His mother, Sadie thought.
Ford stood looking at her for a moment before approaching. His mind was full of a busy emptiness, as though all his thoughts, emotions, and memories had hidden themselves like animals sheltering from a predator in tall grass.
“James?” the woman whispered. Her arm hung off the bed, and a burnt-down cigarette dangled from between her first two fingers. They were red and blistered, and there were dark burn spots on the rug beneath her hand.
Ford took the cigarette from her and balanced it on top of the pile in the ashtray. “No, Mom. It’s Ford.”
“Where’s James?”
Sadie expected a flood of heavy anger, but Ford’s voice was calm. He lifted the photo off her chest and put it on the nightstand without glancing at it. “James isn’t here.”
“When will he be back?” the woman asked.
Ford said, “He won’t. He’s gone.”
His mother’s eyes came open. “I thought maybe that was a dream. That he was alive and you”—she paused—“were him.”
The Ford Sadie had seen with Cali would have been ready with a scathing retort. Instead she had the sensation of someone leaning into a door, using their weight to keep it closed.
Sadie realized this had been going on in the background of Ford’s mind all night, even when he was with Cali, the effort increasing incrementally until she only now became aware of it. As though whatever was behind the door was always hovering beneath the surface, trying to get out. Ford said evenly, “That would be nice.”
His mother slid out of bed, went to the dresser, and began arranging the few objects on it—brush, comb, box, lipstick—moving them around one another nervously. “I tried to go to work today, but—” Her voice trailed off. Ford settled on the edge of her bed, but she remained standing, keeping her back to him as she said, “I was thinking tomorrow you could go see your father.”
In Ford’s mind very faint blue and green and gray dots sifted themselves into a dozen grainy pictures of a man, one superimposed upon another, creating a monstrous tableau. They were all different, but they were all sneering, and as Sadie watched, a fist punched through all of them, scattering the images into a red spray of blood.
Sadie felt the door in his mind jostle, and Ford leaning harder into it. “Why? Do you want me to end up in jail?”
His mother ignored that. “He hasn’t sent a check in a few months, and with me missing work we need the money.”
“I’ve been covering it,” Ford told her. “You said you were going to talk to the Roaches about Dad.”
“Don’t call them that. It’s disrespectful.”
“Fine. You said you were going to tell the Roque Community Health Evaluator about Dad not paying.”
She lined up the box with the brush and comb. “I didn’t want to bother her.”
Sadie felt the door starting to open and Ford struggling to push it back. “Mom, that’s what she’s for.”
Mrs. Winter turned around, agitated eyes seeking his. “Don’t you see we can’t have them know? If they knew that we had no money, if they knew he was behind—”
“If I get in trouble, if we miss our RCHE appointments, if we do anything to draw attention to ourselves, including ask for help we deserve, or request to see the file on James’s death, or ask why they’ve refused our requests to see the file, they could split the family apart,” Ford finished, as though reciting the end of a familiar fairy tale. “We all have to behave like good little boys and girls and not upset Father.”
His mother’s hand whipped out, and she slapped him. “Stop it! This isn’t a joke. This is our family.”
Sadie caught a whiff of bleach, but the pain barely registered in Ford’s mind. “You know James didn’t die the way they say he did. Don’t you want to learn the truth?”
“The case is closed,” said Mrs. Winter, trembling. “It’s closed.” Her tone was a plea, and her eyes looked afraid, but whether she was afraid for Ford or afraid of him, Sadie couldn’t tell.
They were less than a foot apart, mother and son, but loneliness yawned between them. Ford was completely still, as though all his energy was concentrated on keeping whatever was behind the door at bay. Only his eyes moved, sliding to the photo on the night table, allowing Sadie to see it.
It had been taken at Ford’s high school graduation, him in a cap and gown, standing next to the same blond guy Sadie had seen before in his mind being kissed by the mysterious woman with the dark hair. James.
In the photo Mrs. Winter stood between Ford and James in a pantsuit, thin but robust, nothing like the wisp of a woman in front of him now. Lulu held her hand and part of James’s sleeve and grinned adoringly up at her brothers. He and James were looking at one another, Ford making a goofy face, both laughing, as if they’d just shared a hilarious joke.
They were hardly recognizable as the same family. With a shock she noted the date stamp on the bottom corner of the photo. It had been taken only a year earlier.
“I miss him,” his mother said, following Ford’s eyes to the picture.
Sadie felt hot flares starting to slip through the cracks in Ford’s mental door and realized the emotion it was holding back was anger. It was anger that hovered beneath everything in his mind, pressing forward, restless, eager. And his desire or ability to contain it was weakening.
“Everyone loved James. He was such a good boy. So full of life,” Mrs. Winter went on.
“He sure was.” Ford stood, his mind noisy with the effort of holding the door closed. “You fell asleep smoking again, Mom. If you keep it up you’ll set the house on fire and kill us all.”
“You worry too much,” his mother answered.
They spoke the words like actors delivering well-worn lines, and Sadie imagined them having this same conversation a dozen, two dozen times before. For a moment they stood still in their poses, each waiting to see if the other wanted to finish the scene.
Then Ford pivoted and went back to the living room. He didn’t say good night or sleep well or any of the things Sadie always said to her parents, and his mother didn’t call them after him. It was as if they didn’t know how to talk to one another if they weren’t fighting. Was that why he’d purposely goaded Cali too, because conflict was more comfortable to him than affection?
Unhooking his belt, he dropped his jeans and stepped out of them.
You’re not really going to leave them on the floor like a pile of—
He took two steps to the couch, stretched out, and turned off the light.
You are, Sadie marveled. Well, that makes sense. Because operating drawers is such a challenge.
His eyes closed, and the anger settled in like a lapdog finding its accustomed bed. His mind went quiet except for a regular, low thrumming. His heart, Sadie realized, feeling an unexpected flash of intimacy.
I am still very displeased, she reminded herself.
Sadie was prepared to be wide awake even after he fell asleep—they’d been told at orientation that the advanced stimulation of their brains might make sleep elusive the first few days even if they were tired—and had intended to use the time to go over her observations from the day. But her thoughts kept returning to the photo from Ford’s graduation of the Winter family, happy and full of hope. Losing James had shattered them in a way that seemed to go beyond mere grief.