The Summer the World Ended (8 page)

“Stop it, Dad.”

She moved to the counter and set the recipes in an unused cardboard box, grabbed a nearby Sharpie, and wrote “KEEP” on the longer face. Dad edged up behind her and put his hand on her right shoulder. He planted a light kiss on the side of her head.

“I love you, Riley Dawn.”

He drifted off into the dining room, where he’d set up a mountain of paperwork, leaving her to the soul-crushing task of packing away Mom’s kitchen. A few hours later, she’d gone through everything she could, leaving out enough ‘kitchen stuff’ to cook simple meals.

She headed to the living room, passing Dad absorbed in a phone call at the dining room table.

“My God, sir. Yushchenko’s dead too? Two days ago? I was hoping the intel was suspect. At least they’re keeping it off the news.”

Riley skidded to a halt.

“Yes, sir. I understand. They did it just like the Nemtsov assassination. The man’s unhinged.” Dad nodded. “Sir. Right. Understood. No, sir. Couple more days.”

The conversation had animated him more than she’d yet seen, though he looked worried. Her gait slowed to a veritable crawl as she passed him, confused by the dramatic change. She stopped at the archway leading to the living room and watched him ‘yes’ his way through a barrage of questions. When he finally put the cordless handset down, he seemed drained.

“Dad? What was that?”

“Oh.” He jumped as if he hadn’t noticed her. “Colonel Bering, my… uh… other boss.”

“You’re in the Army?” Riley blinked.

“Not anymore, though I work for them as a civilian contractor. There’s a problem with one of my guidance routines… I do software.”

“You look like he told you men are on their way to shoot you.” Riley crept closer. “You sure you’re okay?”

He crumbled his fingers together in a fist supporting his cheek, elbow on the table. “Yeah. Yep. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m scared.”

Calm washed over him, as if the call had never happened. He held his arms apart. “Come here.”

She walked into a firm hug and a pat on the back. A weak memory of jumping on him as a seven-year-old came back. He had the same grip. When he let go, she tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled.

“It’s not gonna be easy, kid, but we’ll survive.”

“‘Kay.” She looked up. “What do you mean ‘other’ boss?”

“Oh.” He chuckled. “I get jobs from this guy Ted out of Albuquerque. Freelance programming work. Not too regular, put pay is big most times.” Dad paused a moment, trying to read the look on her face. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah…”

Riley looked down and shambled into the living room. Mom’s fifty-inch flat panel TV dominated a space predominantly made up in powder blue, except for the off-white carpet. The nagging urge to cry shadowed her for the next hour as she wrapped and packed all of Mom’s little glass and porcelain figures. The woman sure had a thing for faeries. She wanted to keep them, but they’d probably stay in boxes until she had her own place. Something told her that taking them out at Dad’s would only get them smashed. Dad didn’t seem big on ‘delicate.’

Plastic crinkled under her fingers the next time she reached up without looking for the next wide-eyed figurine. A translucent blue plastic bag sat tucked at the back of the shelf out of sight. Riley could tell it held DVDs as soon as she laid a hand on the package. She pulled it out and opened it, finding three movies…
Up, Brave, and Frozen.
Mom had obviously been planning to surprise her with a ‘movie day’ sometime soon. None of them were unsealed yet, meaning Mom hadn’t even thought to watch them without her.

The dam broke again.

Riley fell over sideways, bawling. Once again, Dad came running at the outburst. His arms slipped under her, lifting her up off the floor. He backed up to the sofa and sat with her across his lap, holding on until the sobs wracking her body faded to erratic sniffled breaths.

“Ratatouille,” he said.

“What?” She looked up, mouth agape. “What the hell does that mean?”

“That was the last cartoon we watched together… all three of us.”

Oh, that…
Her sorrowful face hardened to a scowl. She remembered hating that movie―because it reminded her of her broken family. “Yeah.”

“How bout I take care of dinner tonight?” He raised an eyebrow.

