When Ghosts Come Home(41)

“I know it comforts you, but I’m wondering if it’s helping.”

“I fell asleep on the plane today, and when I opened my eyes, I thought I saw him outside the window. He was watching me.”

“Who? Who was watching you?”

She sank lower into the beanbag chair and rested her head against the wall. She closed her eyes. “Him, Scott,” she said. “Our son. I pictured him flying beside me, right outside the window. I wanted to open the window and touch him, but I couldn’t open it. Of course you can’t open the windows on airplanes.”

“Colleen,” he said. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Colleen, have you been drinking?”

“Jesus, Scott. Really?” She sat forward, struggled to stand up from the beanbag chair. “I’m talking about our son recognizing my face and that’s what you want to ask me? Jesus, Scott.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry. Of course not. Of course that’s not what I want to ask you.” He paused, and Colleen stood beside her bed. She knew that Scott’s eyes were scanning his office, his mind churning through ideas in the hope of finding something to say to her. “You just mentioned seeing him outside the plane. It just seemed like, I don’t know. How’s your mom?”

“She’s sick, Scott. She’s got cancer. She’s skinnier than hell and she’s already annoying the shit out of me. It’s been a great visit so far.”

“What did she say about you showing up at home?”

“She said, ‘Holy shit, Colleen, you showed up at home. Now, go call your husband.’ I don’t know, Scott. Hang up and call back and ask for her.”

“No, I want to talk to you,” he said.

“Then let’s talk,” she said.

“I love you,” he said. “I wish I was there, or I wish you were still at home so I could see you.”

“It’s better this way,” she said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked. “It sounds like—” He lowered his voice, and Colleen imagined him hunched over in his chair. “Are you leaving me?”

“I’m not doing anything, Scott. I’m visiting my parents. You’re working. I’m here. You’re there. It’s better that way.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know for how long.”

“Did you buy a return ticket?”

“No,” she said.

“But you will?”

“Of course I will,” she said.

“Okay,” he said. “I love you. Even if I don’t know what to say, I can tell you that.”

“Okay,” she said.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” she said.

They hung up and she put the phone back on its cradle, and then she lifted her suitcase from the bed and set it on the floor. She climbed onto the bed, lay down, interlocked her fingers and placed her hands on her flat stomach, and closed her eyes.



It was full dark in Colleen’s bedroom when she opened her eyes again. She was lying on her side, curled into the fetal position, her hands still cupped to her stomach. It took her a few moments to recognize where she was, but as soon as she realized she was in her bedroom back at her parents’ house, she was able to hear the sound of their voices drifting upstairs from the kitchen below. She rolled onto her back and stared up at the dark ceiling. She had lain right here in this bed and listened to those voices for more than half her life, but this was the first time they had felt strange and foreign. She did not feel like she belonged anywhere or to anyone, and in that moment a glimmer of freedom slashed through her like a knife.

When she sat up, she realized that her head was pounding, and she left her room and walked into the bathroom and sipped water from the sink. She splashed water on her face and opened her eyes as wide as she could and looked at herself in the mirror. She smiled a grotesque smile. She frowned. She whispered, “Oh, I just felt like coming home. I thought y’all would enjoy the surprise.”

Dinner was being made downstairs, and she knew by the smell of it that her mother was making country-style steak, mashed potatoes, and some kind of green vegetable. She knew they would all sit down at the table, where a green plastic pitcher of sweating sweet tea would be waiting. She knew her mother would ask her everything she could think of except How are you and Scott? and Colleen would do her best to answer without rolling her eyes or crying or staring into her lap until her mother got the hint, and the whole time she would be thinking about borrowing her mother’s car and driving to the store for a six-pack of Budweiser and parking by the beach and climbing into the dunes and drinking every single one of them before burying the bottles in the sand and driving home.

But first Colleen would go downstairs. She would eat dinner and drink sweet tea. And she would answer the questions that she was able to answer. And she would say over and over, “We’re fine, Mom. I’m home now. Everything’s fine.”

She turned the water on in the sink again and splashed it over her face. When she turned it off, she heard the sound of someone coming up the stairs. She dried her face and hands with the towel hanging by the sink, and then Colleen peeked into the hallway and saw her mother carrying a tray toward her bedroom.