Page 13 of Not Quite Dead Yet

‘I can’t do this.’ Mom’s face folded, came undone, hand pressed over her mouth to hold it together. She hurried out of the room, blindly, bawling into her hands, crying so hard she couldn’t breathe, coughing around them. Up the stairs, a thunder that shook the whole house.

Dad sighed, got to his feet. ‘Now you’ve upset your mother,’ he said, eyes downcast.

‘Hold on.’ Jet rounded on him. ‘ I’ve upset her ? Unbelievable. She put a fucking catalog of coffins in front of me, Dad. For fuck’s sake! For once, I wish you would just pick a fucking side, the right side.’

‘Luke, let’s go,’ Sophia whispered, picking Cameron out of his high chair.

‘No, no, no,’ Jet said. ‘You stay, enjoy your nice family breakfast. I’ll go. I’m going.’ She sniffed, wiped her nose on her sleeve. ‘I’m leaving. Can’t live here anymore.’

‘Jet, don’t say that.’ Dad stepped toward her, arms open. Eyes kind, but his kind wasn’t good enough now.

‘I mean it, I’m not doing it. I have six days until I die, and I’m not doing that here, like this. I’m going!’

Jet was out of the room before any of them could call her back, not that calling would have made a difference. Her mind was made up. She had something important to do, the last thing she would ever do, and she couldn’t do it in this house. It was hard enough.

In her room, she grabbed two backpacks and headed to the drawers.

Hey, at least she didn’t have to take too many clothes, right?

Like packing for a week’s vacation. Less than.

She grabbed a handful of underwear, a couple bras.

A few T-shirts. Sweatpants and jeans, stuffed them in.

Into the bathroom to grab her hairbrush, her toothbrush.

Her makeup bag – would she even need that?

Did the walking dead need concealer? Left the white bottle of Lotrel, the pills she took every day for high blood pressure, for her kidneys, because what was the fucking point now? Didn’t need them anymore.

Grabbed her notebook from the bed, and the pen she’d stolen from Jack Finney, put them in the second backpack, along with her MacBook.

She went to the socket to pull out the – the – the – what’s that fucking word, the white wire thing that gave it more battery.

Never mind. She grabbed it, unplugged it, shoved it in the top of the bag.

Hoisted both up onto her shoulders, still wearing her pajamas.

Downstairs, she slipped on her shoes and her jacket.

‘Bye, Reggie. Love you.’ She bent to kiss the top of the dog’s head. Not even her dog, really. Her parents’ empty-nest dog, when Jet left for college. But he was her dog now, and they all knew it. Reggie most of all.

‘Jet.’ Dad came around the corner. ‘You’re not really going.’

‘I am really going.’

‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Your mom wouldn’t want this.’

‘It’s not always about what she wants, Dad. I have to go. I’m going.’

He reached for her backpack, held on to one strap. ‘But, Jet, you can’t … you’re not –’

‘– Not what, Dad? Responsible? I can do this on my own. I can.’

Just then, the mail slot crashed open, a handful of letters scattering to the Welcome mat. Footsteps on the drive, doubling, the mailman hurrying away from the yelling inside.

Reggie rushed toward the mail, but Jet beat him to it.

‘Look, see, Dad,’ Jet sniffed, hysterical too now, in her quieter, flippant way.

‘Here I am picking up my mail. Ah, see, two letters for Margaret Mason. Picking up my mail like a responsible fucking adult.’ She stuffed the letters in the open backpack, ripping it away from Dad’s hands.

‘Might even be able to wipe my own ass soon.’

Cameron wailed, Luke and Sophia coming to stand in the hall.

‘Don’t worry, you’ll get there too, bud.’

Jet grabbed her keys and her wallet from the wooden bowl on the side table.

‘Where are you going?’ Luke asked, because he felt like he had to. Jet knew her brother.

‘Literally anywhere that isn’t this fucking house! I’m not going to die in here again. Tell Mom she can choose the casket. I really won’t care, I’ll be dead.’

Jet opened the front door and struggled through, flipping off the doorbell camera as she passed. Unlocked her truck and climbed inside, starting the engine, hitting the steering wheel just once, with the heel of her hand. Fuck, that hurt; she wouldn’t do that again.

She checked her mirrors and backed out, waving to Dad and Luke and Sophia in the open doorway.

A curtain twitched in the upstairs window just as she reached the street.

Mom’s blotchy face pressed to the glass, watching her leave.

Jet knocked. Three times. Waited two seconds.

Knocked again. Waited. But she’d waited long enough, sitting in her truck, wondering what the fuck she should do, where the fuck she should go.

She really only had one answer, only one person in this whole fucking town, so she knocked again and again and again.

He’d forgive her for the hostility; he always did.

A click and the door swung inward, Billy’s confused face in the crack.

‘Jet.’ He pulled the door the whole way. His eyes looked swollen, hiding underneath those dark curls.

‘I asked at the bar downstairs, they told me you lived in 1B,’ Jet explained.

‘You OK? Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean that. Stupid question.’

His gaze settled on her bags, another question forming on his lips, skirting his teeth.

‘Yeah, so,’ Jet said, sucking in a breath. ‘I was wondering … can I stay with you? Here? In your apartment?’

Billy’s mouth didn’t move but his eyes did, tracking across her face, a flash of his old light behind them.

‘Probably won’t be much of a roommate,’ she laughed.

‘I definitely won’t be paying any rent, might keep some strange hours, eat your food.

And I know I come with baggage.’ She gestured to the backpacks on the floor, but they both knew that’s not what she meant.

‘But it’s not like it’ll put you out that much, ’cause, you know, um, like, I’ll be dead by the end of the week. ’

Billy swallowed.

‘Is that a yes?’