The Between Years

childhood in this house. Sleepovers and summer days. Christmases, Easters and birthdays all had been spent here with Nana and Bupa. Now he realized that one of the lowest moments of his adulthood had led him back to the house. Not the lowest, he decided, but damn close.

    Maybe it was for the best, he thought. He again considered what might have happened had he stayed in his own house a minute longer, and he was glad that he had made a calmer, wiser decision. In fact, the decision to leave had been his. Carol had begged him to stay, pleaded with him not to leave her, but he crammed his clothes, some paperbacks and a toothbrush into his duffel bag, brushed her away and slammed the door.

    The snooze in the car had left him feeling stiff and in dire want of a shower. How long the tub upstairs had gone without scrubbing was anyone's guess, and he imagined layers of grime caked inside the basin, but it would have to do for now. His stomach rumbled and he wished he'd grabbed a snack or two before he'd left, but the few times in his life that he'd ever been this angry had taught him to strike while the iron was hot.

    Carol must have sat awake all night, biting her fingernails, he thought. Maybe she regretted acting like such a bitch, but he wouldn't hold his breath. Maybe he would give her a while longer to think about it. Not that he wanted to be spiteful, but if he didn't make a point, she would tighten her stranglehold on him. He would phone home and let her know where he was, and ask her if she wanted to work things out. But later. For now, he switched his cell phone off, so she could wonder.

    When he plopped onto the couch, he saw a dust cloud plume from the cushion. He ignored the dust, threw his hands over his face, and sobbed. He tried to restrain himself, to shut his tears off like a faucet in case someone saw his breakdown, then he decided he didn't care. He had lost too much not to let his emotions run free.

    Kenny, Carol, the house. Everything seemed to have been greased up and was slipping from his fingertips. But Carol was foremost. She was the heart and soul he had left and he wouldn't allow himself to lose her. He wouldn't scrap their history together and everything they'd shared, but he felt lost to regain control of the situation. Had she considered his feelings more, and cared what he wanted from life, he knew he would never have become so incensed, and never would have needed to remove himself from the crisis. He asked himself this: How do you reason with someone who won't listen?

    His eyes feeling strained, Randy wiped the tears from his cheeks and the snot from his nose, and hauled himself to his feet. He'd slipped in and out of sleep while parked outside an Avondale store and he decided he would phone in sick to work so he could catch up on his sleep and his sanity.

    Now to figure out what to do with this place, he thought. Mugs still sat on the coffee table, plates with toast crumbs had been left out and newspapers were still stacked in a heap by the couch. The remote control still sat on the armrest, but Randy had no interest in watching television. Bupa's walker was parked in the corner, by the baby grand piano.

    The upstairs was still such a goddamn mess, or so Randy's Dad had told him. There was so much to be cleaned up and sold off before the house itself could finally be sold. His Dad's voice had cracked when he'd said it, and Randy understood why. No one wanted to see the place go, especially Randy, but he knew the day would come when strangers and their kids would stomp through it. He doubted their children and grandchildren would love it the way he had. Randy decided he would sleep on the couch for today and clear out a room upstairs later on so he could sleep in a bed.

    Randy's Nana had passed away three years ago after suffering a stroke. She'd spent nearly a week in the hospital before the ailment finally claimed her. He remembered thinking that if one of his grandparents died, the other would immediately follow (perhaps within days?) since he was certain that one literally couldn't exist without the other. He was so confident in this belief that he swung by the house every day to check up on Bupa. Sometimes he felt like he and Carol couldn't live without one another, though actually realizing that destiny seemed less and less likely. And, as it turned out, his Nana and Bupa hadn't been destined for that fate either.

    For the next two years, Bupa had rotted away in the house, on