Gone Away

“Roger?”

Bea calls up the stairs, peering through her thick lenses at the light in the upstairs hall. “Where is that man? Our show’s about to start.” She tisks, and shuffles across the kitchen floor to the window that looks out over the garden. As she parts the lace curtains, she sees her own hand.

“Is that my hand? Where did those age spots come from?”

She peers into the sunlit yard, but can’t make out anything much. “Maybe he went to the woodpile to get some kindling.” She puts her hands on her hips and pouts. “Oh, that man!” The music blares, announcing the first contestants. “Oh, now listen! There’s my show coming on. Roger?” she asks the walls.

The faded blooms on the wallpaper offer no help; they just look back at her, benign pink blobs. As she heads to the den, she brushes the sleeve of Roger’s barn coat, hanging on the peg by the door to the garden. With that comes the sweet smell of pipe smoke. And then she hears a noise upstairs.

“Roger! Come down, now. It’s time for our show.” She thumps her hand on the newel post and then swats the air in frustration like she’s brushing away a fly.

“Mom?”

She makes out a form at the top of the stairs. “Dennis? Is that you?”

“No, Mom. It’s Madeline.”

“Madeline? Madeline who?”

“Your daughter in law, Madeline!”

“Oh.”

“Are Dennis and Kenny up there with you or are they still at school?”

“No, Mom. They’re at work. No more school for them. Uh…why don’t you go settle in with your show and I’ll bring you some tea.”

She heads for the den. “I don’t know where Roger’s gone,” she hollers over her shoulder. “Maybe he has to work late tonight, huh?” There’s no response. “Maybe another beer delivery added to his route? Do ya think that’s where he…”

Madeline appears with a tray balancing steaming hot tea and marmalade toast. Suddenly Bea’s chest tightens. She has a flash of memory so fast and so bone awful that it makes her gasp. It’s Roger. He looks so thin and he’s lying down on a white- sheeted bed and his face looks frozen and his eyes are closed. His jaw is slack and she can see his gold tooth with him gaping that way.

“Roger?” Her voice feels thin and lost in the room. It flies away and leaves her alone. There’s a silence. Madeline studies her own hands, lifts her cup of tea and nudges the other cup toward Bea.

“Have your tea now, Mom.”

There’s that flash again. She hears the words again in her head, the room spins. Someone is saying, ‘He’s gone, Mom. Say goodbye….’ She remembers leaning down to kiss him, she remembers the way his cheek felt. All bristled. And it was cold, like kissing a stone.

“Bea? Would ya like to have a little tea? I put lemon and three sugars in. Just like you like it.”

“But…where’s Roger?” Her arms and legs feel all tingly; her head feels like it might fly away like a lost kite.

“Remember? Dad died on Sunday, Mom. He’s gone to heaven, Mom.” Bea looks at this stranger telling her lies.

“We’ll be okay, Mom,” the stranger says. “Please… have some tea.”

The images fade away. The contestant squeals, her breasts bouncing as she spins the big wheel.

“Do ya think she’ll win the grand prize today, Mom?”

Bea’s gnarled hands get quiet; lay there in her lap like nesting birds.