Patty Day
JANUARY 3, 1985
12:01 A.M.
Broke-down Kinnakee. She really wouldn’t miss this town, especially in winter, when the roads got pitted and the mere act of driving rearranged your skeleton. By the time Patty got home, the girls were full-down-out-asleep, Debby and Michelle splayed out on the floor as always, Debby using a stuffed animal as a pillow, Michelle still sucking her pen on the floor, diary under an arm, looking comfortable despite a leg bent beneath her. Libby was in bed, in her tight little ball, fists up at her chin, grinding her teeth. Patty thought about tucking each one in properly, but didn’t want to risk waking them. Instead she blew a kiss and shut the door, the smell of urine hitting her, Patty realizing she’d forgotten to change the sheets after all.
The bag of clothing was completely burned, there were only the tiniest scraps floating at the bottom of the fireplace. One white cotton square with a purple star sat in the ashes, defiant. Patty put on another log just to make sure, tossed the scrap right on the fire. Then she phoned Diane and asked her to come over extra early tomorrow, dawn, so they could look for Ben again.
“I can come over now, if you want the company.”
“No, I’m about to climb in bed,” Patty said. “Thanks for the envelope. The money.”
“I’m already phoning around about lawyers, should have a good list by tomorrow. Don’t worry, Ben will come home. He’s probably panicked. Staying overnight at someone’s. He’ll show up.”
“I love him so much, Diane …” Patty started and caught herself. “Have a good sleep.”
“I’ll bring some cereal when I come, I forgot to bring cereal today.”
Cereal. It was so normal it felt like a gut punch.
Patty headed to her room. She wanted to sit and think, to ponder, get deep. The urge was intense, but she fought it. It was like trying to fight a sneeze. She finally poured herself two fingers of bourbon and put on her thick layers of sleeping clothes. Thinking time was over. Might as well try and relax.
She thought she’d cry—the relief of it all—but she didn’t. She got into bed and looked at the cracked ceiling and thought, “I don’t need to worry about the roof caving in anymore.” She wouldn’t have to look at that broken screen window near her bed, thinking year after year she should fix it. She wouldn’t need to worry about the morning when she’d wake up and need coffee and find that the coffeemaker finally croaked. She didn’t have to worry about commodity prices or operating costs or interest rates or the credit card Runner had taken in her name and overcharged on so she could never pay it off. She’d never see the Cates family again, at least not for a long time. She didn’t have to worry about Runner and his peacock strut, or the trial or the fancy, slick-haired lawyer with the thick gold watch, who’d say soothing things and judge her. She didn’t have to stay up at night worrying about what the lawyer was telling his wife, lying in their goosedown bed, him telling her stories about “the Day mother” and her dirty brood. She didn’t have to worry about Ben going to prison. She didn’t have to worry about not being able to take care of him. Or any of them. Things were going to change.
For the first time in a decade, she wasn’t worrying, and so she didn’t cry. Somewhere after one, Libby banged the door open and sleepwalked into bed with her, and Patty turned over and kissed her goodnight, and said I love you, was happy she could say that aloud to one of her kids, and Libby was asleep so fast Patty wondered if she even heard.