Page 12 of Property of Chaos

I navigate down to my one and only friend in this shithole’s number and type out a quick text.

Takeout and whiskey? I need your help—urgently. Love you. Thanks.

Given how far out of town I live, she'll have to bring the takeout, but I’ll pay her back when she gets here.

My lifeline responds promptly.

Chinese and red wine or no deal. I’ll be there in thirty. Mwah.

I let loose a sigh and smooth my hands over the wrinkled pages.

I would have known.But then, it’s been years since I’ve heard her voice. Maybe these papers are correct? Even so, it doesn’t give him reason to accuse me of being at fault.

What the fuck does he think I did?

What the hell could I have done to give my mother cancer?

I force myself to start a new salami stick as I make my way to the spare bedroom. Afternoon light filters through the windows, touching the prism hanging in the center of the middle pane. A kaleidoscope of color sprinkles across the floor, turning the sky blue comforter on the spare bed shades of purple and green where it touches the fabric.

I take a deep breath and shove the last of the meat in my mouth as I move toward the armoire. My palms slick, and my breaths feel inadequate as I set my hands on the brass handles and tug.

The lone box stares back at me. A predator ready to strike.

It’s okay, Ness. It’s just paper. A bunch of paper with printed letters of the alphabet and colorful pictures.

It’s the box I shove my nightmares into.

With shaky hands, I pull it off the top shelf and then sit it on the bed behind me. I put these things in here for just such emergencies, and yet, opening this lid feels akin to opening Pandora’s box: I can’t be sure of what evils I’ll let loose.

On myself, my mind, and the world.

Stop being so dramatic and find what you need.I flick the lid off the top using the backside of my index fingernail. I half expect snakes and cockroaches to crawl out, but all that lies before me is a stack of papers, with photographs safely tucked inside a thick envelope to avoid accidentally seeinghisface.

I gingerly push the redundant memories aside and pluck out what I need. My aunt’s number.

At least, what I hope is still her number. It’s been eighteen years since she scrawled it on a torn-off piece of a cereal box and shoved it in my young hand, making me promise never to lethimsee. “In case you need a friend,” she’d said.

Turns out, I’d needed many.

I hastily reseal the rest of the nightmares and shove the box back where it belongs, slamming the armoire doors closed. Dusk progresses as I carry the scrap of colorful cardboard through my house and then pace the polished floorboards between my kitchen and living room while I try to figure out the best way to go about this bullshit. I need clarity, but I also need to stay hidden. He wants me to reveal myself, to put myself in arm’s reach again, and I’m not willing to do that. No matter how badly I need the truth.

I end up lying on the teal rug between my mismatched armchairs, card held over my head while I practice what I’d say to my aunt—if I can muster up the courage to call.“Oh, hey. Not sure if you still want to help me or if you’re still untouched byhisinfluence, but can you tell me? Is my mother dead?”

I’m onto my sixth rehearsal of the best line I can conjure up when my best friend arrives, letting herself in and immediately cursing Murphy when he hisses at her.

“Swear to God, I have no idea why this asshole hates me so much. I’d never seen the damn cat until you found him here.”

I click my fingers, summoning the furry overlord. “He can sense dog people. I’m sure of it.”

“Sure.” She huffs out her nose. “Doug won’t let me have a dog. So this little fucker hates me preemptively.”

“He’s clairvoyant,” I tease. “Knows you’ll have one in the future.”

She shakes her head, setting a Chinese bag on the kitchen counter. The clink of a wine bottle follows. “What’s going on, Ness?”

“Nuh-uh.” I slip the phone number beneath a chair. “Tell me about your week first. Close any big deals?”

“Well,” Marianna says with a slight smile. “I may have sold the farm across the road.”

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