Hometown Girl
by Margaret Watson

            Claire Kendall stared blindly down into the open grave.  She didn’t see the casket that held the body of her sister, she didn’t see the face of Nick, Janice’s son, standing next to her, she didn’t see the mourners clustered around the yawning hole.

            In her mind, two little girls fled from a dark house into the green safety of the woods. 

            She could smell the freshness of the trees and the heavy scent of decaying leaves and dirt as her older sister whispered that she was safe, that no one would hurt her.

            Janice kept her word.  Her parents had never touched Claire.  Their preferred target was Janice, whose eyes flashed insolence and defiance, whose words dripped scorn and contempt.  It was Janice who stood up to them, Janice who took the fists and the belt, Janice who shouted back.  Sick with guilt and fear, Claire had crept around the house hoping they wouldn’t notice her.

            Janice had saved her.  But she couldn’t save Janice.

            Her sister’s self-destructive behavior had culminated in a pregnancy at seventeen.  Refusing to name the father of her child, she’d run away from home and Claire had heard from her only sporadically for the next sixteen years.

            Until the late night phone call four days ago.

            A sympathetic voice identifying himself as a Monroe police officer had informed Claire that her sister had died in an automobile accident.  As Janice Kendall’s only known relative, Claire was now responsible for Nick, Janice’s fifteen-year-old son.  If she didn’t come to Monroe immediately, Nick would have to be placed in a foster home.

            The droning voice of the minister stopped, and Claire snapped back to the present.  The minister waited, and Claire frantically tried to remember what he’d just said.

            “You’re supposed to take a flower,” Nick muttered, shooting her a black look.  “Or don’t you care?”

            His jaw muscles jumped as he grabbed a rose from the arrangement next to him.  He gripped it tightly in his hand, then hurled it into the open grave.  A bright red spot of blood blossomed on his hand before he curled his fingers into a fist.

            She chose a small rose just beginning to unfurl and dropped it gently into the hole in the ground.  Then she turned away, reaching for Nick’s hand.  The boy jerked away from her and moved out of reach.

            Their movement away from the grave broke the silence of the mourners clustered behind them.  She hadn’t expected many of the 8,000 people who lived in Monroe to attend the services, but she’d been surprised.  As the crowd began to leave, they offered quiet condolences as they slipped past.

            “Thank you for coming,” she replied mechanically, over and over.  Several people took her hand and Claire gave them a tight smile.

            When the last straggler slammed his car door and sped away, she turned to Nick, fumbling for the right thing to say.  “Are you hungry?” she finally asked.  “Do you want to get something to eat?”

            It was a safe question.  In the past four days she’d learned one thing about Nick – he was always hungry.

            Nick shrugged.  “I don’t care.”

            She took that as ‘yes’.  “Anywhere you’d like to go?”

            “I don’t care.”

            Claire tried to push away the mounting panic.  Nick was now her responsibility.  Since she had no idea who his father was, she was all he had.  If he wouldn’t talk to her about where he wanted to eat, how would they talk about the important stuff?

            “I saw a restaurant on my way into town,” she said, praying for patience.  “How about that?”

            “Fine.”  He shoved his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders.

            Neither of them spoke on the way to the Golden Coin Restaurant.  The shops and stores of downtown Monroe flashed past the windows of the car, bringing back the past with a painful clarity.  It was only a couple more days, she told herself.  She could handle two days.  Maybe even three.  But as soon as they could pack Nick’s belongings, she and her nephew would drive away from Monroe forever.

            The interior of the restaurant was cool and dimly lit.  The décor had been fashionable in the 1970’s, but now looked tired and slightly shabby.

            The young waitress at the restaurant took their order, gazing at them with bright curiosity in her eyes.  Clearly she’d heard all the stories about her family.

            The Kendalls were notorious in Monroe.  The death of her father, and his victim, in a drunken accident twelve years earlier had only capped a lifetime of gossip and averted eyes.  Janice’s car accident would have started the tongues flapping all over again.

            The gossip could no longer hurt her, Claire reminded herself.  And neither could the averted eyes.  She’d escaped from Monroe and erased it from her life years ago.

            After they’d ordered their meals, Claire leaned toward Nick.   “How long do you think it will take you to pack all the stuff you want to bring with you?”

            His eyebrows snapped together.  “Bring with me where?”

            “Back to Chicago, of course.”  Claire struggled to keep the impatience out of her voice.  “Where I live.  Where you’re going to live with me.”

