On Sunday, the last day of the estate sale, Denice tells me to scram because I\u2019m killing sales. I remind her I need to approve all purchases and she says for God\u2019s sake, Dustin, I know you\u2019ve been through a lot but it\u2019s time to stop acting like a housewife and start acting like a normal man your age, the kind who goes on to college and lets his mother live her life in peace. I stare her down but not too hard because she could literally scratch my eyes out with her purple nails.<\/p>\n
A mother-daughter duo walks in, fresh from church, and Denice tells them everything\u2019s half-price. Their eyes dart toward the big draw, Mom\u2019s 2.5-carat diamond engagement ring. It\u2019s locked in a little glass box and sits in the middle of Denice\u2019s command center, a fancy leather topped card table. Due to the ring having \u201czero\u201d sentimental value (even though she wore it for almost ten years while she and Dad were still married)\u00a0Mom gave Denice permission to go even more than half-price if needed.<\/p>\n
The ladies head toward the kitchen and when I follow them Denice raises her ridiculous penciled-on eyebrows at me. I tell her I need a snack and she goes Jesus H. Christ<\/em> because she told me to remove all the food in the house. I slide into the pantry and pretend I\u2019m looking for something but really, I\u2019m making sure all the cans are facing the same way while spying on the ladies. The daughter pulls Mom\u2019s rolling pin out of a drawer, holding the handle with two fingers.<\/p>\n \u201cHon, that\u2019s nasty,\u201d the mother says. \u201cPut it back.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThey\u2019re just little leftover bits of biscuit,\u201d I say, stepping out of the pantry.<\/p>\n \u201cWho are you?\u201d the daughter says, startled.<\/p>\n \u201cThis is my house. Mom used that to make homemade biscuits for me and my brother. Back in the day.\u201d I take the pin from her, fleck the bits off with my thumbnail, and slip it back into its drawer.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy are you even here?\u201d the daughter says. \u201cFamily members aren\u2019t supposed to be at estate sales.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s what I keep telling him but he won\u2019t listen,\u201d Denice pipes up from the living room. \u201cBelieve me, he won\u2019t listen to anyone.\u201d The women stare at me, frowning.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m the only one left,\u201d I whisper so Denice can\u2019t hear. Their frowns soften.<\/p>\n \u201cThe only one in your whole family?\u201d the daughter says and I nod.<\/p>\n \u201cDayum, that\u2019s sad, dude. You\u2019re, like, young.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, nineteen,\u201d I say, keeping my voice low. Denice appears at the kitchen door. The whispering raised her antennae.<\/p>\n \u201cDustin, please come back to the living room and stop hovering over these ladies,\u201d she says. I feel like shoving the old bag out of the kitchen but then again, the nails.<\/p>\n \u201cYou said you wouldn\u2019t leave the ring unattended, Denice,\u201d I say, crossing my arms. \u201cAnyone could walk in and take it.\u201d The front screen door screeches open and Denice\u2019s thighs, encased in dark brown pantyhose, zig zag as she races away.<\/p>\n \u201cMom, what do you think?\u201d the daughter says, picking up a Christmas tree-shaped cookie cutter.<\/p>\n \u201cThink about what, sweetie?\u201d the mother says, her eyes on me. I give her my good grin, the one where I keep my lips closed so you can\u2019t see how crooked my teeth are due to the fact I never wore my retainer after Jake died. The daughter hands her the cutter.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know, look how rusty it is around the edges,\u201d the mother says. \u201cI\u2019ve got an extra one like this you can have.\u201d She puts the cutter in my hand, wrapping my fingers around it. I wonder if she arranged the flowers at church that morning because she smells like those lilies at funerals. She tightens her hand around mine and the metal bites the soft spot in my palm but I don\u2019t tell her because I\u2019m so glad she doesn\u2019t want to buy it.<\/p>\n \u201cSon, you want to keep this, don\u2019t you? I bet your mom used it to make her holiday cookies.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, but she and my brother were super close and after he died Christmas was just another day to her,\u201d I say. \u201cShe stopped making cookies, stopped buying presents, everything. Now she\u2019s living in Florida with one of her friends until she sells this place, our childhood home<\/em>.\u201d The mother pulls me closer and the cutter is really pressing into me. I shift a little so it doesn\u2019t slice right into my hand and give me tetanus.<\/p>\n \u201cI thought, well, maybe I misunderstood. I thought your mom was dead, too. Do you have a dad?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDad\u2019s dead.\u201d This isn\u2019t exactly true. He\u2019s dead to Mom, for sure, because he left her for a lady he met at the gym when Jake and I were twelve. Mom battled him tooth and nail for full custody and went back to school to be a nurse. He and the lady got married and moved to Hilton Head where they live the good life. Ever since Jake died Dad\u2019s been in touch more, calling every week to check in. I tell him the important stuff I\u2019m doing to fix up the house like replacing the toilet seats that used to slide every time you sat down. But all he wants to talk about is my lunatic therapist, Dr. French. I don\u2019t tell him I stopped going to Dr. French because of the way he got all personal with me, asking inappropriate stuff like how many times a day I wash my hands.