The First Day of the Rest of Their Lives, Part One

“You never know what’s going to happen.”

"You don’t, do you?”

“Let me go,” he whimpered, collapsing against the headboard.

Marie.

Roy half-lay, half-sat there for several minutes, the cold sweaty terror of the nightmare still gripping him. He blinked the tears from his eyes as he slowly came to his senses, his gaze wandering cruelly around the room she had decorated with her own hands. The patchwork quilt she had sewn by hand, the mauve and blue curtains she had bought at a yard sale and restored to almost new, the delicate perfume bottles on her dresser. Marie was everywhere here, and he couldn’t yet bring himself to pack her things away.

God, just a little over a week after her death, and already this house was driving him crazy. When the captain had called the night before, Roy was grateful to tell him that he’d be returning to work the next day. Sanders had hesitated, reminded him that he didn’t have to return to duty just yet, he still had over two weeks’ worth of leave accumulated, but Roy insisted on coming back. He didn’t know how much longer he could deal with it all otherwise.

He sighed heavily and rolled out of the bed. He listened to the silence of the house as he slipped into his navy velour robe-- a piece of clothing rarely used before Marie died but now somehow necessary in front of the twins-- then glanced at the clock. Not quite seven. He should have been able to hear one or both of the twins in the bathroom by now, getting ready for school.

He frowned.

The wood floor was cool, not cold, under his bare feet as he shuffled down the hall toward the girls’ room. The air was still unusually warm and balmy for late November, still freakish and wrong, like everything else that was happening.

He knocked on the twins’ door. “Krissy? Kelly?”

Muffled moans answered him. He smiled as he heard Krissy’s sleepy voice drift through the door. “We’re awake, Dad.”

“You gals are going to be late. Better step on it.” He turned to leave.

Krissy poked her head out the door. “Kelly says she’s sick again.”

Roy sighed, then followed her into the girls’ room. He ignored the disaster zone as he stepped carefully over discarded clothing to his other daughter’s bed, noting the way she huddled almost painfully under the covers. He carefully perched on the side of her bed. “What’s wrong, Kelly?”

“I’m sick.” Her voice was small, barely audible.

He put a hand to her forehead. No fever. “Upset stomach?”

“She’s faking it again,” Krissy said, looking through the closet. “We have a test in Hurley’s class today, and she didn’t study all that much for it.”

“I’m not faking it,” Kelly snapped, rolling over to face them. “I really am sick.”

Roy sighed again, at a loss as to what to do. Marie used to handle this little stuff. She knew when the girls really were sick and when they were just trying to avoid something at school. He studied Kelly’s face for clues, her eyes so like her mother’s it twisted the knife in his gut. “You don’t look all that sick to me, Kelly. Now get up and get dressed. You’re going to school.”

“You always believe her, don’t you?” she mumbled.

“What was that?” Roy gave her a warning look.

“Nothing.” Kelly sat up and eyed him reproachfully, then tossed the covers aside.

Roy nodded once as he headed to the door. “Hurry up. The bus will be here in fifteen minutes.”

Of course, things didn’t go that easily.

After he had showered, shaved, and dressed, Roy walked out to the kitchen to discover both girls sitting at the table, Krissy wide-eyed and sheepish, Kelly dark and defiant. He looked from one girl to the other and sighed. “Missed the bus, eh?”

Krissy nodded. “I’m sorry, Dad. If Kelly hadn’t taken so long in the bathroom--”

“Yeah, like it was all my fault.” Kelly glowered. “You could’ve gone in there earlier.”

“Girls!” Roy pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting back the headache that was slowly forming between the eyes. God, he missed Marie. “Look, let’s not fight over this. Just get in the truck. I’ll be out in a minute.” He shook his head and reached for the aspirin.

It was already shaping up to be quite a day.

The trip to the high school was silent, the air in the truck heavy and still. Both girls ignored each other until they pulled up to the curb in front of the school, when Kelly accidentally-- deliberately? he couldn’t really tell-- clipped Krissy’s knee with her knapsack.

“Dad!” Krissy wailed, shoving at her sister.

“Stop it!” Roy snapped, thrusting his arm between the girls. Next time he took them anywhere, he would have to make sure that one of them sat in the back seat of the extended cab. “Kelly, apologize to your sister.”

“It was an accident.” She shrugged. “Sorry.”

Krissy pouted. “She’s not sorry.”

“Drop it, Krissy.” Roy clutched the steering wheel a little tighter. “Just drop it, okay?” He nodded toward the school, the yard empty of students. “Better hurry up and get to class. I’ve gotta get to work.”

The red pickup shook as the girls clambered out, both of them arguing about the incident as Roy pulled the door shut with a slam. He watched them stalk toward the school, Kelly’s head low between her shoulders, Krissy straight and tall as she reached for the doors. For twins, even fraternal twins like them, they were as different as night and day. It never ceased to amaze him how much conflict could occur between twin sisters.

He tried to ignore the blackened railroad trestle as he headed away from the high school. His headache now at a dull roar, Roy cursed at having to drop the girls off at school. He’d never wanted to come back this way again, through this hellish intersection, and the red light that now held him prisoner here.

The railroad trestle mocked him in the rearview mirror, the soot stain outlining where the car had struck and burst into flame.

“Damn it.” He slammed his hand against the steering wheel, swallowed hard at the lump in his throat. Pain grappled his head, the air in the pickup stifled him as he lowered the window and gulped at the moist, heavy air outside. His insides shook with agony as he tore his eyes away from the funeral wreath one of Marie’s friends had perched on the side of the road near the trestle.

When the light finally turned green, he gunned it and screeched away from the last place his wife had breathed before the semi plowed her into the trestle.