Part 1
By Christmas, the House Would Reveal What Her Husband Left Behind.
“Get out of my house!”
I stopped with one hand still wrapped around the handle of my travel bag. Jessica stood inside my front doorway, blocking the hall.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” She folded her arms. “You can’t just walk in here acting like nothing changed.”
I looked past her.
“Matthew?”
My son sat in George’s leather chair near the fireplace. His elbows rested on his knees. He stared at the rug.
“Matthew, look at me.”
His jaw tightened.
Jessica glanced back at him. “Don’t drag him into this.”
“He’s sitting in my living room.”
Matthew finally raised his head, but his eyes stopped somewhere near my shoulder.
“Mom, can we just keep this calm?”
“Calm?”
I let the travel bag drop beside my boots.
“I walked through my own front door, and your wife told me to leave.”
Jessica gave a short laugh.
“There. That. Your own front door. Your own living room. Everything is always yours.”
“Because it is.”
Matthew rubbed both palms over his face.
“Mom.”
“No. Look at me.”
He did.
Only for a second.
Then his eyes moved toward the hallway.
The hook beside the coat closet was empty.
I noticed because George’s brown winter jacket had hung there for four years. Matthew followed my gaze and immediately stood.
“Mom, maybe you should sit down.”
“Why?”
“I just think we should talk.”
Jessica stepped farther into the doorway, forcing me to remain near the threshold.
“We already talked,” she said. “Matthew and I live here now.”
I looked at my son.
“Is that true?”
His lips parted, but nothing came out.
“Matthew.”
Jessica answered for him.
“Yes.”
I picked up my bag and stepped forward.
Jessica didn’t move.
For several seconds, neither did I.
Then Matthew said quietly, “Jess.”
Something in his voice made her look at him.
He shook his head once.
Jessica moved aside.
I walked past her.
Behind me, she said, “That doesn’t mean you’re staying.”
“This house belongs to me, Jessica.”
She leaned against the doorway between the hall and living room.
“Oh, please. Matthew told me we’d be living here now.”
I turned toward him.
“Did you?”
Matthew remained standing beside George’s chair.
“It wasn’t exactly like that.”
“Then tell me exactly how it was.”
Jessica sighed.
“Why does everything need a courtroom explanation?”
“Because you just ordered me out of my own home.”
“Our home,” she said.
Matthew closed his eyes.
I watched him.
“Is that what you told her?”
“Mom, nobody is trying to hurt you.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
His fingers pressed against the chair’s worn leather.
George used to grip that same spot when he pushed himself upright.
Matthew noticed where I was looking and released it.
“We thought this made sense.”
“We?”
“Yes.”
Jessica stepped closer.
“Matthew said this house was where we were supposed to end up.”
“End up?”
“Eventually.”
The word hung there.
I looked around for the first time without Jessica filling my vision.
Something felt wrong.
Not unfamiliar.
Removed.
My red-and-green lights were gone.
Cold white strands framed the mantel. Silver ribbon curled between glass ornaments I had never seen before.
I looked toward the front door.
“Where’s the wreath?”
Jessica frowned.
“What wreath?”
“The pine wreath.”
“Oh. That old one?”
“Yes. That old one.”
“I put it away.”
“Where?”
She waved vaguely toward the back of the house.
“With the other stuff.”
Matthew’s shoulders stiffened.
“What other stuff?”
“Mom,” he said quickly, “nothing was thrown away.”
I looked at him.
“I didn’t ask whether anything was thrown away.”
His face changed.
Just slightly.
Jessica glanced between us.
Then Matthew looked toward the empty coat hook again.
“Matthew?”
He swallowed.
“We can find everything later.”
“Find?”
Jessica turned away.
I stayed where I was, watching my son avoid my eyes again.
“Where is my star?”
Jessica was adjusting a silver ornament when I spoke.
Her hand stopped.
“What?”
“The wooden star.”
I pointed toward the top of the Christmas tree.
A polished silver topper sat where George’s crooked wooden star should have been.
Jessica resumed straightening the ornament.
“Oh. That wooden thing?”
“Yes.”
“It didn’t match.”
My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag.
Matthew shifted behind me.
“Jess.”
“What?”
“Not now.”
She looked at him.
“I’m answering her question.”
I walked closer to the tree.
Silver balls. White ribbon. Crystal snowflakes.
Underneath were packages wrapped in matching paper. Several had Jessica’s name written across expensive-looking tags.
I searched the nearby boxes.
Nothing.
“Where did you put it?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You removed it.”
“Yes.”
“But you don’t remember where you put it.”
Jessica exhaled through her nose.
“Probably with the old decorations.”
“Where?”
“The garage, maybe.”
Matthew stepped between us without quite facing either of us.
“I’ll find it.”
I looked at him.
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“You know where it is?”
His answer came too slowly.
“I’ll look.”
Jessica shook her head.
“It’s a tree topper.”
Matthew turned sharply.
“Jessica.”
She stared at him.
His expression stopped her.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then I looked toward the hallway again.
The empty hook pulled my attention back.
“Where is George’s jacket?”
Matthew went still.
Jessica glanced toward the hook.
“What jacket?”
“His brown winter jacket.”
“Oh.”
She picked at the edge of a ribbon.
“I packed some things. It’s probably in the garage.”
Matthew’s head turned toward her.
“What?”
She frowned.
“I said I packed it.”
“You moved Dad’s jacket?”
“You saw me clearing things out.”
Matthew’s face tightened.
“Where exactly did you put it?”
Jessica gave him an irritated look.
“Why are you suddenly worried about a coat?”
Matthew didn’t answer.
Neither did I.
His eyes stayed fixed on the empty hook.
“Where is your father’s jacket?”
Matthew followed me toward the stairs.
“Mom, we can sort all that later.”
I stopped on the first step.
“No. We can sort it now.”
Jessica remained near the tree.
“It’s safe.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“I already told you. Garage.”
“Where in the garage?”
She threw up both hands.
“I don’t know. In a box.”
Matthew looked at her.
“Which box?”
Jessica stared back.
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
The force in his voice surprised both of us.
Jessica’s expression hardened.
“You were there, Matthew.”
“I wasn’t watching every box.”
“Well, neither was I.”
I studied my son.
He was pale around the mouth.
“Why does it matter which box?”
“It doesn’t.”
His answer came immediately.
Too immediately.
He stepped past me.
“Let’s just go upstairs.”
I didn’t move.
“You just said it doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Then why are you upset?”
“I’m not upset.”
Jessica laughed once.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Matthew turned toward her.
“Can you stop?”
Her smile disappeared.
The room went quiet.
I looked from my son to the empty hook.
Then toward the silver tree.
George’s star was missing.
His jacket was boxed somewhere nobody could name.
Matthew had barely looked at me since I arrived, yet a missing coat had finally made him raise his voice.
I climbed another step.
“Mom,” he said.
I turned.
He seemed ready to say something.
Instead, his eyes moved toward Jessica.
She was watching him now.
Not angry.
Careful.
Matthew lowered his voice.
“Just leave the garage alone tonight.”
Jessica’s head snapped toward him.
I tightened my hand around the banister.
“Why?”
Matthew stared at me.
His mouth opened.
No answer came.
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