Free Homefront by Kristen Tsetsi

I’m
strangled by sheets. I try to return to a dream I feel more than
remember—swinging, gliding, and there was water below.
    The floor is cold on my feet when I
get out of bed.
    Chancey follows me to the
kitchen.

    ________

    Shellie sounds less than happy to
hear from me and reminds me that this is the third day I’ve called
in. One more and Lionel will fire me. “It’s been busy,” she
says.
    I tighten my throat to sound sick
and promise her I’ll be there in the morning.
    Probably another hour, or so, before
the sun comes up. Another eight hours until the mail comes. Three
in the afternoon, Jake’s time. I dump the rest of my coffee in the
sink and go to the bedroom and climb under the blankets, watch the
shadows on the wall misshape and dissolve as the sun comes
up.

    ________

    “ Denise. It’s Mia.”
    “Mia?”
    “I—I wanted to ask about the
party.”
    “Are you excited?”
    “I am. And, I just wanted—It’s on
the…When is it, again?”
    “It’s at the end of
April.”
    “End of April. The last
weekend?”
    “Yes. We tried for Wednesday, but no
one was going for it.”
    “Okay, then. I’ll write it
down.”
    “Mia, I was joking.”
    “What?”
    “ About Wednesday.”
    “ Oh.”
    Denise is quiet, then says, “Was
that all?”
    “ M-hm. And, you know, I just wanted
to see how you are. See how William is.”
    “ I’m fine. Mia, are you
okay?”
    “ You’ve heard from him,
then?”
    “ From William?”
    “ Yes.”
    “ Not recently, no.”
    “ Oh.”
    “‘ Oh’ what?”
    “ It’s nothing.”
    “ Mia, it’s something. You don’t
call me.”
    “ I call you.”
    “ You have never once called
me.”
    “ Haven’t I?”
    “ What is it?”
    “ It’s just—it’s been two weeks
since some, I don’t know, mission or something, and—I don’t
know.”
    “They’re probably very
busy.”
    “ No, I know. I know.”
    “ Please tell me you’re not sitting
around and thinking.”
    “ Everything’s fine. I just wanted
to make sure, you know, just see if you heard from
William.”
    “I’m sorry. I haven’t.”
    “ Okay, then. All right.
Thanks.”
    “ Oh, Mia—before you go, what are
you doing tonight?”
    “ I think—what day is today?—I think
his mother is supposed to call,” I lie. “We have this once-a-week
update thing we do.”
    “You’re a better woman than
I.”
    “ Thanks again, Denise. I’m off to
work, so…”
    ________

    The popcorn bubbles on the ceiling
are uncountable.
    I reach two thousand and lose my
spot, start over.

    ________

    The downstairs door slams and I run
to the window, watch the blue sack wedged between the door and the
frame until it and mailman squeeze out and round the lilac bushes.
Downstairs, I tug open the sticking metal door to nothing, no
word.
    Olivia would have called if he were
dead.
    The phone lies buttons-up on the
couch and its light is red. I run over to pick it up. “Hello?” Air.
After pushing the on/off button twice, I get a dial tone.
“Chancey!”

    ________

    Dead.
    Dead, dead, dead .
    So final, the word, but at the same
time, meaningless. Incomprehensible, even.
    Dead. Deceased. Passed
away.
    “Dead” is best. Less clinical than
“deceased,” less voluntary than “passed away.”
    How is Jake, Mia?
    Jake’s dead.
    Oh, I’m sorry to hear he passed
away.
    No. He didn’t pass away. He’s
dead.

    ________

    Would his casket be open or closed?
Olivia would decide, because Jake never wrote a will, never
specified, and his mother is his next of kin. “But you get all the
money,” he said and smiled. “The death benefits.”
    “Oh, goodie,” I said.
    Benefits.
    Some thousands of dollars, more than
I’ve ever had. What does someone do with thousands and thousands of
dollars all at once?
    Open or closed will also depend on
how he died. There’s only so much reconstruction anyone, even the
best, can do. How would Olivia have it, given the
choice?
    Open. Jake’s blind eyes staring at
thread-sewn