Page 7 of Marked

I glance over at the binder and pull it toward me. Dad’s been gone for twelve years now; why does she still have all this?

I tab through each category; Medical, Funeral, Credit Cards, Blackwood, Pension.

Blackwood? What the hell is that?

“Here we go.” She breezes back in with her checkbook and pen in hand. Moving the binder away from me, she sits back down and fills out the form in silence. I eye the binder.

“Dad didn’t have life insurance?” I ask, noticing there’s no tab for it.

She looks up after scribbling her signature on the form. “Hmm?”

“You have nothing for life insurance.” I point to the binder.

“Oh, it’s there.” She reaches over and closes the binder, pushing the form at me. “You’ll send it tonight?”

“Yep.” I push my chair back, ready to get home. There’re too many memories here of a past I can’t outrun.

“You’re not staying for dinner?” She frowns.

I roll my shoulders back and look her in the eyes.

Be firm.

Be direct.

“No, Mom. But thanks for the offer.”

“But I’m making macaroni and cheese with hot dogs.” She points to the package sitting on the counter.

“Mom.” I soften my tone. “I don’t like hot dogs.”

Her eyes pierce me for a long moment. “Yes, you do. You used to beg me to make them all the time.”

“No, Mom.” I shake my head. “That wasn’t me.” I almost whisper the last bit.

We don’t directly address the elephant that lives in this house. It’s a delicate dance of scooting around without disturbing it, for fear of the thick tusks goring us in the ass.

The silence lengthens, gets heavier as she continues to stare at me. I pick up the cans of black beans and bring them to the pantry, placing them next to the Great Northern beans. She likes things grouped by category in her pantry.

“Oh. That’s right.” She grabs the hot dogs and opens the fridge, ready to chuck them inside.

“Mom, wait.” I stop her, pushing the elephant further out of the room. “Dinner sounds good, actually. It’s been a long time since I’ve tried macaroni and cheese with hot dogs. I bet it’s better than I remember.” I put on a smile, hoping it looks genuine and warm.

She’s been through so much, had so much taken from her. It won’t hurt me to give her this. It’s just dinner after all.

She gave up so much for me.

It’s the least I can do.

“Great. I’ll get them on the stove.” She practically beams with joy, and closes the fridge.

I sit back in my chair, watching Mom cook my sister’s favorite meal. I’ll hate it, just as much I did when we were little. But my mother did the unthinkable for me. I can shovel this meal down if it makes her happy.

The elephant disappears, and it’s just the two of us now.

As it’s been since Quinn’s murder.

Even after eleven years, I still feel it to my bones. The blame, the guilt, the regret. It’s soaked into my soul and there’s no getting it out.

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