The Big Bang Symphony: A Novel of Antarctica

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180 26 Jed had been thirteen when Rosie left home. He’d already burned down a state park shed, been caught stealing money from a teacher’s desk, and could chug a pint of whiskey. Max, a year younger, was busy making a vocation out of being good. It was painful watching his confusion as even adults recoiled with contempt at his good boy antics. They were so obviously false, so blatantly driven by something other than genuine benevolence. He seemed to actually squint in his desperation for approval. It was years before Rosie realized he probably just needed glasses, that his fear was, at least in part, a simple inability to see. Had his vision been corrected when he was a little boy, Max might have had more courage. The night before she left, Rosie stood on the floor between the boys’ twin beds. Asleep they looked like children still, their limbs twisted in the sheets, their hair fluffy and soft. She leaned over Max first, pushed back his hair, and kissed his forehead. It felt odd kissing her twelve-year-old brother, neither man nor boy, and she neither mother nor lover. He smelled faintly of shoe polish. The sight of Jed asleep had made her heart hurt. His hands twitched as if they longed to caress or hit, either one. She slipped her arms under his thin shoulders and hugged him, fully expecting him to awaken, but he didn’t. He whined a bit and rolled over on his side. Holding his letter now, she could remember perfectly the heat of his thirteen-year-old skin, the delicacy of the muscles in his shoulders. It was almost impossible to believe that by now he’d be taller than she was, a man, twenty-six years old. As Rosie read the letter again, she thought of the hundred dollars her mother had sent when she first left home. How she had felt that money like a door slamming behind her. But maybe it had been the opposite. Not a shove. Rather, a helping hand. A sacrifice. Maybe that cash had been an act of love. She could pay it back. The money and the love. She’d get her place where they’d all be welcome. A big place. A spread. For the first time, she started to imagine the particulars: a view of mountains , open meadows, maybe even a stream. A single, quiet knock on the door. After several seconds, another single knock. Then four more evenly spaced ones. Rosie sat very still on her bed, ignoring the thumps, and wishing she had locked the door. Hopefully, he’d decide she was out and just go away. She couldn’t take any more of Earl tonight. She could tell he was remorseful by the quietness of the knocking. At least he’d returned from his mission of revenge. Earl with his tail between his legs. The knob turned and the door eased open. “Rosie?” he whispered. Larry stepped into the room, the lank of him like a whip. Rosie took a quick, short breath and stared as he grabbed the crown of his hat and yanked it off. He seemed to bring his own weather, an invigorating lash of cold tang. “I’m in my pajamas,” she said, as if that explained or solved something. “Okay if I come in?” “It’s New Year’s Eve.” Another nonsensical remark. “Yeah. Happy New Year.” She’d meant that it was a significant evening, and therefore that he ought to be with someone significant. But his beautifully sculpted mouth eased into a smile, which in turn hitched up his finely formed ears. The smile, the fact that the year would be over 181 in a couple of hours, the letter from Jed, still in her hands, created a soup of intensity that overwhelmed every “ought.” Rosie’s entire being shrugged. She gave in. She didn’t even care that she was wearing flannel pajamas. “Can I offer you a cup of tea?” “No, thank you.” Rosie motioned to the desk chair and Larry sat in it. He pulled his camera strap over his head and gently set the camera on the desk. He said, “Thanks for your email.” Paused, then, “Brief as it was.” “What else could I have said?” “True. I know I shouldn’t have asked about Earl. But I was glad...