The Dark Children / Ryan M. Usher / pg. 17

Chapter One:

-Concealed-

Sarah sat on the edge of her bed, gazing into her mirror. She was fresh out of the shower and wearing only panties and a bra. A white terry-cloth towel sat atop her head, like a sheik’s turban. She felt good, that kind of early-morning good that only a shower could bring. It would be even better once she made acquaintance with the coffee she could smell brewing downstairs. Best of all, there was plenty to look forward to this day. It was almost Christmas again, and even though Sarah was halfway through her thirties, she was still a little girl about it. Now, the thrills of the season that she enjoyed firsthand as a child were the domain of her two sons, but that did little to diminish the good vibes. In this regard, as in many others she had discovered over the last ten years, motherhood brought a brand-new perspective to every experience, and in few instances were the revelations as pleasant as this.

It was bitterly cold outside, and the WINA 1070 meteorologist, Johnny “Sunshine” Marano, fearlessly predicted that this day would not live up to his nickname. No way, kids, not today. Christmas was right around the corner. Santa’s busy doing his inventory adjustments somewhere up at the North Pole, and wouldn’t you believe it, but our very own Virginia, named so because of our drastic inexperience with December snow, was actually fixin’ to get dressed up for the occasion this year. Temperatures in the mid-30’s all morning, giving way to heavy cloud cover and falling temperatures by noon. The snowflakes would start falling just before John Q. Public and Jane Q. Public got out of their office jobs and added their cars to the wonderful daily congregation that was Rush Hour on Interstate 81. Get the parkas out, ladies and gentlemen! Get your sleds and toboggans out, kits and kiddies! We’ll have four on the ground by nine p.m., and six more by sunrise tomorrow morning!

Maybe the snow was coming, and a lot of it to boot, but right now, the sky was still clear, and the sun shone down with no clouds to filter its rays. Said rays made their merry way through the bedroom’s uncurtained windows, and their touch was nice and warm upon Sarah’s bare shoulders. It felt nice. It was no wonder that cats were so drawn to it, she thought.

Sarah’s own face stared back at her from within the mirror. The pretty little girl she had been had matured into rather deep beauty. She had been married to Brian for almost twelve years, but that didn’t stop the compliments from other men, not just the appraising glances, but actual verbal compliments. She was completely faithful to Brian and hadn’t for a second given serious consideration to the idea of breaking her fidelity, but that didn’t mean she didn’t like getting those compliments, didn’t mean she didn’t like getting the looks. It was no crime to look, if window-shopping was all you had in mind. And hey, some of them weren’t so bad-looking themselves.

But, there was one aspect of her features that she didn’t like at all. She ran her finger along the scar ran down the left side of her face, a jagged line of flesh slightly whiter than the skin around it. It traced the contour of her cheekbone almost two inches. That was her Christmas gift fifteen years ago courtesy of one fantastically drunk man and his pickup truck. Without a doubt, it was the worst Christmas of Sarah’s life. A piece of glass from her obliterated car gave it to her. The docs did a rather admirable job considering how vicious the wound had been. There were others like it on a few other parts of her body, but save for a small nick on her wrist, this was the only one readily visible, the only one she saw every time she looked into a mirror. Most people weren’t even aware she had a scar, and she took considerable pains to keep that illusion. At least five complete minutes of her routine every morning were spent carefully applying makeup to that particular spot. This was a ritual she had performed every day of her life over those fifteen years, even on those days she planned to go no farther from the house than the end of the driveway for the mail or newspaper. Even if Brian was at work and the kids were at school or summer camp, even then, the scar always got the works.

It wasn’t a matter of vanity, at least, not entirely. Sure, that had a little to do with it; after all, it was pretty large and in a prominent place upon her features. That wasn’t the main reason; certainly not the reason why that bit of makeup would be applied even if that was all that touched her face that particular day. No, the real reason was that seeing it brought back memories of that wholly unpleasant part of her life. The accident was bad enough, to be sure, but it was just the start of the unpleasantness. Rehabilitation kept her out of classes for a month and derailed an entire semester of her education. That was pretty crappy for someone who attacked her classes with furious gusto like Sarah did, and the frustration drove her nuts. Her pristine GPA was undamaged, but catching up was a hassle and that entire semester was an exercise in accepting momentary futility. Yeah, okay, it wasn’t the end of the entire world, but it was important to her. It itched her even worse than the casts on her arm and both legs. She did recover, though, and without a limp, for which everyone was incredibly grateful. Fifteen years later, Sarah could walk and jog and ride a bike with the best of them. Cold and damp weather always brought soreness in those old fractures, but that was nothing a few Advil couldn’t usually fix.

