Dead Letters(29)

“Little A, are you okay?” he asks delicately, looking around. “I mean…” I scooch my sunglasses farther down my nose and look at him.

“Why? Isn’t this a perfectly acceptable place to sit and think about Zelda?” I wave my arm grandly, gesturing toward the sooty stumps of the barn, the yellow tape. There were cops swarming around when I returned, but they left somewhere during my second glass of wine; I think my presence made them uncomfortable, especially after I treated them to a raucous chorus of Edward Sharpe’s “Home.” It’s just me now, parked in the lounge chair, looking directly at the barn. The lake is to my back, and I have dragged out an ice bucket that I filled with my recent purchases, which sit sweating beads of moisture into the melting ice cubes. I’m wearing one of Zelda’s vintage bathing suits, a polka-dotted monstrosity, and a gardening hat that I found in the hallway. It could be my mother’s, but I don’t have a single memory of her crouched on hands and knees, laboring in the garden. Not her style. My father is staring at me in concern, not looking at the barn.

“I understand you wanting to be close to where Zelda…was. But maybe this is a little…”

“Grim?” I finish his sentence, and my glass of wine. I hold the empty glass out to him, shaking it suggestively. “Fill ’er up.” He looks doubtful, but he leans down and fishes the open bottle of South African Sauvignon Blanc out of the ice bucket and splashes the last bit of wine into my glass. “Cheers,” I say, toasting him. “And cheers to you, Zelda. Quaff that kind Nepenthe!” I drink most of the glass in one swallow.

“Ava, what about your mother?”

“She won’t eat anything. She says her pants feel snug and she needs to slim down. Hard to imagine how the drawstring of her silk jammies could feel snug, but…” I shrug, shutting my eyes for a moment. I can tell I’m getting sunburned, but it feels fantastic. “I gave her a bottle of Gewürztraminer for being a pretty good girl today. Honestly, her stunt should have cost her all but a medicinal tipple, but her kid did just kick it, so I felt bad for her. If it had been her, she would have made me or Zelda go to bed with nothing at all, but I think I’m the nice one in the family.” I’m only slurring a little. Marlon looks at me once more, then just turns and walks back to the house.

—

When I wake up, the sun has set and I’m freezing cold. I’m still wearing just a bathing suit, and the sunglasses are crooked on my face. There’s a knocked-over wineglass by my hand. The wind smells smoky, and there are fireflies blinking in the grass all around the barn. My mouth tastes god-awful; I cringe, not wanting to fully open my eyes.

When I finally stand up, I’m wobbly, but I can tell I’m more or less sober, which means I’ve been asleep for a while. I estimate that I drank close to two bottles of wine before I passed out, which I confirm by nearly tripping over the empties. They are slippery and cold, slick with early dew, and I kick them out of my way with the side of my foot. It’s dark this far away from the house; the barn light used to illuminate the path. I stumble through the damp grass, leaving everything on the lawn. I nearly trip again, this time on a string of yellow tape that cordons off part of the blackened grass.

Inside, the house is quiet and still. Marlon isn’t on the couch when I return inside, and I scan the downstairs rooms, wondering where he’s ended up. I head upstairs. In front of my mother’s door, I hear a quiet sniffling sound and freeze. It is such a foreign noise to me that I’m momentarily stunned, but I recognize it for what it is. It’s the sound of my mother crying. I don’t know if I’ve ever heard that before.

“What do you mean, Marl? She can’t be,” I hear her whimper.

“I know, I know. I can’t believe it either. It’s…I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” Marlon’s voice is soft and delicate. He hasn’t spoken that way to her since my childhood.

“My little girl. It’s like it’s happening all over. No matter what I do, I can’t keep them safe!”

“This is not your fault,” my father says firmly. “And neither was what happened before. You need to hear that.”

“You think it’s just a goddamn coincidence?” Nadine snivels.

“It’s just life, Nadine. Accidents happen. People die.” His voice cracks on this last sentence. “You’ve done your best. In spite of everything.”

“What does that mean?” Nadine snaps in a tone I know all too well. I know exactly where this is headed, and I nudge open the door.

“You guys okay in here?” I say. Marlon is sitting on a chair next to my mother’s bed, stroking her shoulder. She’s in a fetal position on the mattress, facing away from him. She flinches at my voice.

“Just get out of here! You’re the one who’s making me sick,” she hisses, her voice choked with tears. “You like to see me this way.” She starts to mumble something into her pillow a moment later. It sounds like a name, repeated again and again: Zelda, I assume. I pull the door shut and retreat to my room, fleeing the sound of my mother’s pain. An alien noise. She has always worked so hard to conceal any evidence of weakness. Maybe Marlon can say something to help her. I strip down to my underwear and climb under the white covers, grateful that I’m too hungover to feel anything at all. I’m asleep within a minute.