Free What's Left of Her by Mary Campisi Page B

likes to refer to herself? I’m not Evie. I’ve always hated that name.
    His hands shake as he closes the last notebook and stares at the black and white cover. Such an innocent vehicle to harbor truths that rip lives apart, destroy any memories that might have been good. He can’t tell his father. It will be better to let him believe she is trying to get home, will continue trying and will never stop as long as there is breath in her. That, Rupe Burnes can live with, but knowing his wife walked away from a life she didn’t want, that will kill him.
    Quinn scours the entire attic looking for other signs of her plan to bolt, but there are none. The rest of the room is neat, organized, filled with watercolors and family photos: a perfect cover for the ultimate deception. The real truth is in the chest. Pandora’s Box. Quinn gathers the notebooks and the high-rise painting with the yellow ball of light, and stuffs them in a garbage bag. He hurries down the stairs, stops in the kitchen to grab a pack of matches.
    He is dumping the notebooks into the metal trash bin when his father calls his name. “Quinn? What are you doing?”
    Quinn throws a match into the trash bin. “Just burning some stuff from my room.”
    “You know we’re not supposed to burn until after 7:00.” His father moves closer, peers inside the bin. “Notebooks?” He scratches the back of his head. “Sure are a lot of them.”
    The match has gone out and Rupe is trying to get a closer look. Quinn strikes three more matches and throws them into the bin. “It’s nothing, Dad. Just stupid stuff.”
    “Must be pretty serious stupid stuff if you’re burning it.”
    Quinn shrugs. “I was writing a book, or trying to write one but it didn’t work.”
    “I’d like to read it.”
    “No! I mean, no. It’s really bad.”
    “You’re a good writer.” Rupe pauses, stares at the small orange flame that is burning the edge of a notebook. “You take after your mother.”
    Quinn says nothing.
    “That your picture, too?” He points to the high-rise, yellow-dot picture.
    “Yeah.” Quinn tries to push it behind him.
    “You burning that, too?”
    “Yeah. It’s no good.”
    “Let me see.”
    There is no choice but to inch it out for his father’s inspection. Rupe scratches his jaw, rubs his cheek and stares at the painting. “What’s the yellow dot?”
    “A light.”
    “Hmmm. Why the hell would anybody want to live in one of those when you can have this?” He spreads his arms wide, sucks in a deep breath. “I know why you’re doing this. It’s your mom, isn’t it?”
    “What do you mean?” Quinn’s heart pounds so loud he is sure his father can hear it.
    “You’re upset about her. I know. What you’re doing is called acting out. It’s what some people do when things happen they can’t control.” Rupe lays a hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay, son. She’ll be coming home soon.”
    Quinn stares at the growing fire in the trash bin. Even the yellow of the flame is not as bright as the dot on his mother’s picture. It is an omen, a bad omen.
    “She is coming home, Quinn.”
    She’s never coming home. Never, never, never.
    “…and then everything will be back to normal. You’ll see, just like it was before.”
    The flames are crackling now, orange and yellow talons reaching up and out of the bin. Quinn lifts the painting, stares at the bright glob one last time, then breaks the canvas over his knee and thrusts it into the fire. It swooshes as it hits the flames. Smears of black inch over the canvas, work their way toward the yellow light in the painting. Quinn stays until the glob is obliterated in flames, then he turns away.
    Now she is dead.
    ***
    People talk about the disappearance of Evie Arbogast Burnes for years. How had it happened? When? Where? And in the good Lord’s name, why? They piece a story together, bit by bit, an eventual telling that eases them back into normal existence, to a manageable level where