R J Hembree - Writers' Village University

up.”
“I’m cleaning! It’s spring, remember?”
Miriam picked up books from the grass. “Let me help you. I can straighten
“Don’t worry about that stuff. Come on, there’s a great new store that I found
that has all kinds of leather and furs. You’ve never had a fur coat have you? Let’s
go buy you one. You deserve it. You are the mother of a soon-to-be-published
poet.” He took her hand. The overpowering smell of cologne surrounded her.
A police cruiser pulled up. The siren and flashing lights stopped her
thoughts like a door slammed shut.
Jake grinned at the officers, “Hey guys! We were just headed downtown.
Want to come? Call your wives. They can join us.”
Miriam braced herself to make the plea that she made so many times before.
At least this time Jake was in his cheerful, generous mode. The officers look nice.
Perhaps they’d understand.
***
That night Jake slept, sedated, in his old bedroom down the hall. Miriam’s
bones ached as she changed into her nightgown. She put the tweed skirt onto a
hanger in the closet. Dark powder spotted her favorite blouse. Toner leaked on her
when she lifted Jake’s printer off the floor. The events of the day spilled through
her mind. Once again she’d convinced the policemen that Jake was harmless and
she’d be responsible for both her son and his mess. The officers helped take him to
the doctor. It was lucky that he hadn’t lived in Brockton before. The police didn’t
know him yet.
Since the car was undamaged and had only been driven to the apartment,
the manager at Exotic Imports had been kind enough to return the down payment
to her. There wasn’t anything she could do about the clothes and other things he’d
bought. They were all ruined. She wondered how Jake got new credit cards with
his poor credit history.
Miriam collapsed into her sagging bed. Luminous reds, greens and blues
from the Tiffany lamp on her dresser illuminated the dark room. The lamp had
been David’s gift to her on their wedding day. His side of the old bed felt
particularly empty this night. Twenty-four years since cancer consumed him, yet
she still felt tender, a scar of loneliness that never healed. Jake’s only memories of
David were those of a frightened five-year-old watching his father die. How different
things would have been if David had lived.
She had to figure out a way to help Jake. Maybe a different medication would
do it. She’d heard about a new one that was working well for others with bipolar
disorder. Maybe that was the answer. She’d ask about it when they went to the
psychiatrist’s office. Now, it was time to get some sleep and get to work on time in
the morning. Her many sudden departures from work had already irritated her new
boss at the dental clinic. She turned off the light and pulled the threadbare quilt
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