The Rest of Us Just Live Here
Mel takes that as a cue to find Call Me Steve, who officially releases me and nods at Mel when she makes a “phone me” sign with her hand. Meredith is playing on her computer pad when we find her with Mrs Silvennoinen. She jumps up and wraps herself around my limping legs. “I am very upset,”
she says.
“I’m going to be okay, though,” I say. “I’ll have a cool scar.”
“I’m still upset.” Meredith eyes my mother. “So upset it would take something really special to make me feel better.”
“Meredith–” my mother starts.
“How’s Henna?” Mel asks Mrs Silvennoinen. She’s as beautiful as her daughter, but also not, because Henna is open, where Mrs Silvennoinen – even as a music minister who has to rouse people
on a Sunday morning – is always a bit of a closed door. Not unfriendly, just not your business.
“Nothing life-threatening,” she says.
“Praise God,” Mr Silvennoinen says, joining us. He’s six foot nine and has unnervingly pale green eyes, which Henna didn’t inherit. His voice is deep, his accent thick, and he’s handsome in a way so scary it’s like he’s hypnotizing you with it.
He’s always been nice to me, though. Stern, insistent on seeing me at church, and grinding Henna slowly down with his expectations, but nice. He puts a soft hand on my shoulder.
“We saw how you were there for her, Mike,” he says.
“Thank you,” Mrs Silvennoinen says, seriously.
And I remember these are people who haven’t seen their son in four years.
The poor bastards.
Before I can answer them, the most horrible, painful wail I think I’ve ever heard brings the room to a standstill. The police lead a man making the noise through the waiting room. Their caps are off, and the man isn’t arrested or injured. They’re clearly taking him to someone who didn’t make it.
“Isn’t that someone’s dad from our school?” Mel whispers to me. “One of the indie kids’, I think.”
We watch until he disappears down a deeper hallway, his wails still coming.
“I think I’d like to go home now, please,” I say.
CHAPTER THE SIXTH, in which Satchel finds a note on her pillow from Kerouac, a friend since childhood who always climbed the tree outside her window to sneak inside; the note tells her he thinks he’s made a terrible mistake and that she should wear the amulet he’s also put on her pillow, no matter what happens; Satchel puts the amulet on, then calls her police officer uncle, who has already taken Kerouac’s father to identify his son’s remains.
My alarm goes off that night at 11:30 p.m. I wouldn’t normally be asleep that early, but I couldn’t put off taking at least half a painkiller. It turns out there are muscles you didn’t even know could hurt until they’re suddenly crashed into by a huge flying deer. I get up slowly, very slowly, and even then I can’t keep from calling out in pain. I pull on a hoodie, but actually find it too painful to reach down and tie my shoes, so I slip into some flip-flops.
I wait and listen. The house is quiet. Mom went to bed early because she’s going down to the capital in the morning for meetings with the state party about getting the jump on Mankiewicz’s seat. No one else would care if I was up anyway.
Mary Magdalene greets me on the landing, staring at me intently.