<\/p>\n \u201cGosh, that\u2019s terrible,\u201d the mother says. \u201cSo your dad\u2019s dead and your brother, too? How\u2019d your brother die?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe fell off a houseboat the night we all graduated from high school and no one noticed until the next morning.\u201d The daughter whips around to look at me.<\/p>\n \u201cWait. Are you Jake Wright\u2019s twin? You don\u2019t look like him at all, no offense. I was a freshman when that happened. Didn\u2019t he have a football scholarship to Clemson?\u201d I nod and for the millionth time picture him falling off that boat and going down, down, down into the dark water. The police said his feet got tangled in seaweed, and when I pointed out it was a lake and not an ocean they looked at me strange and said it didn\u2019t matter, both have it. He was drunk and they said it was probably peaceful, something I never believed. I\u2019m sure the water sobered him up and he fought to the end, just like he did any time people called me a freakazoid.<\/p>\n The daughter shakes her head and says, man, that\u2019s sad, then roots around in a bottom cabinet and finds the crockpot. Some friend of Mom\u2019s left it on the front porch, full of warm chili, the night of Jake\u2019s funeral. I ate all of it because Mom couldn\u2019t force down even a spoonful of food. For months afterwards she turned down shifts at the hospital and lived on the sofa under her checkered afghan watching the Weather Channel. All the fight she had in her after Dad left us disappeared, just poof<\/em>, so I put off community college and took charge of the house. The first thing I did was return all the empty Tupperware and Pyrex casserole dishes to neighbors who brought us food. I couldn\u2019t remember who brought the crockpot, so I hid it way back in the cabinet.<\/p>\n \u201cYou need a crockpot? You can have it for ten dollars,\u201d Denice says, appearing in the doorway as some people walk down the hall toward the bedrooms.<\/p>\n \u201cGod, Denice, the ring!\u201d I say, my temples pounding.<\/p>\n \u201cDustin, estate sales don\u2019t run themselves you know.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s all be nice here,\u201d the mother says to Denice, touching my forearm. I\u2019m glad to have her little warm hand on me again. \u201cAfter all, this young man has lost his entire family.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLost his entire family? Is that what he told you?\u201d Denice says with a smirk. \u201cHe\u2019s been through a lot, I\u2019ll give him that, but the truth is his mother would still be here if he\u2019d just try harder to get his you-know-what together.\u201d<\/p>\n Denice turns to go down the hall and the mother squeezes my arm, her fingers a little shaky. I want to tell her that during the Weather Channel phase I took care of everything while Mom lusted after Jim Cantore, especially during hurricane season when he was at his peak manliness. After the hurricanes died down she got a little of her old fight back, dressing and going out again. But then she tried to take over the cooking and cleaning, telling me I was obsessive<\/em>, especially when it came to the cleaning. I ignored her, gently explaining she was still in shock over Jake and she threw a huge fit, saying she couldn\u2019t take it anymore. A week later she declared she was going to sell the house and move to Florida. I\u2019m about to tell the mother all this, feeling she\u2019d understand, when Denice flies into the kitchen, her face scarlet.<\/p>\n \u201cThe ring\u2019s gone,\u201d she says in a low, warbly voice.<\/p>\n \u201cDamn it, Denice! Did I or did I not specifically say you shouldn\u2019t ever leave it alone?\u201d I say, pissed.<\/p>\n \u201cDustin, let\u2019s stay focused. We have to check every bag, every purse,\u201d she hisses before giving the ladies the eagle eye. The mother opens her pocketbook, and the daughter lifts the lid of the crockpot to show they don\u2019t have it.<\/p>\n \u201cOkay, good. Now Dustin, there\u2019s a hippy family in Jake\u2019s room,\u201d she whispers. \u201cGo shake them down while I lock all the doors.\u201d I find two little girls jumping up and down on Jake\u2019s twin beds. A man in a ponytail and a woman in a long, flowery dress are examining Jake\u2019s Carhartt ballcap.<\/p>\n \u201cHey, now, we don\u2019t allow people to jump on the beds,\u201d I say to the girls, fighting the urge to push them off and straighten the bedspreads.<\/p>\n \u201cWe do it at home all the time,\u201d says one, her bangs plastered to her wet forehead. The room reeks of sweat and patchouli.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy is your tummy so big?\u201d the other girl says with a chortle. She\u2019s wearing a unicorn backpack that bounces with each jump.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s not, uh\u2026 well, anyway. Hey, let\u2019s get down now, girls,\u201d I say, smoothing my t-shirt over my belly, but they just keep going. Ponytail asks how much the cap is.<\/p>\n \u201cNow that\u2019s not for sale. I\u2019m not even sure why it\u2019s out,\u201d I say, taking it from the guy and putting it back in Jake\u2019s dresser where it belongs. \u201cOkay, look everyone, we have a problem,\u201d I tell them. \u201cDid you see the ring when you came in?\u201d<\/p>\n Pretty, pretty,<\/em> chant the girls as they jump.