When You Go Away by Jessica Barksdale Inclan Read Free Book Online

saying anything to them.  Carly wondered if one of them was the terrible Ted, who was supposed to collect the rent.  "Have a good enough look?"  Ryan called after them, but not loud enough for anyone to hear.  "Assholes."  He looked down at Carly.  "Come on.  Let's wait inside."
     
         "Don't go."
         "I'm not going.  I’m sitting here, aren't I?"  Ryan shook his head and punched at the remote control, flicking through the channels without seeming to look at one single show.  He finally paused at The West Wing, and both of them stared at the screen, trying to find a way to let the show pull them away from the empty apartment.  But all Carly could see was who wasn't there, her mom, Brooke, her father.
         "Shit."  Ryan threw down the remote.  "I can't fucking believe this."
         "What's going to happen?"
         “Who cares?  You don’t see anyone here but some lady from downstairs, do you?”
         “You like her.”
         “So?” Ryan moved away from her, crossing his legs.
         “But what the police and stuff?”
         "Who knows?"
        She thought about all the people who would soon know that their mother had left, the doctors and nurses and lawyers, people who could change things. "What about Mom?  What are they going to say about Mom?"
         He stood up, running his hands through his red hair.  Carly was the only brunette in the family beside her mother, but Carly was even darker.  Her mother always told her she had Grandma Janice’s coloring, but Carly wondered if people thought she was adopted. Sometimes when they'd all been out as a family, she'd pretended she was adopted, a changeling, pulling slightly aside, walking behind her fire-haired family, imagining who her real parents were, the parents who really loved her.  Lately, she hadn't had to pretend.  Every night, she wished something would happen or someone would come to take away the sad feeling, the days that felt like bad nights full of horrible dreams.
         "Look, Carly,” Ryan said.  “It's too late to worry now.  Brooke's at the hospital.  Everyone will know.  I don't care at this point.  I really don't."
         "You're just mad.  You care.  You were telling Rosie you would leave."
         "Yeah, well I don't care.  It's not my problem.  Mom's no better than Dad now anyway.  And I thought he was the complete asshole."
         "Don't say that."
         "Why?  Isn't it true?"
         "You left me, too.  You left me for two days all alone.  You didn't help me take care of Brooke or do the laundry or feed her.  You don't even know how.  You were off with Quinn, smoking or whatever . . ." Carly bent forward, her forehead on her knees, the scratch of her jeans on her face, wanting her mother to come in and touch her back, rub her neck, say, "I'm so sorry, baby.  It will all be better."  But there was nothing except the live wire of Ryan body, the hum of his anxiety that matched hers, the whine of the refrigerator. 
         "I . . . I--" he began, but then there was a knock and a voice at the door.  He stood up, ready to let in whoever was there.  Ready to let their whole lives change.

FOUR
     
    At 2.30, Carl Randall was up at the tennis court next to the Montclair fire station, sitting next to his old buddy Ralph Jones, waiting for another two players so they could get a doubles match going.  It was Wednesday, the spring afternoon swelling with late heat, the sun reflecting off the metal fence.  Carl sat with his elbows on his thighs, spinning his racket on its end.
         "Some days it takes a while," Ralph said, leaning against the fence.
         "Indeed," Carl said. If someone didn't come in fifteen minutes, though, he was going to go home and work on his sprinkler system.  It was getting hot enough to run it every other day, and one head was plugged, causing the water to geyser into his Mrs. Trimble's yard, his old bitch neighbor.