Chapter 15

                                    

                                          
TUESDAY, MARCH 26
12 days left
                          
I get off work early and drive as fast as I can. My plan is to beat everyone home before dinner so I will have a few moments alone to poke around in the study. If my mom's saved anything about my dad, I'll find it in there.
I open the front door and stand in the hallway for a moment, holding my breath, hoping I'm the only one here.
"Hello?" I hear Rob call out.
"Rob, it's just me," I say softly, not wanting to make my presence known if someone else is home with him.
"What are we having for dinner?" His loud voice practically shakes the whole house. Rob inherited Steve's vocal cords. If I didn't love him so much, I might be irritated.
"I don't know, Rob. Mom will be home soon. You can ask her, okay?"
"Okay," he answers. "Do you wanna come up and play FIFA with me?"
My lips twitch and I fight the urge to smile. "Maybe later. I have lots of homework."
"Okay." I can hear the disappointment in his voice.
I do my best to shrug it off and focus on the task at hand: snooping through Mom's stuff. I walk down the narrow hallway and turn the corner into the study. It's cramped and cluttered, hardly bigger than a closet. I hop over a few boxes so I can get behind the flimsy plastic desk.
I crane my neck to examine the boxes on the upper shelves of the bookcase. If I know my mother at all, which admittedly is questionable, she'd store our family's dirty laundry in the most inaccessible place.
Standing on the computer chair, I reach for one of the cardboard boxes filled with manila folders. The chair swivels under my feet. As I stretch my fingers out, grasping for the box, I lose my balance and manage to knock two of the boxes and some books to the floor.
I fall off the chair with a thud and press my palms into the worn carpet to break my fall. My wrists burn and I see papers scattered all over the carpet. Fuck.
"Taylor?"
I look up and see Rob standing in front of me. Double fuck.
He's clutching his video game controller to his chest and his mouth gapes open. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, sorry about the noise." I wave my hands in the direction of the scattered papers. "I lost my balance."
He narrows his eyes. "What are you looking for?"
I crawl on my knees and start picking up the papers and shoving them randomly back into the boxes. So much for Mom's organized study. One of the papers catches my eye. It's an old report card of mine from fourth grade. I pick it up and run my fingers over the thin paper. I'm surprised she saved it.
"Taylor," Rob says, his voice escalating in volume. "Why are you going through Mom's things?"
I hold up my old report card. "Oh, sorry. I, uh, was looking for some old stuff of mine from school. You know, for college applications."
"Why do you keep saying sorry?" He passes the video game controller to his left hand and runs his right hand through his blond wavy hair. He always touches his hair when he's nervous or uncomfortable.
I do my best to brighten my face. "Because I scared you."
He gives me a toothy grin. "You didn't scare me."
I force myself to smile. "Hey, you wanna go back upstairs?"
He frowns. "I can't help you look?"
"I think Mom would be mad if I let you play around in here."
He juts out his lower lip. "I wouldn't be playing, I'd be helping you."
"I know, but she doesn't want you in here."
He sighs. "Fine."
As he walks away, I say, "Hey, Rob?"
"Yeah?"
"Can you do me a favor?"
"Depends. What is it?"
"Don't tell Mom I was in here."
"So it's like a secret?" he asks excitedly.
"Yeah, our secret."
"Cool. Come up and play later?"
I bob my head enthusiastically. It hurts my neck. I'm not used to moving it so fast. "For sure." Once he's gone, I go back to picking up the papers. I find all sorts of things. Old birthday cards, bills, credit reports. I would say there's no rhyme or reason to the way things are ordered, but I probably destroyed the organizational system when I accidentally dumped out the boxes.
I'm about to give up hope when I come across an envelope. It's empty, but the return address catches my eye: McGreavy Correctional Facility. That must have been about my dad. McGreavy Correctional Facility, that's where he is. I'm crawling around, searching for the corresponding letter, when I hear the door open.
"Hello?" Rob bellows.
"It's me, sweetie," I hear Mom answer.
I quickly finish shoving all the loose papers back into the boxes. I'm about to try to put them on the upper shelf when I hear footsteps behind me.
"Taylor, what are you doing in here?"
I turn and face my mom. She's dressed in her work uniform—a red polo and pressed khaki pants. Or the khaki pants are supposed to be pressed. Hers are a bit wrinkled and beginning to fray. I notice that her shoes are old and scuffed. Maybe once I'm gone and there's one less kid to worry about, she'll be able to cut back on her hours. Or at least afford to buy herself some new shoes.
"Looking for something for my college applications."
The look on my mom's face shreds my insides. It's warm and full of hopeful surprise. "Really?"
"Yeah, I needed to check to see if I got an A or B in freshman bio." Her mouth pulls into a thin line like she isn't quite convinced, so I continue, "You know, because that, my grades, they'll determine what schools I apply to."
                          
She looks hard at me and brings her fingers to her lips. "Isn't there someone at your school who can help you with that?"
"Yeah, but I was too curious to wait." The lie makes my tongue feel thick as I watch Mom's face brighten all over again.
"Well, did you find what you were looking for?" She eyes the boxes like she knows their contents are all mixed up.
"Yup." I step in front of them to try to block her view. "Sorry for getting them down. I'll put the boxes back on the shelf."
She shakes her head. "No. You could hurt yourself. I'll have Steve put them back when he gets home."
She hovers in the doorway and I can tell she's waiting for me to walk out with her. I move to join her in the hallway and she flicks off the light in the study. We walk in silence to the kitchen and then I excuse myself to go upstairs.
                          
Once I'm in my room, I flop on the bed and try to erase the image of my mom's bright, hopeful face from my mind. Pulling the comforter over my head, I sink down into the mattress. I place my hands on my stomach and urge the black slug to remind me that Mom will be better off when I'm gone. Safer. That what'll happen on April 7 is the best thing for her in the end.
How it's the best thing for everyone. Especially me.