            Nick stared at her, the mulish look in his eyes only strengthening his resemblance to her sister.  “I’m not moving to Chicago.  My mom wanted me to live in Monroe.  I’m staying here.”

            “You can’t stay here, Nick.  I live in Chicago.”

            “Then go back to Chicago.  No one’s stopping you.”

            “I can’t leave you here.”

            “Why not?  I’m nothing to you,” he said.  He crushed a dinner roll into the table with his fingers, grinding it into the wood.

            “You’re my nephew.  My sister’s only child.  I care about you.”

            Nick gave a derisive snort.  “Yeah, right.  If you care so much about me, how come you never came around when Mom was alive?”

            Why was she surprised at Nick’s bluntness?  Janice had been exactly the same.

            “Your mom and I had a…complicated relationship.  She didn’t want to spend time with me.”

            Scorn filled Nick’s eyes.  “You never asked.”

            ”I invited you both to visit many times.  Your mother always found a reason she couldn’t make it.”

            “Mom didn’t want charity.  She wouldn’t go crawling to her rich sister.”

            Claire flinched as though the boy had hit her.  Is that how Janice thought of her?  As the rich sister who would dispense largesse to her down and out sibling?

            “I loved your mother.  She was my only sister,” Claire said, staring fiercely at Nick, willing her tears not to fall.  His features blurred together and softened, making him look eerily like Janice.  “She took care of me when I was little.  But every time I asked her to visit, she was busy.”

            “Of course she said she was busy,” he said scornfully, holding her gaze and leaning toward her.  She resisted the urge to back away from him.  Nick burned with the same intensity she remembered in Janice.  “What was she supposed to say?  ‘We’d love to come visit, sis, but the car died last week and we don’t have the money for a bus ticket?’”

            Even pitching his voice in a falsetto couldn’t hide Nick’s anger.  He shoved the table and it slid painfully into her stomach.

            Claire pushed the table away gingerly, sadness and regret twisting through her.  “Then all I can do is tell you how sorry I am,” she said.  “I can’t apologize to Janice, but I can to you.  I’m sorry, Nick.  I should have made more of an effort to see you and your mother.”

            “Whatever,” he said, shuttering his eyes.  “We didn’t miss you.”

            “I’m sorry for that, too,” she said softly.  “I missed you.  You were ten years old the last time I saw you.”

            “I’m not ten anymore and I can take care of myself.  Go on back to your fancy house and your fancy job in Chicago.  I’m staying in Monroe.”

            Losing her temper wouldn’t accomplish a thing, she reminded herself.  It would only give Nick more ammunition.  She spotted the waitress and closed her eyes with relief.  “Here’s our food.  We’ll finish talking about this later.”

            “How soon before you head back to Chicago?”  Nick sprawled in one of the chairs in the living room and watched her, a challenging look on his face.

            “I’m not going anywhere without you, Nick,” she answered, struggling to face him calmly.  He was fifteen, on the cusp of manhood, but he was still a child who had lost his mother.  Of course he was defensive and scared.

             “Then I guess you’re not going anywhere,” he drawled.  “Because I’m sure as hell not.”

            “Don’t swear at me.”  Anger swelled suddenly inside her, masking the rising desperation.  She would not stay in Monroe.   Images of the people who’d whispered about the Kendalls but did nothing to stop the abuse, nothing to help the two children, rose up inside her.  Her ex-husband’s sneering face joined them, and she pushed the images away.

            “I wasn’t swearing at you,” he retorted.  “Swearing at you would be saying ‘go to hell’.  I didn’t say ‘go to hell’.  I said hell to emphasize my determination.”

              A reluctant smile leached away her anger.  “You must have kept Janice on her toes.  How often did she complain about living with a smart kid?”

            He scowled.  “My mom never complained about living with me.”  He looked away and she saw his mouth tremble.  “She never said anything about living with a smart kid.”

            “I’m sorry, Nick,” she said.  “I know Janice adored you.  She wouldn’t have complained.”  She sighed.  “I was trying to make a joke.  You know?  Lighten the mood?”

            “Yeah, well, it wasn’t very funny.”  He pushed himself out of the chair and towered over her.  He was tall and gangly already, with an adolescent’s awkward body that would fill out as he got older.  “I’ll be in my room when you want to say goodbye.”

