“Is that minuscule enough for you?” I nodded toward the chopped onions sitting on the cutting board in front of me.
“I suppose that’ll do.” Sara observed my handy work. She was so picky when it came to certain foods.
She loved potato salad with onions, but they had to be ridiculously small or it made her “gag.” I knew it was because that’s how Mama used to make it when we were kids. She’d always worked so much that she didn’t often cook—not to mention, there was never really an abundance of food in our house anyhow. But when she did, it was always delicious and perfect.
I rolled my eyes at her observation and gave her a dramatic bow. She reciprocated by kicking me on the bottom with her bare foot when she brushed past me. I shook my head at her as she made her way out of the sliding glass door to the backyard with a plate of hamburger patties in her hand.
It was still ridiculously hot outside, but Sara had purchased a canopy for the patio to provide a little shade. And that’s where I saw Mama, holding a glass of sweet tea, intently watching Jake at the grill.
I threw the finely chopped onions into the bowl and secured the lid before going outside to check on my mother.
I gave her shoulder a light squeeze so I didn’t startle her. “You doing okay, Mama?”
She simply grabbed my hand and pressed it against her cheek, causing my chest to constrict at her affectionate gesture. I let out a sigh of relief, thankful that today was a good day for her.
“Let me put some more ice in your tea, okay?” I pulled the glass from her frail fingertips and walked back toward the house before yelling over my shoulder at Jake, “Do you need anything while I’m inside?”
“Nah, I think I’m good for now.” He gave me a nod with his bottled beer held up in front of him before swatting Sara on the bottom with a roll of paper towels.
I loved the affection he always seemed to show my sister; even the smallest or silliest gesture made me happy. When I stepped into the kitchen, the screen on my cell lit up on the counter. I noticed it was from Jackson, so I slid it open.
I rolled my eyes at his short answer. I’d sent him a text two hours ago asking if he wanted to join us at Sara’s. And I knew his two-word response actually meant only one. No.
Not that I was surprised. He never came over with me anymore. Part of me was glad. His drinking embarrassed me sometimes, so keeping my home life and my family life separate was just easier. I tried to downplay Jackson’s problem, but it was obvious to everyone, even if we didn’t speak about it often.
Although, I wasn’t positive he was even drinking yet, it was only noon. But it was also the weekend, so it was likely. I couldn’t even force him to budge this morning when I left the house. He was sleeping off his whiskey from the night before, and I knew he’d gotten to bed late, so I wasn’t surprised.
I typed with my own short response and pushed him from my mind, hoping to enjoy the day with my family, minus my husband. As usual.
I hit send and turned my phone over before refilling Mama’s glass with crushed ice and fresh tea.
“How about a glass of wine?” Sara wiggled her eyebrows at me when she joined me in the kitchen.
“Geez, it’s only noon.” I popped an olive into my mouth and rolled my eyes.
“We’re fucking grown, remember?” She shoved her hip against mine before opening the refrigerator and then grabbing the chilled bottle still waiting from earlier in the week.
“I know that.” I felt a little defensive as I grabbed another olive from the bowl on the counter, because she was right.
“Besides, you can have a glass or two now, then you’ll be good to go by the time you have to drive home later.” Her reasoning actually made a lot of sense.
I hadn’t had a drink in months, it really wasn’t my thing. I drank some in high school and right after, but once it became such an important part of Jackson’s life, it became more of an annoyance to me. And I definitely never had a drink in front of him. That would only give him ammunition when he got on my nerves during a binge.
“Maybe one,” I conceded as Sara pulled two glasses from her cabinet.
“Or two,” she corrected, stabbing the cork with the wine opener and giving it a twist.
The city traffic was light tonight, and I was thankful, yet a little surprised. The sound of nineties’ pop filled my car, and I bobbed my head along to the music while sitting at the red light. My buzz from the two glasses of wine I’d consumed during lunch was long gone, but my good mood remained. I really did love spending time with my family.
Mama had a great day, and I always enjoyed hanging out with Sara. And Jake made me feel welcome in their home, which I was thankful for. It made me feel guilty for the way Jackson ignored Sara these days when she came over. Not that he was ever much of a social person, but it was so much worse now. Sara brushed it off though, and it never seemed to bother her—not that she let on, anyway.
It also made me grateful that my little sister had found such a good man with a good soul and playful spirit. He always cracked jokes and cut up. Sara said it was because he was in the military and had been forced to be so serious while he was there. But he shut it off when he left the base and didn’t allow that side of him to peek through.
I pulled into my driveway and saw Jackson’s truck parked in his usual spot. I felt guilty because a small part of me hoped he’d be gone to the bar or out with a co-worker. I didn’t want to deal with him being drunk and hateful tonight. I had a great day, and I wasn’t ready to have my mood shattered.
But as I walked through the front door, darkness had settled over the living room. I flipped the tableside lamp on when I set my purse on the couch before making my way to the equally dark kitchen with my plate of leftovers for Jackson.
Once I placed the container on the bar, I walked down the hall to our bedroom. I stuck my head in the doorway and saw Jackson sprawled out on the mattress, seemingly in the same position he was when I left. My heart leaped into my throat as I walked closer to him, the scary scenario that lived in the back of my mind coming front and center. I always worried that one of these days, he would actually drink himself to death. But as I got closer, I could hear his light snores, and I let out a small exhale.
“Jackson…hey, Jackson.” I pressed my fingers into his bare chest and gave a gentle shake. “Hey,” I repeated as his eyes fluttered open before closing again. “Have you been asleep all day?” I looked around the room for some sign that he had rolled out of bed—maybe a pair of jeans on the floor or a glass on the nightstand. But there was nothing.
“Did you sleep all day? Are you sick?” I asked, touching the back of my hand to his clammy forehead. But the smell of whiskey wafted through the air as I lowered my head closer to his. He was sick, just not the kind I was thinking.
“I’m tired.” His snoring resumed as soon as the words came out of his mouth.
I rolled my eyes and left him to sleep, closing the door behind me.
I flopped down on the sofa, but not before grabbing the leftover potato salad to bring with me. I dug into the creamy deliciousness and quietly moaned as the bursts of pickle invaded my taste buds.
I grabbed the remote and flipped to a local station playing the nightly news. The picture on the screen grabbed my attention and stole my breath, causing my chest to constrict.
“Authorities have found the body of missing runner, Jessica Marcus. Jessica was reported missing on Wednesday by her parents. The twenty-six-year-old marathon runner was last seen on Katy Trail. According to her parents, Jessica spent each morning training for an upcoming race on that very path. Currently, there are no leads, and her cause of death has not been released, but police have said that Ms. Marcus was murdered. The local police department will hold a news conference shortly, and we will be there live to give you the latest information.”
My heart sank as I tried to process the story while staring at the picture on the screen. My breathing became shallow and the urge to vomit washed over me.
Her dark hair hung long but framed her face. And her blue eyes shined in the photo, staring right at me. The freckles under her eyes spread across her nose.
She looked like me. So much like me.
So much that the urge to vomit overtook me, forcing me to rush to the bathroom and cling to the toilet as my food exited my body.
The fear that had stayed hidden in my mind all these years stabbed me like a knife, digging into my brain, forcing me to realize the truth.