Sophie Littlefield - House of Glass

And then the summer that Jen was thirteen and Tanya a rebellious, sullen fifteen, their mother got sick. Sid started coming around again, looking for an opening, wooing her with smooth talk and cheap flowers when he needed a tank of gas or money to tide him over. She was unable to resist, the cancer rendering her silent and listless. He might have persisted right up to her death, but a bar fight landed him in the hospital for a long stay at the end of that dismal summer.

When he was released, he headed north, ending up here in Murdoch. They only found out where he was when the court tracked him down after their mother died, but by then Jen and Tanya were settled into their aunt’s basement, a solution everyone agreed was better than trying to extract any support out of Sid.

“He never got in touch with us, not once,” Jen said, after they both drank.

“That never seemed to bother you before.”

“It doesn’t. I mean, I don’t know what I would have done if he had. It’s just that now he’s dead, I’m realizing that it’s like he never aged, for me. I never saw him get old.”

“I guess it was too much to hope that he would have gotten remarried. Left someone else to deal with all his shit.” Tanya’s voice was bitter.

“At least it’s all done. After today we don’t ever have to think of him again.”

“So we just walk away.” Tanya sighed. “I guess at least we got a night away from the kids. Speaking of which—what’s Ted doing with his big night to himself?”

“Working on the bathroom, supposedly.”

“He’s still not done?”

Jen grimaced. Ted had been laid off for almost six months, and the renovation project was supposed to keep him busy while he looked for a new job, but lately he hadn’t done much job searching or renovating. In the past few weeks there had been several times when he went out “for supplies,” and came home empty-handed. “He swore he was going to get a lot done this weekend.”

“Good luck with that.” Tanya laughed. Jake’s father left when he was a baby, and she took a dim view of men in general, other than the brief infatuations at the start of her relationships. “With his wife and kids gone for the weekend? I bet he went out and painted the town.”

“I guess...” Jen said, more morosely than she meant to.

Tanya looked at her keenly. “Hey, I was kidding. Everything’s okay with you guys, isn’t it?”

“No, no, it’s fine. Just, you know, I wish he’d find something. It’s hard having him underfoot all the time.”

Tanya looked at her doubtfully, picking up the bottle. “Here, give me your glass.”

As Tanya topped off her wine, Jen couldn’t help thinking of the little slip of goldenrod notepaper Ted had tossed in the tray on his dresser along with his change. The feminine handwriting that wasn’t hers, the initials SEB in a curvy script at the top. On it, Sarah Elizabeth Baker had written Thx tons, Thursday 2pm Firehouse xoxoxo.

Sarah had been his assistant before he was laid off. She wasn’t gorgeous, but she had a knowing, sensual way about her that was hard to miss; she could make a Brooks Brothers blouse look like an invitation. At the Christmas party, when she’d had too much to drink, she’d kissed Ted on the mouth when she said goodbye.

None of which necessarily meant anything—except that Ted left Flores Martin months ago. And yes, for a while there was a weekly bundle of his mail, delivered with one of these little gold notes paper clipped on top.

But there hadn’t been mail from work in a long time.

Jen wondered if she could tell Tanya about Sarah. But Tanya would be too quick to turn on Ted, too quick to castigate him for crimes he might not have even committed.

So Jen drank her wine and changed the subject, and when the bottle was empty Tanya opened the second one, and they made a good dent in it before Jen finally turned the light out. They mumbled their good-nights just like all those years ago when they shared a bedroom and a bunk bed. Tanya was asleep in minutes, her breathing even and deep. Jen lay awake for a while despite the blurry wine buzz, thinking about Sarah and her glossy hair, the x’s and o’s at the bottom of her note.

When Jen finally slept, her nightmare had nothing to do with Sarah, or even Sid. She dreamed the red bird, its beak opening wider and wider, its screams ever louder, uncoiling and unfurling until there was nothing else.

Chapter Two

Livvy woke up shivering. Her shirt was wet against her back. Something cold had seeped into her sleeping bag, the room smelled like vomit and her head felt thick.

Faint light came from the hall at the top of the stairs, enough for her to make out the others, asleep in the basement rec room. Paige and Rachel and Collin. The girls were huddled in the sleeping bags Rachel got from the garage, and Collin was making do on the couch with a blanket from Rachel’s room. No one else was awake. Someone snored softly.

Livvy sat up groggily, peeling the damp sleeping bag from her skin. It smelled like stale beer—and there was the overturned plastic cup. Rachel must have set it down between them before she fell asleep. Livvy patted the floor; the spill hadn’t reached Rachel, only her. And soaked through the carpet. How were they going to clean it up before Rachel’s parents got back?

Not to mention where Collin had vomited, over by the TV. They’d gotten most of it up then, holding their breath and laughing. It had seemed funny last night. Livvy knew that he wasn’t the only one: Paige had thrown up behind the fraternity before they’d walked home from the party.

“Are you up?” It was Paige, whispering from her other side. They’d lined up on the floor, the three of them, just like they used to do in middle school when they fell asleep watching movies during sleepovers. “Let’s go upstairs.”

“Rachel spilled beer on my sleeping bag.”

“Eww. Leave it. Come on.”

They tiptoed upstairs to Rachel’s bedroom, sneaking through the house as if Mr. and Mrs. Crane were sleeping upstairs. But they weren’t even home; they had taken Rachel’s sister to some out-of-town tournament, leaving Rachel home by herself. She was supposed to be on the school ski trip—they all were. Instead they’d walked the half mile to the edge of campus, to Collin’s brother’s fraternity, where the party was still in full swing hours later when they left.

Paige flopped on Rachel’s bed. “Did you get it on you?”

“Just on my shirt.” Livvy pulled the shirt over her head. She got clean clothes out of the overnight bag she’d stowed in Rachel’s room last night. Her pajamas, yellow flannel with snowflakes, were still folded neatly at the bottom of the bag. She felt guilty as she pulled on her clothes; she could smell the fabric softener her mom used.

Paige yawned. “Did you end up talking to Sean?”

Livvy didn’t look at Paige. Even hearing his name, even that hurt. “A little,” she said, like she didn’t care. “They weren’t there long.”

“You looked so good last night. It must have killed him. Oh, my God, especially when that guy...remember?”

Paige laughed, still riding the giddy thrill of their lie. She’d told everyone they were freshman from Ann Arbor, visiting for the weekend. No one questioned it, not for a second. People flowed in and out of the fraternity, tracking snow in on their shoes, leaving the door open, standing around the keg on the back porch like it was summer. No one seemed cold. Rachel was gorgeous and Paige was fearless and Collin made them laugh, and Livvy kept to the center of them all, where no one seemed to expect her to talk. Just to dance, as the night wore on and she drank more and Paige convinced her to get up on the coffee table, and she’d shut her eyes and felt the music go through her and then when she opened them, there was Sean, standing in the doorway watching her with an expression she couldn’t read.