Far worse was missing Christmas. It was always such a big event in the Easterbrook household and she was no exception. She missed getting to help cook the family feast, to exchange gifts the next morning, to spend those warm days with the people she loved so much. She missed all that, though even that was something she would have been able to live with.

The reason it caused her so much distress was her father. Not even six weeks before her accident, his doctors triumphantly announced to her mother, over the phone, that Tommy Easterbrook’s cancer was finally in full remission. What a cause for celebration that had been! Sarah had been driving all the way to Pennsylvania every other weekend throughout the ordeal, doing her studies and papers at her old desk in her childhood bedroom. It was harrowing, and not a little inconvenient, but the Easterbrooks were a strong family, and Lord knows Mom and Dad or Richard or Tony would have gladly done the same for her if she were laid up like that. In the Easterbrook family, you know and accept these things, and that’s just the way it was. Sarah did so dutifully and without complaint.

Unfortunately, turnabout was a bitch. Suddenly, she was the one laid up. The family had just begun to recover from one major medical emergency only to be greeted with another. The family had not called the whole thing off. They still celebrated the holiday. Mom said she knew Sarah would hate for them to nix everything just because she was indisposed, and she had assumed correctly. There was a Christmas in the Easterbrook house that year, but the celebration was muted and remarkable only for how unremarkable it was. Despite Mom’s best efforts to everyone’s spirits up (and let no man say she wasn’t formidable in that respect), the Easterbrook family drudged through this suddenly dour Christmas like a troupe of actors rehearsing a play that none ever intended to perform.

But, things come as things go. Christmas passed, and then New Year’s. Sarah, of course, knew all of this only by way of others’ recall. Her Christmas was spent asleep. She ended the old year asleep and began the new one the same way. Things come as things go.

But hey, it could have been worse. After all, she did wake up. She could have been killed. If miracles were real, certainly one had come into play that night. Certainly, she could have come away from that wreck in as many pieces as her poor old Chevy. She could have suffered far worse than she had. To escape with a few scars and a barely-noticeable limp was certainly something that at least warranted consideration by the Miracle Committee.

But, what the hell? Life was good now. There was no reason to dwell on such ancient history. None at all. She wished she could invest a little more belief into that, though. It was hard not to think about it, this time of year. Sarah was always the one to remember important events. It was she who sent out birthday cards and Christmas wishes (all written, stamped and out for the postman two days prior, thank you very much). She also remembered events that were memorable for the wrong reasons, and certainly this qualified. It came with the territory. She could no more un-remember her car accident than she could make herself forget how to read if the words were unpleasant. That’s just the way things were.

She went over to the wardrobe and selected an outfit from what remained. Several of her better choices were in one of the suitcases already, but that was alright. Today, she didn’t need to doll herself up fancy-like, for this day would be spent on the road, going home again, for Pennsylvania and some home-made pumpkin pie. It was true, too. There would be pumpkin pie and stuffing and a goose (“Turkey’s for November and November only”, so spoketh the Easterbrook Matriarch). In some ways, living a cliché wasn’t so bad. Home again, and much of the day would be spent getting there. Therefore, jeans and a sweatshirt would be quite sufficient.

Once dressed, Sarah turned off the radio, bring a premature end to “Sunshine’s” five-day forecast. She went down the hallway, towards the boys’ rooms, to make sure they were both getting all of their stuff packed. Sarah didn’t live a clockwork life, but she did budget her time well. She had made all of her material preparations last night, at least in regards to clothing and the like.

The men of the family were another story.

When she had awakened this morning, she was alone. It was a rather strange feeling, for it was a rare occasion that had Brian awake and moving before she was. Instead of her dozing husband, she found a note scotch-taped to his pillow.

Gone out shopping. Have to go alone, and you’ll see why eventually. I shouldn’t be gone too long. Love, Brian.

Last-minute Christmas shopping on the day they were to leave town. Such a development was by no means a surprise to her. Brian was ever the procrastinator. His portrait would be next to the definition in the dictionary, and his life’s deeds would be the definition itself. Sarah constantly found herself needing to badger him into doing most menial tasks. In some ways, she found it distasteful. Brian was an adult, after all, and Sarah found it irritating that she felt like she was playing Mother for him as often as she felt like his wife. It wasn’t enough that she had to do the same for the boys, though their excuse was of course acceptable. It was even more irritating that he never seemed to be bothered by his own behavior, or by her reactions to it. If someone younger than she had to get on her case about doing the laundry or making sure the electric bill was paid on time, she would feel pretty embarrassed. Brian never did. He would just shrug it off and do whatever it was he forgot to do. He was a good man in most of the ways that really counted, though. He was a good man and a hard worker when he felt the task was important enough. That earned him a free pass today.