<\/p>\n \u201cWe saw it,\u201d says the woman. \u201cWe\u2019re not into material things like that.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOkay, fair enough, but the thing is, we can\u2019t let anyone out of the house until it shows up.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo one can\u2019t hold us against our will, right, Mama?\u201d says Ponytail to the woman. Yeah<\/em>, say the bouncy girls, and Mama nods and says yeah<\/em>, a smile creeping across her face. I can tell these people don\u2019t like to be harnessed.<\/p>\n \u201cTurn it over or I\u2019ll call the police,\u201d says Denice, showing up with the mother and daughter in tow.<\/p>\n \u201cTurn it over or I\u2019ll call the police,\u201d I say to Denice, lowering my voice an octave. I point at a denim bag hanging on Mama\u2019s flowery shoulder. \u201cWhat\u2019s in there?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNone of your friggin\u2019 business,\u201d Mama says. The girls shriek with laughter and bounce faster. I\u2019m mad now. These people are not<\/em> taking Mom\u2019s ring.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll need you to open up your bag,\u201d I say. The room is like a sauna with so many people in it and the armpits of my t-shirt start bunching up with sweat. Mama pulls the purse to her chest and the girl with the backpack bellows leave our Mama alone, Mister Tummy<\/em>!<\/p>\n \u201cUm, er, Mama, let me see in your bag\u2026\u201d I say. I reach for it and as I do she spins away from me. It rips open but no ring. A couple of apples drop out and roll across the floor.<\/p>\n \u201cOur snack!\u201d The girls jump off the beds with a thump to grab the apples.<\/p>\n \u201cNow look what you did, big guy,\u201d says Ponytail, agitated. \u201cTore Mama\u2019s purse! You gonna pay for that?\u201d They\u2019re staring at me and I feel like yanking them up by their greasy scalps and dragging them out the front door.<\/p>\n \u201cAll of you, OUT!\u201d I hear myself yell. \u201cThat includes you, Denice. Especially<\/em> you!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou better get my card table back to me,\u201d she snarls, all Edward Scissorhands.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll get it to you when I\u2019m good and ready,\u201d I snarl back, ready to snap all ten of her nails. The mother and daughter quickly pull out in a Subaru station wagon and Ponytail, Mama, and the girls race to a tan Dodge Caravan. As the girl with the unicorn backpack climbs in I notice a square bulge. The ring!<\/em> I gallop toward them but it\u2019s like a dream where I\u2019m in slow motion, my legs heavy, like Jake in the seaweed. I break into a slow run and when I get to the van Ponytail shoves me.<\/p>\n \u201cYou going to reimburse us for Mama\u2019s bag, Mr. Tummy? Beat it, or we\u2019ll<\/em> be the ones calling the police.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDude, your kid has the ring!\u201d I shout, frantic. Mama rolls down her window.<\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s go, babe,\u201d she says to Ponytail. \u201cYou could probably whip his fat ass, but let\u2019s just get the hell out of here.\u201d The girls are chanting pretty, pretty, pretty<\/em> in the backseat. Ponytail starts the van and as the side door slowly closes I grab the backpack with surgical precision.<\/p>\n \u201cI knew you had it!\u201d I say, pulling out the ring box. The girls scream in unison and Mama snatches the backpack from me, yelling something about the rot of capitalism as Ponytail peels out.<\/p>\n It\u2019s one of those cold, damp February days, the kind where you turn on all the lights because the house is so dark. I\u2019m all alone in the front yard, the box still in my hand, and it starts to rain. I go inside and open some tomato soup, the clock above the sink tick, tick, ticking as I pour it into a saucepan. I never realized how loud that clock was until Jake died and Mom left.<\/p>\n While the soup heats up I go to his room and pull his cap on, breathing in his sweat and Dial shampoo, wishing he saw me get the ring back. I straighten his bedspreads and tell him he doesn\u2019t need to worry because everything\u2019s the same and always will be. His Chuck Taylors are in the closet, his acceptance letter is still on his desk, and Denice hardly sold anything. He fought his fight and this one\u2019s mine.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The police said his feet got tangled in seaweed. He was drunk and they said it was probably peaceful, something I never believed. I\u2019m sure the water sobered him up and he fought to the end, just like he did any time people called me a freakazoid.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":24678,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3530],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-23789","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-flash-fiction","writer-kim-bundy"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23789","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=23789"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23789\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":24680,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23789\/revisions\/24680"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/24678"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=23789"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=23789"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=23789"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}