My Mother Is Now Earth

19. The Smile of Whiskey

Jerry is standing on the dirt road in front of the farmhouse, waiting for Scott and me. We missed the bus because we stayed after school to play flag football. I can’t imagine what he’s going to say. He is not grinning, snapping his fingers, or flexing his arm muscles like he does just before he starts teasing us. When we get close enough, Jerry puts his hands in his back pockets and stares at the dirt. He says it only once. I laugh and tell him to come up with a better joke. He turns to the house, crossing the path through the dry ditch. I laugh again and tell him he’s full of shit. It only becomes more real when I see Philly running toward me with tears pouring down her red cheeks. She grabs me by the shoulders and tells me they’re lying, all of them, including John. She pulls on my sleeve, dragging me to the house. She begs me to go upstairs and tell them to just stop it once and for all. I believe a little more when I get to the kitchen. My father is sitting at the table with his legs crossed, his head down, ashes dripping from the rolled cigarette between his fingers. Empty Pabst beer bottles line the table, sparkling in sunlight. f19g The Smile of Whiskey 181 182 1973 And I almost believe it really is true when I see Hank Cloutier standing by the stove with his hands folded, agreeing with my father—“Yes, yes, she was a very good woman.” But the truth twists back into a lie when my sister stops crying and wipes her face with the dish towel. She tells me she told them that she wants to see her. My sister buttons her coat and says she wants me to go upstairs and ask someone to drive. She wants to see her right now. I leap up the stairs, thinking I’m going to tell Jerry that I want to go see her, too. But I stop and grip the railing when I see the door of her bedroom at the end of the hall is closed. I hear whispers coming from another bedroom. I walk slowly down the hall to see John and Joseph staring out the window, looking across the fields. Dennis and Jerry sit in chairs, their elbows on their knees holding their faces, looking at the bare wood floor. Whiskey stares at me with his big brown eyes, panting, smiling like he does when we’re all together. Dennis looks at me. I ask why her bedroom door is closed. He looks down again, and I do the same. I begin to believe again. Whiskey follows me as I walk down the stairs, holding the railing all the way to the bottom. My sister is not in the kitchen. I quickly race out the back door. I stop running when I get close enough to be sure she’s not in the backseat, making sure she’s not waiting inside my father’s Oldsmobile. I think about asking Hank Cloutier if he would drive into town. Maybe they called back, talked to Irene, told her it was a false alarm. But when I get back inside, Hank asks if I am hungry. He points to a glass pan covered in tinfoil sitting on the stove. He says Irene made a casserole for us. The Smile of Whiskey 183 Hank doesn’t wait for me to tell him “no thanks, I’m not hungry.” He steps to the table with a paper bag and fills it with my father’s empty beer bottles. I stand in the dining room and watch Scott and Michael. They are on the couch, curled up, their hands covering their eyes, their sobs trying to rock their bodies to sleep. In the bedroom, my sister shares a pillow with Robert, holding his tiny hand in hers. He giggles and kicks his feet. She kisses him, then wipes her tears from his forehead. It finally becomes the absolute truth when I sit on the broken front porch steps and feel the hot flood of my own tears melting my eyes and face. When I see his feet, my brother standing next to the lilac bush, I tell him to go away. He tells me he has something that will make...