Back Against The Wall. Janice Kay Johnson

she was marrying a gentle, sensitive man, who instead was both helpless where daily life was concerned and weirdly oblivious to the real people who also lived in the house. Even Beth sometimes felt like his mother. Witness today. What was she doing but rescuing Dad again? Imagine being married to a man you started seeing that way?

      But Emily had been especially close to their mother, and was still childish in many ways. Would it have been so bad to let her have the Christmas ornaments Mom had hung on the tree every year? The ones they’d later replaced with standard-issue red and gold balls?

      Emily raced after Matt to yell at him. Beth peered into the garbage can, thinking she might be able to rescue a few ornaments, but eew. Dad had dumped some disgusting leftovers straight into the can without bagging them first.

      She backed away, then made herself pick up the lid and put it on.

      She marched up to Matt, poked him in the chest with her index finger and said, “That was not your decision. Nobody asked you to take those ornaments home and treasure them forever. If they meant something to Emily, she had the right to keep them. Smashing them in front of her was cruel.”

      “I told you!” Emily cried.

      His mouth tightened, and he glowered at Beth but after a minute nodded stiffly.

      Are we having fun yet?

      Behind her brother, the French door to the dining room opened, and Dad stepped out onto the patio, looking surprised to see them.

      “Did I know you were going to be here today?”

      Matt snarled and retreated out of sight.

      “Yes, Dad.” Beth made herself smile, go to her father and kiss his cheek. “I told you we were going to unbury the garage. Just think, you might be able to park inside it.”

      His forehead pleated, giving his narrow face a concerned look. “You won’t throw away anything important, will you?”

      “Of course not.” She hugged him. “Anyway, how important can it be if you haven’t seen it in ten years or more?”

      “Well...” A bright and charming smile grew on his face. “You have a point.” He greeted Emily absently, gazed at the open door and the shadow of his son inside with apparent perplexity, then said, “I’m working on something. If you need me...” He was already fading away. Beth had no doubt that five minutes from now, he’d have forgotten his children were here. If their voices caught his attention again, he’d probably remember, puzzle over why they’d want to waste time on such a tedious task and go back to his reading.

      “Is he gone?” Matt hissed.

      “It’s safe.”

      Emily smirked. “Olly olly oxen free.”

      Cautiously reappearing, Matt said, “Brat.”

      “Jerk.”

      Peace restored. Temporarily.

      * * *

      SUNDAY MORNING, Beth ripped tape off the top of a big cardboard box she’d dragged from beneath the long-forgotten workbench and folded back the flaps to see clothes inside. This wasn’t the first—they’d found countless boxes of children’s clothes, neatly folded and presumably saved by Mom for the next baby. Beth was beginning to think Mom had saved every scrap Matt had ever worn, certain she’d have another boy. There were girl clothes, too, but they’d been handed down once, and Emily had worn some of them out. Why hadn’t Mom realized at some point that, nope, she wasn’t having another kid, period, and maybe she ought to get rid of all the tough-boy toddler-size overalls and sweaters with tractors and rocket ships decorating the front?

      Huh. Maybe this disaster wasn’t totally Dad’s fault. Maybe Mom had had her own pack rat tendencies. Beth remembered stories about how poor her mother’s family had been when she was growing up. Maybe that kind of upbringing ingrained in a person the belief that it was best to hold on to anything that might conceivably be useful later.

      This box, though... The clothes had just been dumped in it. Beth poked a little and realized that not only were these adult-size but each garment was still hooked on a clothes hanger. She reached in and lifted out a blouse. Pale pink with subtle white stripes. Mom had loved pink. She wore a lot of it. Petite, blonde and blue-eyed, like Emily, Christine Marshall had embodied femininity.

      Beth was vaguely aware that Matt was slowly turning to her. “I remember this blouse,” she whispered.

      He swore and took a couple of steps to look into the box. He started to reach for a dress but pulled his hand back. “It’s the clothes she didn’t take. Dad must have wanted them out of sight.”

      Beth’s stomach tightened. Even her father had emerged from his alternate world briefly when his wife disappeared. She’d left Word open on the computer with a note explaining that she was leaving him and she’d be in touch when she was settled. After that...nothing.

      Dad had called the police, who hadn’t been interested. Christine had taken her purse, her birth control pills out of the medicine cabinet, some of her makeup and jewelry. Obviously, she’d left voluntarily.

      Beth, Matt and Emily had refused to believe she would do that. Leave Dad, sure. She’d taken to yelling at him a lot. But she wouldn’t have abandoned her children. She, of all people, had known how inadequate he was as a parent. For a long time Beth, at least, had held on to the belief that Mom would fight for custody once she had a new job and someplace to live.

      “She loved this blouse.” Beth could hardly take her eyes off it. “Why didn’t she take more of her clothes?”

      “Because she left in a hurry?” Matt suggested, old anger roughening his voice. “Maybe she thought she’d try a new style for a new man.”

      “Maybe.” Seeing her sister’s distress, she shook herself. “Well. This is sort of creepy, but I can see why Dad didn’t want to get rid of everything.”

      “I’ll bet I’m the same size she was.” Emily stepped forward. “There might be clothes I’d like.”

      Not even thinking it through, Beth dropped the blouse back into the box and slapped the flaps closed. “No.”

      Looking indignant, her sister said, “What do you mean, no?”

      Matt turned on her. “Don’t you speak English? She means no. N.O.”

      “Don’t talk to me that way.”

      Beth shut her eyes and sought her equilibrium. A couple deep breaths, and she was back. “Emily, I hate the idea of seeing you in some shirt I associate with her, and obviously Matt feels the same.”

      “Dumpster,” he said, sounding hard.

      Beth shook her head. “Can we just set this aside? Keep it for now?”

      “Why?”

      “I don’t know. I just...don’t want to make that decision yet. Anyway...” She hesitated. “Her clothes were nice. When we do get rid of them, they should go to a thrift store or maybe a women’s shelter.” She didn’t include garage sale. What if she breathed in the faint scent of her mother while she was handling her mother’s clothes. Attaching little price tags. The idea made her shiver.

      He frowned at her but gave an abrupt nod. “Up to you.” Matt went back to the box of books he’d been looking at one by one.

      Logically enough—if anything about this was logical—Beth found half a dozen more boxes filled with her mother’s stuff in the same vicinity. Shoes, too, of course, but mostly clothes, including one that had lingerie on top. She closed that box really fast. Even the thrift store wouldn’t want old, used panties and bras. She was tempted to write Toss in big black letters on the side but knew she ought to dig deeper in the box before she did that.

      Matt and even Emily stayed away from the section of the garage where Beth was working. Emily kept stealing wary glances at her, and no wonder. She was used to