THREE
There are birds living on the bookshelf. Have been for a while from the looks of it. Ellie says she wishes them well, but she knows she's only saying that because that's what real Ellie would say. That is, if anyone was here with her to hear her say it.
She pivots to stare out the jagged edges of the window, her shoes crunching on shattered glass. The windows broke weeks ago. About the same time the side of the house was decoratively tagged.
It hasn't been torched, so that's something.
There's nothing to see outside. Just a garden which is even shaggier than usual and a slate dusk sky.
It's hard not to take the attack personally. But, then, it's meant to be personal—'u knew' is not, after all, a subtle message.
The trouble here is that this was a house of happiness. Hers, at least. (It's going a step too deep to consider what his feelings were.)
Truth is, whatever else was going on (wherever else), she was happy here. All her memories are happy. Carrying in furniture the day they took possession. The kids' first Christmases. Tom setting off for his first day of school. Fred's first haircut (he definitely had her hair). Her waters breaking mid laughing fit one night watching telly as she stretched out against Joe and his fingers curled over hers.
What the hell is she supposed to do with that memory?
She'd been loved, hadn't she? Was that a lie too? Because none of it had felt like a lie. And she should have known that at least, shouldn't she?
She may have thrown the first stone herself. May have driven up late at night and hurled the largest rock she could find. May have.
But her aim wasn't great and the action didn't magic away her turmoil. Did it help the vandal who came after her?
She has nothing to be ashamed of in this house. Taking her rage out on it seems like punching herself. Having someone else take theirs out on it—well, she's been punched a few times. In her uniform days. It hurts.
Silly woman. Houses aren't the bad guys. They aren't victims, too.
Now another family is settled in her house. She hopes the birds' story ends more happily than hers.
He'd slept beside her for weeks. Fuck. What had been going through his mind? How had he held it together? How the hell had she missed him falling apart?