“You’d burn water if you tried to boil it.” Amid a clatter of wooden bracelets, Riley wiped at her face with the grey sweater sleeves.

“You’re probably right, but I know how to work a phone. Pizza?”

“Mom has enough crap in the freezer to last through nuclear winter. We shouldn’t waste it.”

“Okay, okay…” He laughed.

Riley smirked. “How about Friday?”

“It is Friday.”

“I mean next Friday.” She fidgeted with the sweater.

“That’s a clever attempt to stay here longer, isn’t it?”

She stared straight ahead, trying not to let herself cry.

“Okay, fine. Next Friday.”

Five days passed in the blink of an eye, each fading into the next. Riley didn’t feel much of anything by Wednesday night. So many things made her want to cry that she tuned everything out. Her entire life, apart from a few articles of clothing, now sat in ‘boxhenge’ downstairs. She stood in the center of the small bathroom at the end of the upstairs hall, staring at herself in the mirror for a half hour before undressing and stepping into the tub.

She pulled the cloth and plastic barrier closed, dimming the light, and swallowed hard. This was the tub where she’d played with rubber ducks.
Another couple days, and I’ll never set foot in this room again.
Riley sniffled.
I’m so messed up. I’m getting weepy over a damned shower curtain.
The process of showering went by in slow motion. How many times had she whined about being forced to take a bath before bed as a kid? She half-smiled at the memory of countless days where everything had been so boring. Now each one of them seemed like a precious moment. Riley closed her eyes and ducked under the spray to rinse her hair, and wound up staying there, letting the water roll over her head and down her back until her Dad knocked on the door.

“You okay, hon? You’ve been in there a long time.”

Wow, he sounds worried. He must think I’ve slit my wrists or something.
“I’m okay.”
Sorta.

Riley shut off the water, dried off, and pulled on a fresh set of bright red pajamas. All the while she brushed her teeth, she stared at every line and contour of the room, committing it to memory. The thought of climbing a little plastic stool to examine her missing front teeth in the mirror brought another round of sniffles. She had grown up in this bathroom, and three days from now, she’d never see it again.

How could it feel alien already? Why did she feel like an intruder in her own home?

She spat out the toothpaste foam, rinsed, and walked down the hall to her bedroom. Mom’s was almost bare now, the door shut tight. On Monday, they had packed the bed into a U-Haul trailer attached to the back of Dad’s beat-up tan Silverado. He called it a ‘98 as if that was something to be proud of, at least until she pointed out it was older than she was. The rest of the big furniture would go with the house.

Riley hated whoever was going to buy it. Money or not, they were stealing her home.

Darkness engulfed her room except where green light glowed from the lone Xbox controller on the charging stand next to her TV. The other one sat on the floor in the same place it fell out of her hand when she went to check on Mom. She hadn’t the least bit of interest in touching the game since.

So far, the devouring whirlwind destroying her life hadn’t had a visible effect on her bedroom. All the packing of
her
stuff had been limited to eviscerating closets and ransacking drawers. Dad probably let her save it for last to keep things feeling as sane as possible. Tomorrow, her dresser, bookcase, and desk would go to the trailer. Her bed would be last, as she needed to sleep. She took two steps toward it, but paused as her foot brushed the abandoned controller.

It’s dead too, now.
Riley squatted over it, confirming her diagnosis by poking a button and getting no response. She picked it up and knee-walked to the charging stand. The clear plastic clip lit up red as she put the device in its socket.
I wish I could plug Mom in and she’d wake up.
After a few minutes of staring at the controller tree, she dragged herself to bed.

She tried to stay awake as long as she could, to ‘experience’ being in her bedroom. She thought of Christmas Eves past, staring at this very ceiling, trying to make herself sleep faster so morning would show up. Random images of Mom came and went, as fleeting as the glow of the occasional passing set of headlights on the wall. Despite her strongest wanting, dark became light, and the sound of voices downstairs murmured up through the floor. Eventually, the discomfort of needing a bathroom overpowered her lack of desire to do anything but lay there. After dealing with it, she made her way downstairs.

