Page 20 of The Way the Heart Breaks: Jade’s Story

Week Four / After

Mom is still sleeping all the time. Not just tired. Gone. Like, not even really here. I think that’s all I do, too.

I wake up to voices. Not normal ones. Sharp. Breaking. I sit up before I even know I’m doing it.

The hallway light creeps in through my door, which isn’t shut completely.

Mom’s voice cuts through the house. “How can you say you love me?” I freeze. “I killed them!” My chest tightens. “I killed your sons! I killed Jade’s brothers!”

“No—” Dad tries, his voice low, shaking.

“I wish I were dead too!” she screams over him. “Just let me go, Jack! Let me go or let me sleep and never wake up!”

Something in me snaps, and I’m out of bed before I can think. I run down the hall, barefoot, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it’s in my throat.

“Stop!” I shout, pushing into their room.

They both turn. Mom looks… wild. Broken in a way I’ve never seen before. Dad looks like he’s trying to hold the whole world together with just his hands, which are cupping each side of her face.

“It was an accident,” I say, my voice shaking but loud. “You didn’t kill them.” She stares at me like she doesn’t recognize me. “You didn’t kill them,” I say again, stepping closer. “You can’t go. You can’t leave.” My voice breaks. “I’m still here. I’m right here, and I need you!” I say. “We need you.” The words come fast now, as if I don’t say them all at once, she’ll be gone too. “We’re so lucky to be alive,” I’m crying now. “They would want us to remember that. They would want us to live!”

Everything goes quiet except for the three of us breathing. Too loud. Too fast. Mom’s face crumples. Just collapsing in on itself. Her body starts shaking again. Silently, she sobs.

I step forward and wrap my arms around her. Dad’s right there, too. The three of us are standing there holding on to one another. Like if we let go, everything else will disappear.

Song: Time After Time

Thanksgiving / After

The house smells like food again. Not the frozen kind stacked in the freezer. Fresh food, cooked in our kitchen, not by Mom, but still, it’s progress.

Aunt Maggie, Molly, Tessa, and Kendall have been here with me since seven this morning. Uncle Jack, Alex, Troy, and Jake tried to get Dad to go hunting, but he couldn’t. It was his thing with Jason and Jasper, so I get it. I haven’t eaten pizza, ice cream, or gone to the woods. I haven’t been able to walk into their room since their funeral, afraid it will upset Mom, who hasn’t been in at all— well, not that I know of anyway.

Dad stands in the kitchen like he forgot what hands are for, eyes shifting to Mom, checking on her. She’s been making an effort since the night I lost it. She still sleeps most of the time, her ribs still hurt, and her medicine makes her tired. I think it helps that I go to Uncle John and Aunt Maggie’s. She and Dad can … I don’t know what they can do; maybe she just cries, maybe they both do, but she’s trying.

She’s dressed. Hair brushed. She’s wearing a sweater I haven’t seen since before. It hangs on her a little differently now. Looser. Like she’s not full inside of it. She will be one day; I know she will.

She doesn’t say much. Just moves where Dad guides her and stares at the table. I watch her the whole time without meaning to. Like if I look away, she’ll disappear upstairs.

Then I realize what she’s looking at. I set the table for too many people. Too many plates. Too many forks. Too many glasses. Two too many.

I stand there staring until Aunt Maggie gently takes two settings away. She doesn’t say anything. Just does it quickly. Quiet. Like no one noticed I messed up. Everyone does. They sit down anyway. So do I, trying not to cry.

The chairs scrape too loudly against the floor. No one talks at first. Dad says the same prayer he and Uncle John say every year.

“Bless, O Lord, this food to our use, and us to thy service, and keep us ever mindful of the needs of others. In Jesus' Name, Amen.”

Mom looks at the table and doesn’t say Amen.

Tessa passes the potatoes. “Your favorite.”

Each bite taken tastes like a crumb of normalcy. I’ll take that.

“Pass the potatoes, please.” … “Careful, it’s hot.” … “Did you see the weather?”

Inside these walls, it feels like a show, and the two main characters are missing. Everyone is fighting to fill their lines. No one ever will.

Mom keeps her eyes on her plate. She still hasn’t touched anything.