Sarah grabbed the laundry basket, but then changed her mind and got Brian’s suitcase out of the closet instead. She could fold and pack everything right in the basement and save a few minutes. On the way down, she could check on the boys, and make sure they weren’t loafing around. It was her luck that both Kyle and Aaron both seemed to inherit their father’s lackadaisical manner.

Maybe it’s just a male thing, she thought. She couldn’t remember Dad being a layabout except on Sundays. Her brothers were always active, even if they rarely seemed to be doing anything really useful.

Aaron’s room was missing Aaron, and his dinosaur-adorned bed was host to a chaotic mass of shirts and socks and pants and underwear. She could hear the sounds of video games coming from his brother’s room next door, and she was quite certain she would find a similar scene there.

Sure enough, both boys were in Kyle’s bedroom, and the elder of the two sat on the edge of the bed playing one of those Super Mario games. Behind him, little Aaron was busy stuffing Kyle’s entire wardrobe into his suitcase. He was being as efficient as he knew how to be, which in his case meant that he was grabbing handfuls of whatever was closest and cramming it in the case in a completely haphazard fashion. Sarah had to stifle a laugh because of the deadly serious look on his face as he performed his duty.

Neither of them was aware of Sarah’s presence, and both of them jumped when she gave the bedroom door a stern rap. Kyle tossed his controller aside, as if to make like it had never been in his hands at all.

“It’s good to see someone’s on the ball this morning,” she said, looking over at Aaron. “Now, correct me if I’m mistaken, because it has been known to happen, but those are Kyle’s clothes that you are so carefully tucking away, right, kiddo?”

“Yep,” said Aaron, “Kyle said I could borrow his CD player for awhile if I put his stuff away for him.”

“Well, that’s really generous of him,” she said, turning her gaze towards her older son, “But I saw a mountain on your brother’s bed, and I think it’s probably best if you put down the Nintendo for a few minutes and get yourself squared away, okay?”

“Yes, Mom,” said Kyle. Aaron scuttled across the bed and darted down the hall to his room.

“Now Kyle, I’m going to go help your brother. When I come back, I don’t want to see you back in front of that TV unless I see one neatly-packed suitcase, capice?”

“Capice. Are we going to have breakfast before we go?”

“You can grab a bowl of cereal if you want. We’ll probably stop somewhere once we’re on the road.”

Kyle nodded and looked with distaste at the mess his brother made. With a funny sort of dignity, he removed the jammed and crammed clothing and folded everything before replacing it. Content that all was going smoothly, Sarah made her way back to Aaron’s room.

Aaron’s philosophy seemed to be that a good idea is always better the second time around. When Sarah entered his room, Aaron was perched overtop of his suitcase, filling it with the same care and precision with which he used when packing Kyle’s things, looking like the reverse of a dog digging a hole in the lawn.

“I’m almost done, Mom,” Aaron said when he noticed his mother watching him.

She laughed. “So I see, kiddo. I think that perhaps your organizational skills leave something to be desired, though.”

He looked down at his suitcase. A look of childish naiveté showed that he didn’t see what the fuss was all about. Nevertheless, he slid over and let Sarah sit next to him.

“You know,” she said, “If Kyle is going to trick you into doing his dirty work for him, it would have been nice if he had taught you how to do it correctly.”

“What do you mean?” he said.

“Watch.”

She took one of his shirts, adorned with the logo of the Pittsburgh Steelers. Aaron showed just a little interest in football, but Brian was crazy about the team, and buying this shirt for the boy was his subtle way of grooming a new fan. She folded the sleeves backwards against each other, and then folded the entire shirt in half, making it look just as it would on the rack at the store. She did it slowly, and explained to Aaron. He grabbed another from the pile and tried to duplicate his mother’s feat, though with little success. Sarah repeated the demonstration, and then actually guided him through the process the third time, but when he tried again on his own, the knack once again eluded him. He tossed the shirt down in frustration.

“Don’t get so wound-up over it,” she said, holding in a laugh, “You’ll have all the time in the world to master the difficult, yet satisfying art of shirt-folding.”

“No I won’t,” he said, “I don’t need to learn it.”

“But I won’t be around forever to do it for you, kiddo. You’ll have to learn it someday.”

He turned to look at her, a look of amusing shock on his face. “Where are you going?”

The laugh finally broke free. “I’m not going anywhere, but one day you’ll be all grown up and you won’t want your old mom doing things like that for you. Big boys like to be independent.”

“What’s independent?”

“It’s when you’re an adult, maybe a daddy yourself, and you don’t have to do anything we tell you. You can stay up until four in the morning, you can eat Oreos for breakfast, and you can watch bad TV shows.”

