The Lock My Mother In Law Kept

Wade is the younger of her two boys. His brother Troy got out, moved to Indianapolis, married a woman named Megan who sells houses and has opinions about backsplashes. Carol never forgave Troy for leaving. So Wade became the one she kept close, the one she called twice a day, the one who mowed her lawn and carried her groceries and drove her to Logansport for her eye appointments. His father passed when Wade was nineteen. Ever since, Carol has treated Wade less like a son and more like a husband she inherited. That is an ugly way to put it, and I am sorry, but it is the truest way I know.

When we bought the house, Carol said all the right things at the little open house we had. She brought a Pyrex of scalloped potatoes and told everyone how proud she was of her boy. But she walked through the rooms with her lips pressed thin, and when she got to our bedroom at the back of the house, the biggest room, the one with the good morning light, she stopped in the doorway and she said, “Well. This was always going to be my room when I came to stay.”

I laughed, because I thought she was joking. Wade laughed too. Nobody was joking but me.

The nine days away came in September. My father, Roy, had his knee replaced over in Lafayette, and somebody had to stay with him through the surgery and the first week of the therapy, because my mother has been gone six years now and there is nobody else. Wade took his vacation days to come with me, which I thought was the sweetest thing. He is good with my dad. He let the old man beat him at euchre every single night and never once let on.

The only problem was Biscuit, and the house, and the plants, and the mail. So Carol offered. Of course Carol offered. “I will stay at the house and watch things,” she said. “You two go take care of your father. Don’t give it a thought.” And I did not give it a thought, because that is a kind thing to offer and I had no reason yet to be afraid of her kindness.

I gave her a key. My key, off my own ring. I showed her how the back door sticks and you have to lift it. I wrote out where the dog food was and when Biscuit takes his pill. I left her a casserole in the freezer. I hugged her in the driveway and I thanked her and I meant it. Then Wade and I drove to Lafayette and I did not think about my house again for nine days, because my father was in pain and scared and I had my hands full.

We came home on a Sunday evening. I remember the light was gold and long across the corn stubble on the drive in, and I was tired in that good way, and Wade had his hand on my knee, and I thought, we did a good thing, and now we get to go home.