Free Wish You Were Here by Stewart O’Nan Page A

about the job?”
    He answered by tipping his head to one side, a kind of shrug.
    â€œYou’re such a chicken. You were waiting for me so it wouldn’t look that bad.”
    â€œNo.” He was so transparent, so helpless. And she was the one they all felt sorry for, judged, held up as the troubled child.
    A whole week with them. For a second the years she vacationed with Jeff’s family up in the U.P. seemed a breeze, but that was untrue. Their squabbles were the same except she was outside of them, instead of at the eye. And eventually—it was her one real talent—she’d found her way to the center of them too, and then been cast out. Here they still accepted her, if with a condescending pity, binding advice. They were all she had now.
    â€œWhat’s the plan for tomorrow?” she asked.
    â€œWe’re going to do the flea market and then go tubing after lunch.”
    â€œWhat time is everyone getting up?”
    â€œI’m getting up around six to catch the light.”
    â€œJust be quiet.”
    The kids would be up early, and it was late. Together they battened down the house, turning off the lights one by one until they couldn’t see each other. She bumped a table and Rufus barked in their mother’s room, making her laugh.
    â€œI forgot about him,” she whispered. “How’s he doing?”
    â€œHe gets tired if he plays too long. His back.”
    They were quiet going up. Her feet remembered the stairs, her hands naturally found the banister around the top, closed over it like the rail of a ship. She expected to find Sarah reading by flashlight, but she was already sleeping. Justin was long gone, Tigger lying on the carpet, rejected. Beside them, Sam and Ella could have been their missing twins,and she thought how much harder the next few years would be for Justin and Sarah, how they would want to trade places with their cousins, go off to Boston and leave their crazy mother behind to deal with her mess. She wouldn’t blame them; she’d do the same if she could.
    She told Ken to go ahead and use the bathroom, she had to find her toiletry bag, then sat there on the bed with it in her lap, waiting for him to finish. She’d gotten up early to dress for the meeting, which now seemed to have taken place weeks ago. But no, that was today, Jeff walking past her in the hall without a word, his lawyer blocking her like a bodyguard. And then her own lawyer lecturing her on watching her temper, as if she had no right to be angry after what happened, as if she were the one in the wrong. And then the bathroom, weeping into her hands, dabbing at her makeup with toilet paper. All today. The trip itself had been a reprieve, but now the hours, the hundreds of miles she’d driven disappeared, every lane change and rest stop forgotten, and her life settled upon her again.
    She’d always survived her disasters, gone on—wiser, she hoped, certain she wouldn’t make the same mistakes again. This was different, not completely her fault, and the consequences weren’t hers alone, though in the end she would be held responsible for them.
    She wasn’t just being melodramatic. She thought it was amusing that she could pinpoint it, being so close. Taking everything into consideration, it was fair to say that today had been the worst day of her life. The only good thing, she thought, was that it was almost over.

Sunday

1
    Sam was the first one up, even before Justin, sleeping right beside him. The room was gray like when it rained and there was no clock, just the mirror on the dresser throwing back the dull squares of the windows, the leaves of a tree. Someone had turned off the fan. The air outside his sleeping bag was cold on his arms. Sarah was there, and he watched her breathing, her hair covering one cheek. He wanted to brush it away and touch her face.
    He wanted them all to wake up and play with him—croquet maybe, that wasn’t too