His face practically lit up like a floodlight. Independence was apparently a new word worth remembering. It was almost a shame to burst his bubble, but not quite enough to leave it just at that…

“It also means you have to go to work everyday and do whatever your boss tells you, or else you don’t get any money and you go live in a poorhouse.”

He just shrugged. Most of those concepts were not yet known to him, and Sarah saw no good reason to elaborate further. Think I’ll just let the kid be a kid for a little while longer, she thought.

“Tell you what,” she said, “I’ll tackle the shirts and pants. You can ball up the socks.”
Finally! Something he knew how to do and knew it well! He agreed, and got right on it. He started singing as he did.

“Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la la, la la la la”

Sarah picked up on the second verse, and together mother and son filled the room with some Christmas cheer as they completed the task at hand. It was one of those neat little coincidences that Sarah folded the last tiny pair of jeans just as they reached the end of the song. She took the stacks of clothes and arranged them neatly inside of the suitcase. Cramming was not an option left ignored, but in this case it was the work of a master against that of the amateur in terms of layout and economy of space, and when she added the last shirt, she had just enough room remaining for his socks. She turned to collect them from Aaron.

“Well, I have to admit,” Sarah said, amused, “you are not the type to be held back by conventional wisdom.”

Aaron gave her a thoughtful look. He seemed to genuinely enjoy hearing new words that most adults would assume to be far too large for a child of his stature. Sarah had been in that school of thought herself until he had begun to display a preternatural knack for learning a relatively advanced vocabulary. Now, she made a point to encourage that talent by doing her best to never talk down to him.

Though Aaron may have had the knack for tackling words beyond his age, he was still proving to be either untested or clever and innovative in his attempts to properly pack a suitcase. He had balled his socks, all right. Sarah held the evidence in her hand now, a massive, singular lump that was only slightly smaller than a basketball. She reached over with her other hand to undo her son’s creation, paused, reconsidered, and instead placed the sock ball in the suitcase. It filled the remaining vacuum with room to spare.

Today, thou art the innovator, O child.

O Child looked tremendously pleased with himself. Sarah gave him a pat on the head. “Alright, kiddo,” she said, “I think we’re pretty much done here. You can go bug Kyle now if it so pleases you.”

Aaron said nothing, but both the grin that appeared on his face, and the speed he displayed in his exit made it quite clear that it did so please him to give his older brother all the grief he could take. Maybe even more. ‘Tis the season for giving, after all.

Sarah walked back to the kitchen. The aroma of coffee was heavy in the air, and for her, it was like running hot water through freezing pipes. She needed that scent and that warmth. Without it, she would never feel fully awake. She poured a cup and added the half-and-half, using what was left in the carton. Into the trash it went, and with the labor out of the way, she sat at the kitchen table and leafed through the newspaper, hunting the weather page.

The radio meteorologist wasn’t kidding. Snow today, snow tomorrow, snow the day after. Getting any of the white stuff here in December was unusual enough, but getting three days of it was almost a sign of the Apocalypse for the locals. It wasn’t just here, either. Some wickedly large front, courtesy of Canada, was set to rampage all along the eastern seaboard this week, and if you lived anywhere between Albany and Raleigh, North Carolina, it didn’t look like you were to be spared this obtrusive visit from Old Man Winter. Looking out the window, she could see the telltale signs of the storm’s imminent arrival. It had been just a half-hour since she sat on her bed enjoying the warmth of the sunlight, but already she could see the clouds. They were huge and heavy, like slabs of granite worked into strange shapes and hung from the heavens. It wouldn’t be long before they conquered the skies completely, and once they did, the snow would fall. They might be able to skirt some of it thanks to their route taking them north-east, but nature would eventually win that battle. The sooner they got on the road, the farther they’d get before the weather turned really miserable.

Brian still hadn’t come back, though. He went out to make a few purchases, and insisted on going alone to do so. There was a little clandestine Christmas shopping involved here, no doubt, and it was really sweet of him, but he should have kept in mind the conditions they might have to drive through later, and just what kind of shopping was he doing that would take this long?

She set the paper down and picked up the cordless telephone, punching his number on the speed-dial. The soft, electric tone pulsed once, twice, three times, four…

“Howdy!” Brian’s voice came through, bright and chipper. She had just opened her mouth and was in the process of forming a word when he continued. “Sorry I couldn’t catch your call, but state your name for the record and I’ll get back to you ASAP!”

Where on earth are you? She wanted to say, but instead she just rapped her knuckles on the table in frustration. The voice-mail system beeped and awaited her message. She supplied one, and then set the phone back in the cradle.

The newspaper and her coffee sat there on the table, wanting her attention, and she tried to give, but she couldn’t keep her eyes from darting to the clock on the wall every few moments.

17