Free Beating Heart by A. M. Jenkins Page B

shoulder.
    â€œEvan?”
    He raises his head. Below, on the landing, the fragments are beautiful, jagged and clear, amber and gold, orange and vermilion.
    Â 
    Â 
    Evening sun
    angles through the
    shattered panes
    flows down the steps
    Â 
    like
    Â 
    water
    Â 
    over
    Â 
    fall
    Â 
    leaves
    Â 
    Â 
    faded light
    on
    old and broken glass:
    Â 
    the end
    of
    a
    Â 
    day.

 
    T elling Libby to stay where she is, Evan collects what he thinks is needed to clean up a large amount of glass: a broom, a dustpan, plastic bags, a trash can.
    With Libby seated on the top step, watching, he sweeps up the mess.
    Much later, after he has duct-taped black garbage bags into the window frame, Evan and Libby go into the TV room and he lets her pick the show. She wants to finish The Lion King . He’s glad it isn’t Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty or one of those fairy-tale romances.
    On the couch, Libby leans against Evan’s arm. He doesn’t pull away, but lets her. She’s holding one of her stuffed animals.
    They’re watching the part where the Lion King’s father dies trying to rescue his son. Evan has always thought this part was pretty horrific for a kid, but Libby has never seemed to mind.
    But tonight, when Simba is looking around the ravine for his missing parent, Libby asks a question.
    â€œEvan,” she says, “why doesn’t Dad come see me?”
    It’s out of the blue. Evan has to think for a moment, to figure out how he can put it. “I think he’s just kind of busy right now,” he tells her. “Busy and mixed-up,” he adds.
    â€œWhat’s he mixed-up about?”
    â€œI don’t know.” Evan shifts uneasily on the couch. He wishes Libby had asked Mom about this, not him.
    But Mom’s not here. He’s here, and he’s the one who’s got to sort it out.
    â€œSometimes,” he tells Libby, “when people get mixed-up, they accidentally hurt other people’s feelings.” He has never really thought about this before, but now that he’s said it, he feels he got it right, that what he said is real and true.
    â€œBut what do they get mixed-up about?”
    He thinks again, picking his way carefully among the words. “About what they want,” he finally tells her with certainty. “And what other people want.”
    Libby’s frowning, unconvinced.
    â€œLook,” Evan says. “Lib. It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. And you don’t need to be the one stuck here feeling bad.”
    Her face clears—not completely, but a little. At any rate, she lets it go after that. They watch Simba heading into the desert alone, and are still watching TV when Mom comes home.
    â€œDid Carrie come over?” she asks Evan.
    â€œYeah.” Evan doesn’t take his eyes off the TV.
    â€œShe didn’t stay very long. Did she have to be somewhere?”
    â€œUh-huh.” Evan’s answers are noncommittal. He knows without looking that Mom has a sneaking suspicion something’s not quite right, but can’t put her finger on it.
    â€œDid you have a nice visit?” she asks.
    â€œYeah,” Evan lies. “It was good.”
    She nods and heads to her office to put her purse away. Any second, Evan knows, she’s going to look up and see that one of her precious windows is gone. He waits, knowing that he’s only got a few more secondsof quiet before another drama starts.
    Mom’s dismayed shriek cuts the air. He sighs. Women .
    Â 
    The evening winds down, with Evan, Libby, and a still- distressed Mom all going quietly about their business.
    In his room at bedtime, Evan puts all the scattered papers back into the metal box. He doesn’t bother to look at them. He vaguely feels that something is different, but it isn’t till he’s stowing the box on a closet shelf that he figures out that the hazy feeling of dread left over from his dreams