Iona Moon by Melanie Rae Thon Page B

half a mile down the road, finding his mother slumped at the wheel. He’d bring her home and help her climb the stairs, tuck the dancing shoes under her bed. An hour after that, he’d cruise down the River Road, hands tight on the wheel.
    â€œI think I’ll retire,” Jay’s father said, knocking the ashes out of his pipe. “You should get some rest too, son.” Jay nodded but didn’t follow.
    He waited until he heard the toilet flush to crack the door and slip outside. The night was cold, moonless; he needed his jacket but didn’t dare go back. He found his mother just where he thought she’d be.
    â€œI lost the keys, baby.”
    â€œI’ll look for them later, Mom.”
    She draped her arm over his shoulders. Her body was soft, her skin warm. His father said she was fat, but she felt nice, a good flesh hold, hot breath on his neck, and the sweet burp of brandy. The cold had weakened her perfume, and she smelled as she used to smell years before. Late at night, after parties or bridge, she’d come to Jay’s room, lift him to the dizzy height of a dream with the scent of bruised flowers, wake him with her cool kiss and say: Don’t worry, baby, I’m home .
    They stumbled together. Black trees lined the drive, trunks long and straight, leaves numb as praying hands. The Milky Way swirled, a storm of stars, but the earth was unbearably still, strange and soundless, without wind or the rush of water, without the comfort of a car passing, that temporary light throwing elongated shadows, willowly human shapes. “I should’ve put the porch light on,” Jay said. His mother clung to his arm. “I like the dark,” she murmured.
    She giggled at the bottom of the stairs and took off her shoes. “Don’t want to wake your father.”
    Jay put his arm around her, his hand just below her breast.
    At her door he said, “Three more steps.” She fell onto the bed, her body limp and heavy.
    â€œDo you think I’m pretty, Jay?”
    Your mother dresses like a whore .
    â€œYou look nice, Mom.”
    â€œNot too fat?”
    Puffed up like Marilyn Monroe .
    â€œNo, Mom, you look fine.”
    She was an alcoholic too, you know .
    She patted the soft bulge of her belly. “I used to have a flat stomach, but having you took care of that. That doctor your father knows in Boise wrecked my muscles cutting you out. Stitched me up like the Bride of Frankenstein too. I should have sued, but your father said he couldn’t do that to a friend, another man of medicine. ”
    â€œI know, Mom, you told me.”
    â€œHe was a butcher.”
    â€œYes, you should have sued.”
    â€œMy father said I was the prettiest girl in White Falls.” She lay very still, eyes closed. “Any boy I wanted and I end up with a man who hates me.”
    â€œHe doesn’t hate you, Mom.”
    â€œLie down next to me, Jay. I caught a chill out there in the car.” He stretched out beside her on the bed. She wasn’t cold at all, but he stayed. “You know what they did to me when your father sent me to that clinic in Wharton, that spa for worrisome wives?”
    â€œYou told me, Mom.”
    â€œDid I tell you I thought I was blind?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œâ€˜Just a little jolt, Mrs. Tyler. This won’t hurt at all.’ But they put a piece of rubber in your mouth so you won’t break your own teeth.”
    â€œSssh, Mom, don’t think about it. Just go to sleep.”
    â€œI heard my spine crack.”
    Jay put his arms around her. “You’re safe now.”
    â€œI could feel my blood burning my brain. The doctor said, ‘One more time.’ That’s when I died, Jay. I swear to you I died. When I woke up, I kept thinking about your father and his father, walking me up the steps, one on each side, the last day of my life. I looked at your grandfather. His face was tan and wrinkled, his teeth