Shantih Journal Issue 2.2 | Page 42

“Me too,” Dad says, patting her hand, “And I’m sure the Beav here wants some as well.” Mom smiles and walks back into the kitchen, as Lucy begins to sob. “Lucy? What’s the matter?” I ask. Bobby shoots me a dangerous glance. “What’s wrong with –” “I really can’t stand that smell,” Sally says. She gags into her napkin. Mom walks back in with pie held high in the air. She places it gracefully in the middle of the table and begins to slice everyone a piece. “One for Daddy, and one for Sally, and one for Bobby, and one for Beaver, and a nice big piece for Lucy!” Lucy shoves her plate away and bolts out of the room. “I’ll get some more wine,” Mom says, watching Dad cut into his pie. I do the same, pear juice oozing out across my plate, as Mom starts for the door. Bobby rises from his seat and Mom stops, steadying herself on the table. “Don’t,” he pleads. She exits the room and Sally crushes the pie with her fork. I have to admit, the edges of the crust are a little burnt. 42 The sound of a gunshot rocks the house like the sound of stone on thick glass. Dad finishes his pie, leans back in his seat, and lights a cigar. I walk into the next room to find Mom lying with a gun – my gun – buried in her black curls, pointed at her temple. All around her are the dirty dishes she’d knocked from the counter when she fell. “Mom?” I say, still holding to the world I’d imagined. I touch her curls but find them sticky with blood that won’t come off my fingers. “Mom!” I back away, tracking blood with me, then rush back through the dining room and down the hall. Sally and Bobby watch me nervously. Mr. Blink leans back in his chair. “Beaver?” he calls as I shake the front door handle, unable to figure out how he’s locked it. “You can’t leave the house now. It’s too late.” He steps up behind me. “I think it’s time for us to go to bed,” he says. He grabs my shoulder, but I push him away and run back into the dining room, looking everywhere for a way out of the claustrophobic house. I stare out the window, remembering how often I’d wished to be inside of it, and realizing now how much I want to get out. The plates of pie lay forgotten on the table, pear juice cooling on the china. I pick one up and tilt it from side to side.