Page 10 of Average Joe

“She was.”

Mom leaned closer to the screen, crossing her arms on the table. “So I’d like to make a trip home at the end of the summer. Does that sound good?”

I forced a smile and prayed she couldn’t read my deception through the screen. “That’d be great. I miss you so much.” Last thing I wanted was a visit from my mother. Not until I had my shit together. Not until I could make her proud. “I’d kill for your mac and cheese right now.”

Mom laughed, wiping tears from her cheeks. It fucking broke me to see her hurting, knowing she couldn’t hug her only child. But she was safe, alive, and cherished by a good man.

Precisely what she deserved after dear old dad had trampled her heart and left her to raise his son.

“I’ll talk to you in a couple of days, Mom.”

“Promise?”

“Of course.”

“Love you, Joseph.” She waved, her eyes welling, face scrunching, then leaned into the camera as she severed our connection.

I stared at the black screen with laser focus, giving that inanimate object all my negative energy, drawing deep breaths until the rage subsided. Once again, I was utterly alone in the home that seemed a castle of silence, every corridor, every room, more cold, vacant, and lifeless than the last.

I lugged the sledgehammer upstairs, pulled the safety goggles over my head, and shoved my fingers back into the gloves I’d removed when Mom had called.

The spare room seemed the best place to start.

I raised the heavy tool.

With all the fury I harbored, I swung and struck, cracking the drywall, and damn, what a great feeling. Swing. Smash. Breathe. Start again. For hours, I beat the shit out of that wall, purging, until I slumped on the floor, spent, sweaty, and too damn tired to care about the shit in my head.

Joe

Dear Joseph,

I hope my letter finds you well. I understand we were not meant to communicate, but I find myself in a pickle, my dear boy, and while I’m still clear-minded enough, I must, with great urgency, get this message to you, my greatest joy, my pride, the son I never had.

Our years together were precious, weren’t they? I was tasked to care for you in your mother’s absence, but it was you, Joseph, who took care of me, without complaint, without fail. You loved me. You protected me. You did a terrible, grievous thing for that love, and though my mind is unreliable these days, my memories jumbled, at this moment, pen in hand, I must confess that I remember, at least for now, every detail of that horrid night.

You traded your life for mine. Threw away a promising future for that of a stubborn old woman. I shake now with grief, with disbelief, with gratitude. Tears of anger and shame stain this very page. I’m sorry, from the deepest wells of my soul, to have put you in such an impossible position.

I pray your father’s hooks have not burrowed so deep that you cannot shake free, because you see, dear boy, you must come home. William invades my dreams and sometimes appears when I’m awake. My husband haunts me, calling me back to his side, and my time on this earth will soon come to an end.

I’m not afraid for me, Joe, but for my roses.

Who will tend to them? I trust no one but my favorite nephew with their care. Please, and hear my words, remember to dig deep. In their soul, deep down in their very roots, treasure lies. If I could turn William’s sins into paradise, imagine the reclamation you’ll achieve with a purging of blood, sweat, and tears. Hard work is vital for grounding a lost soul.

Come home so I can wrap my arms around you again. Let me see that beautiful smile once more before I redeem my ticket to the Pearly Gates. Come home and live. Claim your life back.

All my love,

Alice

P.S. I have a new neighbor and friend, Marley Masters. She’s feisty and intelligent and watches out for me, much like the boy who saved my life. You have my permission to marry this one, Joseph Kaine.

Alice’s last communication.

My hands trembled, making reading difficult, but I skimmed the words regardless, the left tilt of her letters, the curly flair to her t’s and i’s, and the exaggerated swoop of her y’s. Alice did everything with flair.

Every time I’d refolded the pink flowery paper, I’d sworn it would be my last read-through. That letter was the reason I’d come home. Those words were likely the ramblings of an aged and well-used brain, but the Alice I knew had a purpose for everything, and my gut told me there was a hidden meaning.

Vision blurry, I stretched, rolled out of bed, and tucked the letter under my socks in the drawer before dressing to head outside. Step by measured step, I made my way to the center of the small, thorny maze, gravel crunching under the heavy soles of my boots.

---