Never Come Back

Chapter Twenty-seven

Ronnie lay with a sheet pulled up to his chin, his eyes closed. I stood and watched him sleep, his chest gently rising and falling with each breath. The air made a soft whistling sound as it passed in and out of his nostrils. He looked peaceful.

I thought about the new will and my guardianship of Ronnie. If all this ended the right way—when it all ended the right way—and Ronnie was released, he would be in my care. He needed a place to live, structure, and stability. My graduate school life provided none of those things. Still, my mind ran through the possibilities. I could schedule my classes and teaching for a few days a week and stay home with Ronnie on the others. With Paul’s help and understanding from my professors…

But then, when I graduated? When I went looking for a job, one that might send me anywhere in the country to teach? I had refused to promise Mom for the very same reason. I wanted a career, a life. I didn’t see how the two went together.

Ronnie’s eyes fluttered open. He blinked against the light from the bedside lamp, then looked over and saw me.

“Hi, Ronnie.”

He smiled. “Hi, sis.”

I went to the side of his bed and sat down. I ran my hand over his arm, which was still beneath the sheet. I remembered when Dad was first in the hospital. Nothing makes a person seem more vulnerable and weak than being wrapped up in a hospital bed.

“How are you?” I asked. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m okay,” he said.

He seemed less morose than he had before. I couldn’t be sure how much of that had to do with whatever drugs they were giving him to even out his moods.

“Are you getting enough to eat?” I asked. “Shoot. I should have stopped and got you a sandwich or something. Do you want me to go out and do that?”

“I ate my dinner here,” he said. “Not too bad.”

“Good.”

Then he said, “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

His words hit me in the chest, as if someone had taken a two-by-four and whacked me there. I struggled for air. “I know, Ronnie.”

“I miss home,” he said. “I miss Mom.”

“I know,” I said. “I do too.” I rushed to speak before he could say anything else that would break my heart. “Look, I’ll talk to the doctor in a minute. I’ll find out what’s going on. You’ll probably just have to stay here a little longer.”

“That’s what Paul said. He wouldn’t take me home either.”

My brother didn’t sound angry or emotional. Just resigned. I think the resignation in his voice, the defeat, made it even worse. I decided to change the subject as fast as possible.

“You know what I found today?” I asked, trying to sound chipper. To my own ears, my voice sounded high-pitched and a little crazy, laced with false cheer. I might have found myself on the receiving end of a visit from the men in white coats. “Do you remember Peppy?”

Ronnie’s face brightened a little. “Of course,” he said.

Peppy was a white poodle. Someone Dad knew had found him abandoned on the interstate when he was just a puppy. This person asked Dad if he’d like to take the dog, since he knew Dad had two kids. Peppy lived with us for more than ten years, until he had to be put to sleep when I was in high school.

“Do you remember that picture Mom took of him?” I asked. “The one where he’s wearing the Santa hat?”

Ronnie nodded. “He used to jump on us in the yard when we came home from school. Every day he came running out to us.”

“Mom let him out so he could do that,” I said.

“He used to sleep in my bed sometimes,” Ronnie said.

“Sometimes? He slept in your bed all the time. He wouldn’t sleep with anyone else.”

“I know.”

“You know? Then why did you say sometimes?”

He tried to suppress a grin. “I didn’t want you to feel bad.”

I laughed at his slyness. “I was mad then. I wanted him to be my dog, but he was yours. He lived with the whole family, but he loved you the most. He was your dog.”

“He went to Indiana Beach with us,” Ronnie said.

“That’s right.”

We’d rarely taken vacations when I was growing up. We weren’t poor by any means, but we didn’t have an excess of anything. And Ronnie’s extra schooling and medical bills took a bite out of the family budget. In fact, Mom didn’t have any real sense of financial security until Dad died and she collected on his life insurance policy.

