Free Serpentine Walls by CJane Elliott Page A

without getting some hard labor out of you. And how hard is setting up for a garage sale? Wuss.”
    The door opened, and Aunt Barb came out on the porch. “Hey, Pete! Tell Laura I’ll be over with Bud tomorrow to help out.”
    Pete forced a smile. “Okay. Thanks.”
    “Bud, honey, come inside. Your supper’s gettin’ cold.”
    Bud made a face. “How’d I get roped into this again?”
    “All your precious stuff, coming back to Charlottesville with us.”
    “Yeah, fine.” He opened the door and got out.
    “See you tomorrow, 8:00 a.m. sharp!” Pete called after him in a falsely cheery tone.
    Bud flipped him the bird over his shoulder as he went up his steps.
    Ten minutes later, Pete pulled into his own driveway. Grabbing his duffel, he jogged up the front steps, opening the door to an empty living room. It was Friday night, so he wasn’t surprised that Missy and Nate weren’t there. Mom should be home, though.
    “Hello?” he called, walking down the dark hall toward the flickering light under the master bedroom door. Knocking softly, he opened it. Mom lay asleep on her bed, TV on, a half-full glass of wine on the bedside table.
    Pete touched her arm. “Hey, Mom.”
    She startled awake. “Pete! When did you get here? Oh Lord, it’s eight o’clock? I was watching a show, waiting for you, and must’ve zonked out.” She got out of bed and gave him a hug, then held him back from her. “You look good.”
    “It’s only been three weeks. I haven’t changed that much.”
    She laughed. “True. Are you hungry? I made chicken potpie.”
    He might not have changed, but Mom wasn’t looking so hot. She seemed thinner and had dark circles under her eyes.
    “Mm, chicken potpie. Yeah, I could eat something. Where are Missy and Nate?” he asked as he followed her down the hall to the kitchen.
    “Who knows? ‘Out.’ That’s all I get anymore, especially from Nate.”
    “I remember those days.”
    “They’ll be glad to see you, though.” Turning on the oven, she got a casserole dish out of the refrigerator and placed it inside. “This shouldn’t take long to warm up.”
    Pete smiled. “Still boycotting the microwave?”
    “Oh, I’ll use it when I have to. But the crust on this potpie is much better warmed up in the oven. You want something to drink?”
    “Got any beer?”
    “Oh. Maybe?”
    Pete looked in the refrigerator and found seltzer water, OJ, and milk. “Nope.”
    “Sorry. Your dad’s the beer drinker, not me.”
    Pete flinched at the mention of Dad. “So he took it all when he left? Typical.” He bit his lip, regretting the words as soon as he said them. “Sorry,” he muttered.
    “It’s okay.” Mom sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. “I have some Scotch, if you want. Or red wine.”
    “I’ll have a glass of wine.” He opened the cupboard, took out a wineglass, and then turned to face her. “Have you—is Dad…?” He didn’t know how to finish the sentence.
    “We talk.” Mom filled the glass with wine. “I told him last week that anything of his he doesn’t come get is going in the garage sale.”
    “Wow, Mom, that’s hardcore.”
    “Believe me,” she said with a grim smile, “he was over here to get his golf clubs the next day.”
    Pete snorted out a laugh and, after a moment, Mom did too.
    “Tell you what,” she said, still smiling, “let’s take our plates and the wine bottle and camp out in my room. You can pick the movie tonight.”
    “Brave woman. Do we have Cinema Paradiso ?” he asked, suddenly remembering Matthew’s T-shirt.
    “I think so. Didn’t we already watch that?”
    “Yeah, but that was years ago. I feel like watching it again.” Then I can talk to Matthew about it. “Hey! I’m making a movie!”
    “Really? How’d that happen?”
    As the aroma of chicken, herbs, and pastry began to fill the kitchen, Pete updated her on school and friends, and it felt safe and cozy, as long as he didn’t think about who was missing.
     
     
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