Author's note: The next chapter will end this story!
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We were at the Lancaster's-- the familiar washboard driveway jostled us around. Tires spun from the sloppy ruts where the spring thaw and showers had deepened them. Alan fish-tailed the car once or twice again for fun.
The sugar maples had budded and the edge of the pond had begun to wake, green life poking through the brown leaves.
Alan honked the horn as we pulled up to the house. He threw the car in park and sputtered off. He jumped out and went around to open the trunk as Uncle Daniel came out the door. His gait was stilted, head down watching his feet and stepping over puddles in the drive. Half way to the car, he lifted his head. I could literally see a charged aura around him.
We got out. I'd muddied my hand as I slammed the car the door. Looked like a demo derby special all caked in globs of mud, dried grass, weeds punctuated with bird droppings. I gazed over the top of the car and laughed-- it was the only place that was clean. I met Sid's eyes as I wiped the grim off my hand on the side of my jeans.
I chewed my lip, nervous habit. But right now, my nails were gross. I skittered over to Sid, grabbing my backpack, anxious to talk to him alone-- tell him what I'd learned. Didn't look like that was going to happen any time soon-- Uncle Daniel stopped in front of me and put his arm around my shoulder squeezing me in an over exaggerated death-hug.
Glenda stood in her usual place on the porch, waiting.
"I'll call you," Lynn said. I'd known her long enough to see she was more than uncomfortable under my uncle's sharp eyes.
Alan and Lynn got back in the car and took off home, leaving the rest of our things at our feet.
I had to admit, Uncle Dan did look kind of frightening, his brow creased and mouth set like a criminal court judge about to pass hard sentence.
"Come in," said Uncle Dan., giving my shoulders a tight squeeze, then letting go. "We need to talk to both of you."
I frowned. Crap. We followed him two steps behind him into the house.
I knew. Sid knew. The screen door scraped open under my uncle's leathered hand. Glenda held the door and came behind.
"Shackleton?" Sid asked as the door banged shut.
The first step inside they house it hit me like some airborne narcotic. Roses everywhere. My chest tightened. Glenda walked up to the vase on top of the piano, fiddling. The florist in me wanted to slap her hands and show her right and show her the way you handle flowers, but I reined the designer in.
That wasn't all that needed reining in.
I hungered, itched. As I walked by the looking glass over the mantel, I saw my cheeks spotted red, and Sid's face reflected back, flushed. I watched the room through the mirror. Glenda pretending the roses needed watering. Uncle Daniel watching my back. Les biting his lip.
"I'll never understand why you dug him back up," Les said, trusting his hands in his pockets.
I didn't understand what he said at first. I turned and faced my brother. I looked at his eyes, pupil's dilated. His lips moved again. He repeated the words.
I dug Shackleton back up? Hell why'd I do that? I recalled begging for mercy on his behalf-- how I felt as if it was me being buried alive. And then it became real. I could feel sand, suffocating. My stubby nails dug into my arm, scratching.
"You should have left him there--" he spat at me. "None of this would be happening. I don't understand," Les stepped into my space, nose almost touching mine. "What's going on with you? There's something you're not telling me."
Fuck. I was distressed. Sweating, itching.
"I'd like to talk to Sid and Wes alone," Uncle Dan said, pulling Les back.
"Damn, it's always this way. Wes, I want to help."
I felt helpless to tell him anything. I wanted to, but I couldn't speak. I stood stuttering.
"Don't tell your own brother then," Les said. He began to leave the room, stopping at the old grand piano and picked up the vase, turning to Glenda. "What is it with the house filled with roses? Are you trying to ward something out or keep something in?"
Les set the down the vase with a clunk and turned his back to us.
"Why must you always be impossible?" Glenda asked.
"You know, I give up," he said, waving his hands over his head. "I'll be upstairs if you decide to let me know what's going on."
"Go upstairs then," Uncle Daniel said.
"This is such a fucking dysfunctional family," Les called over his shoulder.
"Must you use that language?" Glenda called behind him.
I really had to agree with Les.
My uncle's eyes rested on the book that Sid clutched tightly in his hand. His eyes were unfocused. I heard a bang far in the house-- Les shutting his door.
"You're not the same," my uncle said, eyes level with mine.
I hesitated, finding my voice. At last I said, "No." He was not surprised. I looked hard into his eyes. They moved like a mist swirling behind.
I felt it too-- the pull of the roses like the tide.
The old grandfather clock struck the half hour.
"Are you displaced?" he asked.
"You could say that." I didn't know how much to say. What to say.
"Do you belong here?" he asked.
Sid looked over at me.
"I sure hope so," I said.
"It worked then," Glenda sat down on the couch, face in her hands. "Sid was right."
"I was? About what?" Sid asked. He seemed to come from a dream as he looked to her.
"That you could return to where you came from," she said.
"Oh," I said. My mind tumbled. I sat down on the old piano bench, and Sid sat next to me. I rested my back against the keys.
"You say that as if you were expecting a different answer," my uncle said, sitting on the arm of the couch.
"I was." I felt myself swaying. "What answer were you expecting?"
"Depends on the question, doesn't it?" my uncle asked.
"What the heck does that mean?" Sid asked.
I was getting woozier with Mica's effect and glad I was sitting.