But one summer when I was eight, the vacation bug bit my parents. All four of us piled into Dad’s Ford Taurus and we drove across the state line to Indiana Beach, a cheesy, family-friendly resort area someone had built on the shore of a man-made lake in west central Indiana. We spent five days there, going on the rides on the boardwalk and swimming in the small roped-off enclosure they’d made for kids in the lake. I could still smell the cotton candy and the popcorn, the elephant ears and the hot dogs they grilled along the midway. Ronnie loved it. We all loved it, but for some reason we never went back.

“Peppy got carsick,” Ronnie said. “He puked in the backseat.”

“He did. That’s right.” It didn’t sound like fun, riding down the interstate in a hot car with a puddle of dog puke at my feet, but I couldn’t think of it any other way. “Dad was furious,” I said.

“He said he didn’t want to bring Peppy in the first place.”

I laughed. “Oh, my God.” I closed my eyes and the memories were all right there, as vivid as anything on a movie screen. Dad in his Ohio State baseball cap. Mom in her sunglasses. The green car, the passing scenery, the fishy smell of the lake. I closed my eyes tight, squeezing off tears.

Something touched my arm. It was Ronnie, reaching out for me. “It’s okay, sis,” he said. “It’s okay.”

“Thanks, Ronnie.” We clasped hands. His skin was warm and a little clammy from being tucked inside the sheet, but I didn’t mind. We held on to each other, and I gathered myself.

“You’re welcome, sis.”

“I wanted to ask you about something else,” I said.

I bent down to my purse and took out the photo. Ronnie and Mom and the two mystery children weren’t at Indiana Beach in the picture. I had no idea where they were standing, and I was counting on my brother to straighten it out. I handed the photo to him.

“Ronnie, who are these kids in the picture with you?” I asked.

He took the photo, and his brow creased. “You took this from my room,” he said.

“Yes, I did, Ronnie.”

“Why?”

“I’m trying to find some things out about Mom. I had to go in there.” He didn’t look mollified, but I pressed on. “So, who are these two little kids with you and Mom?”

“You know them,” he said.

“No, I don’t. I’ve never seen them before.”

“They’re our cousins. That’s what Mom said.”

“Cousins?” I leaned forward and looked at the photo again. We didn’t have any cousins. Dad was an only child. Paul had no children. We were it, the whole generation. “I don’t think that’s right.”

“Mom said.”

“I heard you. Do they live in Dover?”

Ronnie shrugged.

“What are their names?”

Ronnie thought for a minute, then pointed at the children one by one. “That’s Skylar. And that’s…” He scrunched his face in concentration. “Vanessa.”

“And their mom or dad? Did you meet them? Who are they?”

“The police think I hurt Mom,” Ronnie said.

“I know. They told me all about it.”

Ronnie didn’t say anything else. He lay there, still holding the photo. He stared up at the dingy gray drop ceiling.

“Ronnie, you didn’t hurt Mom, did you?”

He took his sweet time answering me. I let him have all the time he wanted. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer. It disturbed me more than anything that I wasn’t sure what the answer would be.

Finally he said, “I got mad at her. Really mad.”

“You mean the time the police came? The fishing trip with Paul?”

It took me a moment to realize that Ronnie was shaking his head, ever so slightly. No, he was saying. Not that time.

Had there been another time?

“What happened, Ronnie?” I asked, keeping my voice low. I had no idea who might be lingering in the hallway outside his room.

“She didn’t want me to go to speech therapy,” he said.

“Again?”

“Yes.”

“When was this?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t remember.”

“Ronnie, this is important. Was this before the police came that time or after?”

“I’m tired, sis. Tired.”

“I know. Just answer that question.”

But he turned away. He tucked the photo against his chest and rolled over, turning his back to me.

“Ronnie? Are you going to answer me?”

Silence. He’d totally withdrawn. I asked one more question, but he didn’t answer that one either.

“Ronnie?” I said. “Who is Elizabeth Yarbrough?”

I wandered down the hallway and out to the parking lot, lost in my own thoughts. The sodium vapor lights were coming on, casting the lot in an artificial glow. I pulled my keys out and heard my name called.

“Elizabeth. Hey.”

I turned. It was Janie. She was wearing her scrubs under a lightweight jacket. She was carrying a canvas tote bag that looked like it was holding a brick.

