Chapter 12: Humpty Dumpty

Mae left Ron and knocked on the other bedroom door.

“Dee?”

“You should go, Mae. I’m not ... I don’t want to talk.”

“No. What happened?”

“Mae, I’m serious. Go home.”

Dee heard a thump. Mae’s butt was on the floor, with her back against the bedroom door.

“I am staying, Dolores. Talk to me. What happened?”

“No.”

“If you let me in now, you would notice two wet spots on my t-shirt. Your son’s tears, Dolores. He thought we were going fishing. Now he’s afraid and upset. His world just exploded, and he doesn’t know why. Because he’s a sweet and empathetic boy, he’s worried that he is at fault.

“I tried to comfort him, Dolores, but what could I say? I don’t understand any more than he does. What could I have told him?”

“That’s not fair, Mae. It doesn’t have anything to do with Ron.”

“HE doesn’t know that. It has to do with ME, doesn’t it?”

“WHAT?”

“Ron thinks we had a fight, and that’s why I don’t come around so much. I have to be honest, Dee. Your wild anger tonight doesn’t fit with what you say is upsetting you.

“Brandon would crawl on his one hand and one knee twenty miles to the nearest optician if you would just forgive him and take him back.

“And Ron, your wonderful boy, was hoping Brandon might become the adult male in his life he’s been missing ever since his father died. You just tore a hole in your son’s heart, and he doesn’t understand why. I don’t understand why, either. If you don’t fix this with Ron, and soon, it’s going to be destructive to your relationship with him. Is that what you want, Dee?”

There was no response. Mae plowed on.

“Tonight, I was hoping I could rekindle our loving relationship, including being intimate. I think that somehow these things were threatening to you, and you blew it all up. That explosion hurt all of us, Dee.

“I thought tonight we could have a lot of fun together, with you in my ... You in my arms again.”

Mae sniffled, then continued.

“I’m talking to a door instead. A door! I left Brandon outside in his coat. With no place else for him to go, he’s going to be staying in my spare room because he’s still crippled and now homeless.

“And let me be clear. He’s no Indian; he doesn’t match our stoic stereotype. But his face! The last time I saw a man look this bad, he was in a horror movie.

“I’m taking him home because I don’t trust him right now to take care of himself. And I’m locking away my guns and ammunition.”

Mae waited 30 seconds, but heard nothing.

“Fine. Since I promised Ron that I’d take him fishing in the morning, I’ll pick him up at 8 o’clock.”

Mae heard a ragged “Thank you,” from the other side of the door. She struggled up to her feet and left the cabin, looking for Brandon.

“Listen, I talked, but she stayed silent. She left me outside her locked bedroom door. Since I promised Ron, I’m picking him up at 8 tomorrow morning to go fishing. He’s pretty busted up, but maybe doing something routine will help him to feel better.

“I’m going to put you in my spare room for tonight, at least.”

“Thank you, Mae. I appreciate that you’re helping me.”

“Let’s go.”

They climbed into Mae’s pickup. Before starting the engine, she looked into Brandon’s sad face.

“He’s usually a good-looking guy. But right now, he seems like one of those people you see on television standing in the ruins of their home following a disaster, a hurricane or a wildfire. He has that ‘I’ve lost everything’ mask on his face.”