            His limp was more noticeable tonight.  Her heart ached as she watched him try to disguise his unbalanced gait.  The congenital dislocation of his hip had been repaired when he was an infant, but the joint would never be normal.  Nick disappeared up the stairs and she heard the defiant bang of his door slamming shut.  Moments later his stereo blasted out Eminem.

            He would be horrified if he knew she liked Eminem.

            Shoving her hands into the pockets of her tailored slacks, she wandered around the first floor of the house, trying to banish the memories.  Apparently Janice had been able to get past those memories and the pain they evoked.  When their mother passed away earlier that year, her sister had said she wanted the house.  Nick needed stability, she’d said.  They were going home.

            Claire leaned against the kitchen counter and looked out the window.  The trees stood guard at the back of the house, a wall of green darkness and refuge.  If she walked into the woods, could she find any remnants of the fort she and Janice had made?

            Of course not.  After so many years, the branches they’d used would have rotted into sawdust.  The fort was gone as surely as Janice.

            Very little else about the house had changed.  The butcher block pattern of the Formica counters had faded to white in patches, the dark wood kitchen cabinets were covered with nicks and scratches, and the appliances were at least as old as she was.  Janice had tried to put some brightening touches in the room, like the vase of cheerful flowers, now wilted, on the scarred wooden table and the bright dishtowels hung from the rack, but it was the same kitchen she remembered.

            Just as the living room looked no different.  The furniture was more shabby, more faded and worn, as was the carpet, but little else had changed.

            “Why did you come back to Monroe, Janny?” she whispered.  “How could you bear to live in this house?”

            The ghosts of her parents haunted every room.  The echoes of angry voices reverberated in the walls and the sounds of fists meeting flesh shivered up from the floor.

            There was no way she could live in this house.

            No way in hell.  As Nick would say.

            Ten years ago, she’d left and vowed never to return.  Although she and her mother had made an uneasy peace, their infrequent visits had all been in Chicago.  And now here she was, living in the place of her childhood nightmares, a place drenched in misery and unhappiness.

            And she couldn’t get Nick to leave.

            He and his mother had only been living in Monroe for three months when Janice was killed in the car crash.  Now Nick would be uprooted once again, transplanted to the foreign territory of Chicago.

            Her condominium in Lincoln Park was plenty big enough for both of them.  There were rooms she never even used.  Nick would adjust to the change.  Kids were very adaptable.  He’d be fine.

            Would he?  The small voice nagged at her from deep within her conscience.

            Of course Nick would be fine!  He would attend the most exclusive private school in the city, only blocks from her house.  He’d get the best education money could buy, much better than Monroe High School.  He’d make friends and get involved in all sorts of clubs and activities.  What teen wouldn’t love growing up in a city like Chicago?

            Maybe Nick wouldn’t, the mocking voice inside her suggested.  She had no idea, because she didn’t know her nephew.  Not in any of the ways that mattered.

            “Damn it!”  She picked up a tattered pillow from the couch and heaved it against the wall.  It skidded off a picture, which clattered to the floor.  The frame cracked and fell into pieces on the wood floor.

            “Good!  I always hated that picture,” she said under her breath.

            “What’s going on?” Nick called from the stairs.

            “Nothing.”  She pushed heavy strands of hair away from her face.  “Nothing at all.”

            He peered over the banister, frowning at the picture and its shattered frame.  “What did you do?  Why are you wrecking my house?”

            She wanted to remind him that it wasn’t his house, that they owned equal shares.  But she clamped her mouth shut.  One immature child in the house was enough.

            “I’m not wrecking the house, Nick.  The picture came off the wall.  It was falling apart anyway.”

            “That was my favorite picture.”  He scowled at her.

            She stared at the canvas leaning against the wall.  Dull, dusty fruit, most of it unidentifiable, was painted onto a bilious green background.  “Yeah, I can see why,” she said.

            He gave her a sharp look but didn’t respond.  After staring at the picture for a moment, he turned and headed back up the stairs.  “Make sure you clean it up,” he said over his shoulder.

            “Nick…”  She bit off her instinctive, angry retort.  Now wasn’t the time to get into a fight.  She was tired, upset and on edge.  A bad combination.  It was the worst possible time for a confrontation with her nephew.

            She lowered herself onto the worn couch, sinking deep into the cushion.  She couldn’t stay in Monroe.  Ugly memories of fear and anger swirled through her in a greasy, roiling wave.  No one could expect her to stay in Monroe.