Riley stumbled into the kitchen, t-shirt pulled up enough to scratch her stomach, ignoring the suited white-haired man talking to Dad. Most of their conversation sailed over her head, but she caught enough to assume they were discussing the sale of the house. She hoped her sullen glower would be enough to keep her out of the conversation, and went for a box of Special K. Riley hovered at the counter with her back to the men, picking the cereal out of the bowl with her fingers and eating it dry.

“One moment.” Dad walked up alongside her. “Morning, kiddo. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were hung over.”

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch
.

“At some point today, we need to load whatever of your furniture you want to keep, except the bed.”

“‘Kay.”

“I’m sorry, Riley. I am… I just.”

“Can’t afford New Jersey. I know.”
Crunch
. She let out a long breath. “No choice, right?”

“Something like that.”

She tried to give him an ‘it’s okay, I understand’ face, but wasn’t sure if the message made it―or if she believed that. Dad returned to his discussion about setting up a ‘trust’ account for her and directed the house be sold at a reasonable price. There was no rush. Riley deserved a fair price for the place.

Riley walked out with her cereal bowl, leaving the box open on the counter, not wanting to hear them talk. It felt as traitorous as if she eavesdropped on people plotting Mom’s death. Soon, she found herself in her room, disassembling her electronics and tossing things into boxes between flakes of cereal.

Dad knocked on the doorjamb about an hour later. “Riley?”

“What?”

“There’s someone at the door for you.”

Who’d come to see me?
She chucked a game DVD at a box half filled with old ones she hadn’t played in a year and looked up at him. “Is it Mina?”

“No… it’s some little black girl. Okay, maybe not little… your age.”

“Amber?” Riley’s hand flew to her chest, at the base of her throat.
Oh, shit.

She jumped up, ran past him, and raced down the stairs. Her best (only) friend, Amber Nelson, waited on the porch in a purple string tee, shorts, and flip-flops. A giant smile faded to a look of worry as Riley pulled the door to behind her, and sat on the top step. Amber’s toenails were the same shade of hot pink as her shorts, and a plastic clip kept her thick, straight hair back.

“Damn, Rile… Dubya-tee-eff. You look like the walking dead.” Amber looked over her at the door, sat next to her, and whispered. “We landed late last night. I couldn’t wait to get over here. Who’s that creepy dude?”

“My dad.”

“Oh, damn. Didn’t know you had one. How’s your mom doing?”

“She’s―” Tears rolled out of her eyes. Riley swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Real sick?”

Riley shook her head. “She died.”

“No… no…” Amber grabbed her shoulders. “Fuck, Riley… I’m so sorry.”

They clung to each other, crying for a few minutes.

Amber spoke first. “How’d it happen?”

Riley sniffled. “Aneurysm.”

“Oh… Those are usually sudden. People don’t last―”

“No.” Riley stared guilt into the step between her feet. “She died that night. They said she didn’t feel anything.”

“You bitch!” Amber shoved her shoulder. “When I texted you… you knew! That’s messed up! I’ve known you since fourth grade, and you didn’t trust me enough to tell me? Holy shit, Rile… I’m on the beach livin’ it up, and your mama’s dead?”

“It’s not like that!” Riley yelled. “I… you were on vacation. I couldn’t tell you something like that with a stupid text.” Her voice fell to a faint, leaky whisper. “I’m still not sure I even believe it happened.”

“I didn’t even wanna be there.” Amber fell seated again with a huff. “I could’ve handled it. We could’ve talked it out. Don’t look like you handlin’ it.”

“I’m not. I gotta go live with Dad in New Mexico.”

Amber squeezed her hand. “Tell him you can’t go. You can sleep over at my place.”

“That didn’t work so hot when I invited you over.”

“Yeah…”

“I should’ve told you.”

Amber slapped her across the back of the head, a little too hard to be playful. “Yeah, you shoulda.”