“No—I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” my mother insists, her hand hovering over the handle of a clean pan. “I can make you something else. Let me think…” She seems more rushed than usual. I glance down the counter and see a stack of ungraded papers. They recently finished midterms at the university in town where my mother works. She is an assistant professor in their philosophy department. It was one of the few places that interviewed her after the incident. Thankfully, one of her old colleagues is tenured there and put his name on the line. One mistake and they both could lose their jobs.
“Actually, I’m on my way out.” I keep glancing at the clock, trying to appear to be in a hurry. The longer I linger around, the more questions she can throw at me.
“Out of the house?” my mother asks. She shuts off the electric kettle and wipes her hands with a dish towel.
“Just for a walk.”
“Oh … Okay. I mean, that’s good.” For the past week my mother’s been bringing meals up to my room and checking in several times a day. So I’m not surprised to hear the note of concern in her voice.
“And I’m meeting a friend.”
“Fantastic.” My mother nods. “You could use the fresh air, get some decent coffee. And it’s good to see your friends. That reminds me, have you talked to Mr. Lee at the bookstore?”
“Not yet…” I haven’t really spoken to anyone.
“You should check in with him if you can. At least let him know you’re okay. He’s left a few messages.”
“I know—”
“Some of your teachers, too.”
I grab my bag from a hook on the wall. “Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll talk to them tomorrow.”
“You mean, you’re going back to school?”
“I have to,” I say. “If I miss another week they won’t let me graduate.” Not to mention I’m behind on all my schoolwork, which keeps piling up. I really need to focus again, and pull myself together, because what else am I supposed to do? The world keeps moving, no matter what happens to you.
“Julie, don’t you worry about any of that,” my mother says. “They’ll understand if you need more time. In fact”—she holds up a finger—“let me make a call.” She turns in a circle, looking around. “Where is that thing…”
Her phone is sitting on the kitchen table. As my mother walks over to grab it, I jump in her way.
“Mom, listen, I’m fine.”
“But Julie—”
“Please.”
“Are you sure?”
“I promise I am, okay? You don’t have to call anyone.” I don’t want her to worry about me. I can deal with this on my own.
“Alright then,” my mother sighs. “If you say so.” She cups my face with her hands, running her thumbs along my cheeks, and tries to smile. The silver in her hair shines beautifully in the light. Sometimes I forget she was once blond. As we take each other in, my mother glances down. “So what’s in the box?”
I was hoping she wouldn’t notice. “It’s nothing. I was cleaning out my room.”
Without asking me, she lifts the jacket off like a lid and glances inside. It doesn’t take long for her to connect the pieces. “Oh, Julie—are you sure about this?”
“It’s really not a big deal…”
“You don’t have to get rid of everything,” she says, riffling through it. “I mean, you can always store some of it away if you want—”
“No,” I say firmly. “I don’t need any of it.”
My mother lets go of the jacket and steps back. “Alright. I won’t stop you on this.”
“I have to go. I’ll see you later.”
I leave the house through the garage door. Down by the curb, I drop the box of Sam’s things beside the mailbox and recycling bin. It hits the ground with a clatter like change and bones. The sleeve of his jacket hangs limply over the side of the box like the arm of a ghost. I straighten my shirt and begin my morning walk toward town, letting the sun warm me up for the first time in days.
Halfway down the block, a breeze rolls leaves across my path as I pause on the sidewalk, struck with a strange thought. If I were to turn around, would he be standing there holding his jacket, staring down at the rest of his things? I imagine the look on his face, and even wonder what he might say, as I cross the street and continue down the block without once looking back.