            She’d paid her penance in this town for the first twenty years of her life.  An ugly childhood followed by an uglier marriage had destroyed any wisps of fondness, any nostalgia she might have felt for Monroe.

            But would Chicago really be the best place for Nick? that small voice asked again.  He must have friends here.  Maybe he had a job.  A girlfriend.

            She’d never asked him, she realized with a surge of shame.  She’d assumed he’d gladly pack up and leave.

            “Nick,” she called up the stairs.  “Could you come down here for a moment?”

            His door opened.  “What?” he called down the stairs.

            “I need to talk to you.”

            “About what?”

            “Just come down here, will you?”

            After a moment she heard him on the stairs.  As soon as he could see her, he stopped.  “What?”

            “Come and sit down in the living room,” she said, the effort to be patient grinding against her temper.

            He stared at her for a long moment, then shuffled down the stairs and threw himself onto the chair furthest from the couch.

            “Tell me why you want to stay in Monroe,” she said.

            He stared at her, his face wary, clearly wondering what she was up to.  Finally he scowled and looked away.  “This is the place my mom wanted to live,” he said.  “Okay?  She said a new start would be good for both of us.”  His voice thickened and he stood up, ramming his hands into the pockets of his baggy jeans.  The pressure of his fists pulled them even lower on his narrow hips.

            “What else did your mom say?” she asked quietly.

            “She had a job, you know.”  He whirled to face her, anger filling his face.  His eyes were shiny with unshed tears.  “She said we’d be just like everyone else in town.  I’d go to high school, she’d go to work.  We wouldn’t have to move around all the time.  We’d be a normal family, just like the other kids.  That’s all I ever wanted to be.”

            His voice caught on the last words and he whirled away from her again, furtively wiping his hand across his eyes.

            “You could have the same things in Chicago,” she said softly.  “There’s a wonderful school a few blocks away from my condo.  I have a job, too, but I’d be home every evening.  I’ll never take your mother’s place, but we could make a home together.”

            “I don’t need a home in Chicago.  I have one here.”  His voice was thick and he cleared his throat.

            “And I have a job in Chicago.”

            Her job as the owner of a small accounting firm gave her a lot of flexibility, she admitted reluctantly.  With a few adjustments, it was a job she could do from Monroe.

            She could stay in Monroe for a few weeks, she told herself.  She could give Nick a chance to get to know her before she took him back to the city.

            Her stomach clenched and dread rushed through her at the thought.

            Monroe.

            The town she feared.  The town where she had never been in control of any aspect of her life.  The town that starred in all her nightmares.

            The town where her ex-husband still lived.

            It was a matter of what she wanted versus what Nick needed.  Her stomach twisted even tighter.  He was a child.  His needs had to come first.

            It was the least she could do for Janice.  She’d failed her sister when they were children, allowing her older sister to absorb all the punishment from their parents.

            And she’d failed Janice as an adult.  She should have made sure her sister and her nephew were provided for.

            She drew a deep, trembling breath.  Forcing the words out of her mouth, she said, “How about we compromise?  We’ll stay in Monroe for a few weeks while we get to know each other.  When you’re comfortable with me, and vice versa, we’ll go back to Chicago.”

            Nick turned around slowly, distrust in his eyes.  “I thought you had a job in Chicago.”  

             The faint flicker of hope behind the anger and suspicion in his eyes filled her with another rush of shame.  She’d been in such a hurry to leave Monroe she hadn’t considered Nick’s feelings at all.  “I do.  But I can work from Monroe, at least for a little while.”

            She saw his hands bunch into fists inside the pockets of his jeans.  “What is this important job you do?”

            “I didn’t say it was important,” she answered, her voice mild.  “It’s only important to me.”  She hesitated.  Would her job make him even more resentful of her?  “I own a small accounting company.”

            He scowled.  “You’re going to just let your business go to hell?

            “I can do my job from Monroe,” she said, resisting the urge to tell him not to swear.  He would no doubt like nothing better than to redirect their discussion.

            “You’re going to make all the rich people come to Monroe?” he asked with a sneer.

            “Not at all.  I can do a lot of my work over the phone, with a fax machine and a computer.  I can get by without face to face meetings for a while.”

            Hope struggled to surface in his eyes.  She watched as he crushed it.  “Don’t bother to get everything set up.  I’m not going to change my mind.”

            “Let’s not worry about that right now.”  She looked around the room as dread rose up inside her again.  She struggled to push it away.  “School opens in two weeks.  Let’s see how we’re doing by then.”

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