mean anything except that I was supposed to read what was inside because I was the oldest and the one she relied on the most. I wondered if tearing the paper to shreds would do any good, maybe like reversing a spell by destroying whatever cursed item had cast it. But Maggie's spell was too strong and my hand plucked the star from the branch, unfolding the neatly creased edges as I sunk into her favorite armchair and switched on a lamp so I could see better.
Abby,
Beau and I needed a little time to ourselves. Be my big girl and take care of Eric while I'm gone. Don't know when I'll be back, but don't worry. You and your brother did a wonderful job with the decorations! There's plenty of food in the fridge. You're my angel.
Love, Mommy
I reread the lines, hoping I'd missed a clue as to how long she would be gone, but I knew there wasn't one. There never was. Last time it hadn't even been a full day, but the time before that it had been three whole days of Eric and I eating peanut butter and jelly at each meal and letting the phone ring itself out, because I never knew what to say when her bosses called to ask if she was coming to work. What bothered me the most in her note, though, was the ending. I hadn't called her Mommy for years. Mom, Mother, Maggie, whatever. Just not Mommy.
I attempted to fold her letter into a star again, but it didn't work for me, so I folded it the regular way and tucked it into the waistband of my pajama bottoms. The cashmere sweater was balled up in my lap and I unrolled it, slipping it over my head and stretching my arms inside the sleeves. They covered my hands completely and I left it that way. I must have been sitting there for a while, my legs curled underneath me and my eyes glazed over as I fretted about Maggie - whether she'd taken warm enough clothes and what if Beau was a psycho serial killer or something? - because when I snapped back to reality the sun was shining and Eric was standing in front of me, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"What are you doing?" he asked through a yawn. His dark brown curls were flattened against one side of his head, the other half sticking straight up. I loved the way he looked in the morning before his energy kicked in and he was still disoriented enough from sleep that I could cuddle with him and treat him like my baby brother without making him mad.
"Just sittin' and thinkin'."
"Thinking about what?"
"That someone needs to plug the Christmas lights in," I replied, giving him a sly look. I always tried to put off telling him that Maggie had split in the middle of the night as long as I could. He had a habit of begging to stay up way past his bedtime and I knew it was because he wanted to make sure she didn't leave us. I guess that was why I sometimes laid awake for countless hours before finally dozing off, too. It didn't matter if I was at a slumber party or lazing around with relatives for the traditional Thanksgiving nap, I was inevitably the last to fall asleep.
Instantly dropping to his hands and knees, Eric found the plug and stuck it in the socket. I patted the chair cushion and he willingly scooted in beside me, the weight of his head pressing against my shoulder as he leaned back and we looked at the tree, neither of us wanting to disturb the silence that made the moment seem sacred. He caved before I did.
"Hey, Abby?"
"Yeah?
"Do you like Scott better than you like me?" His face was serious when I gazed down at him in surprise.
"What? Of course not. Why would you even think that?"
He shrugged but gave his reason. "He makes you smile."
"Well, so do you, goofy." I squeezed him lightly on the side where I knew he was ticklish. He squirmed and laughed, pushing my hand away.
"Yeah, but not like that. You smile different when Scott's around."
"Different how?" I questioned, intrigued. Did my infatuation with Scott really show through that much?
"Just... different. Like you want him to kiss you or something."
I blushed and hid my mouth behind the floppy sleeve of Maggie's sweater. Eric never teased me about boys and I paid him the same respect when it came to girls he liked, but I did not want my ten-year-old brother to be this aware of my feelings for Scott. I didn't want him to know I fantasized more and more about what it would be like to press my lips to Scott's or wake up beside him in the morning, our heads on the same pillow. It stirred something inside of me that I didn't quite know how to deal with, and I certainly didn't want anyone else finding out about it. Least of all Eric.
"Like that!" he said, pointing a finger at my face and sounding annoyed. "Are you in love with him??"
"No," I lied.
"You're not gonna do S-E-X with him, are you?"
"Eric!" I shrieked, springing out of Maggie's armchair and planting my hands on my hips. We had a television, friends who talked about sex, and a mother who didn't exactly try to hide her romances, so it didn't shock me that he knew about such things. It just wasn't something we talked about and I had no intentions of starting now. "That's disgusting! Don't ask me stuff like that."
"Geez, Ok! Sooorry," he drawled sarcastically. "I just wondered. I think you'd get in trouble if you did anyway, 'cause he's old, so don't."
"Stop talking." I covered his mouth with my hand that was covered by Maggie's sleeve and urged him to stand, guiding him to the table. He followed obediently and sat down in his usual spot. "I'll make breakfast. What do you want?"
"Eggs Benedict and fresh squeezed orange juice," he said, smiling angelically.
"Pancakes it is." I stuck my tongue out at him and ducked into the kitchen, making a racket with the pots and pans in my search for the one Maggie had taught me to cook pancakes on. When she was depressed I either had to fix the food or we didn't eat, so I had learned early on to ask a lot of questions when she was in the kitchen. Nothing I made ever tasted as good as Maggie's cooking, something Eric wasn't too shy to state, but at least it was edible.
I was pouring the batter for the first pancake when Eric wandered in to watch. He eyed the white sweater and the bowl in my hands. "Why isn't Mom making breakfast?"
"How many pancakes do you want?" I asked, hoping to dodge the question until I'd planned a better way to tell him Maggie was gone.
"Why isn't Mom making breakfast?" he demanded.
I didn't answer.
"That's her sweater."
"Yeah."
He heaved a sigh too big for a ten-year-old. "She left us again, huh?"
Reluctantly I nodded, watching the yellowish mixture pool and fizzle in the pan, succumbing to the heat. I pulled the note from my waistband and handed it to him. He took a long time reading it and when I peeked at him from the corner of my eye, he looked like he was staring right through the paper.
"What if she's not home in time?"
I flipped the pancakes and made my voice optimistic. "She will be. It's six days away, she's never been gone that long. And she loves Christmas."
"She didn't love it enough to get a tree," he mumbled. "Bet we don't get any presents, either."
"Yes, we will. We've always had presents before, haven't we? Even Maggie isn't crazy enough to forget that." I wanted him to buck up and yell at me for calling our mother not only by her first name but also crazy. It wasn't something I did a lot, but if it ever slipped out in front of him he instantly jumped to her defense. I did the same when the situation was reversed.
His jaw was clenched as he tore Maggie's note to pieces. It fluttered to the floor like a bunch of jagged snowflakes. "I hate her," he whispered.
We ate our pancakes in silence that morning and when Eric had disappeared into his room where he wouldn't have to look at our decorations, I rested my head on the table and wished there was no such thing as Christmas.