“Hi,” I said.

Janie came over. “How’s Ronnie doing today?” she asked.

“He has moods. Sometimes he doesn’t like to talk.”

“I’ve noticed that,” Janie said. “He’s probably overwhelmed.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you heading out?” Janie asked. “Or home? I just got off, and if you want to get coffee or something…”

I looked at my car. Then I looked at the darkening sky. What waited for me in my apartment? Ungraded essays?

“If you’re busy…” Janie said.

“I think there’s a Starbucks across the street,” I said.

We settled with our drinks. The place was half full. Teenagers laughed at one table. An elderly man worked a crossword puzzle next to us. A family of four occupied another table. They seemed to be trying to set a world record for looking wholesome and happy.

Janie wore her hair piled on top of her head. I noticed that she used a number two pencil to hold it in place. She seemed the same as in high school—an open book. No secrets. No dodging or sugarcoating. She explained how she’d stayed in Dover after high school and attended Dalton for her nursing degree.

“It took me an extra year and a half,” she said.

“Were you paying your own way?” I asked.

“No. I had too much fun when I was a freshman,” she said. “I partied. I didn’t go to class. You know, the usual.”

“Sure.”

“I was a student nurse at a local general practitioner’s office. One of my professors came in and saw me there. The poor guy. He probably thought to himself, ‘How is this dummy who couldn’t come to class going to check my blood pressure?’ I couldn’t blame him for thinking that.”

“But you have your act together now,” I said.

“Well enough.” She sipped her drink. “You seem to be doing well. That’s no surprise. I always thought you’d be the type to study abroad or go to grad school. I figured you’d be living in New York or someplace like that.”

“Not yet.”

“Did you come back for your mom and Ronnie?” Janie asked.

“No, it just worked out that way. I got an assistantship here. It’s a good program. I’m going to move on after I get my master’s.” As I said the words, I realized that I wasn’t sure I believed them anymore. Could I move on? What about Ronnie? What about all of it?

“I saw your dad died too. In the obituary. I’m sorry. I remember he was sick when we were in high school.”

“The cancer came back when I was in college.”

“Shit,” Janie said. “Fuck cancer. You know?”

I had to laugh. It reminded me of the stupid things we used to say when we were seventeen. Fuck cancer. Yes. Fuck it.

“Are you married?” I asked.

She held up her left hand. No rings. “Most people we went to high school with are married. And have babies. I’m in no hurry for that.” She made a dismissive wave with her hand. “I have a boyfriend. We’ve been seeing each other for six months, but who knows? He’s nice. What about you?”

“Single,” I said. “Well, there’s a guy. It’s casual. Off and on. He’s nice. A good guy. Too good sometimes, you know?”

“A good boy?” she said.

“A loyal pup,” I said. “I’m lucky. He treats me well. But it’s hard with school and trying to focus on a career. And now my family.”

“You used to say you didn’t want to have kids.”

“I know,” I said. “I still feel that way.”

“You’ve got time to decide,” Janie said. “We can have kids when we’re in our thirties.”

“That sounds so old. Thirties.”

Janie laughed, and I did too.

I said, “I just looked at Ronnie when we were growing up, you know? My parents had him, and they were… I don’t know, trapped, I guess. I didn’t want to be trapped. By anyone. I wanted to have a career and get away from Dover.” Janie was listening intently. “Not that there’s anything wrong with staying here.”

“I get it,” she said. “I still think I might move away. I can go anywhere and get a job as a nurse. I can make good money. There are shortages of nurses in some places. I could name my price.”

“Better than being a history professor,” I said.

Janie smiled. “I do like it here, though. It’s home. There are memories.” She rolled her eyes. “My parents are here. My sister.” She looked at me. “I’m sorry. I hope that didn’t upset you. I’m saying, ‘My parents are here and it’s great.’ And you just lost your—”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I understand.”

The family across the way laughed together. I remembered Janie’s house. It was small and warm, and her mother always hugged me when I came and went. So unlike my mom. And so unlike my family.

I’d said I understood, but I didn’t. I really didn’t understand that kind of life at all.