No title-- Not finished

         The wind blew across my shoulders with a chill that reached my soul as I stepped out of my car. I couldn’t help but wonder what I was doing back here. I had clearly lost my mind and could only hope to find it in that fateful box that would undoubtedly still be under my bed full of hopes and dreams long forgotten.
         Cars whizzed by as I stood on the street looking at the house I spent my days dreaming of getting away from. Everything about it was the same, from the broken hand rail attached to dilapidated steps to the faded blue color of the shutters. Standing there my mind went back to the days when my mother would beg my father to paint the shutters, ‘the neighbors will think we‘re some kind of hillbillies,‘ she‘d say in her unmistakable, Midwestern accent. Plastic still covered the broken upstairs window from when the neighbor boy threw a baseball into it in a fit of childhood glee. The porch swing moved to and fro as though someone was sitting on it, a ghost perhaps, I decided was making the swing move. I suddenly knew what I would find in that house and in this town, nothing but ghosts of things discarded years before. 
         There was truly no point in standing there staring at the house, I’d have to go in eventually. Demons, they say must be faced, I myself have always wondered if those who say that have faced their own demons. My head urged me to turn around, get in my car, and drive, demons be damned.
         It’s now or never, I told myself attempting to shake the bad feelings that had started the minute I left Chicago to come back to the one place I swore I’d never see again. Eighteen year old me stuck her head in to remind me of the promise I’d made the day after graduation, a vow I’d done a good job of keeping. The sweltering heat of the July day I left for good was suddenly not a distant memory. Sweat blistered on my brow as we packed up the car with my meager possessions, I chose to take the bare necessities, he would need the rest more than I. The box sat on top of the bed I had spent my childhood sleeping in, I mentally debated bring it with me choosing instead to shove it under my bed at the last second in hopes that it like me would be long forgotten once I was gone. Driving away that day a certain sense of calm overtook my ever anxious body, I was free as a bird, it was all over. My, my what a callow soul I was back then. 
         My hand found the door handle as I took a deep breath. The door opened with ease, not surprising, this wasn’t the kind of town where people locked there doors. Bad things happened inside the doors not outside of them, it was just an understood concept here. The sound of voices prevented my mind from going back to a place I never wanted to be again as I stepped into the threshold and sat my keys on the foyer table. My heart dropped as I found myself walking closer to the voices, fighting again to keep my legs from bolting out the door I had just walked through.
         There they stood, the three men I spent the majority of my life loving, fearing, and at times taking for granted. I stood in the doorway for a moment watching them talk and laugh with each other in that way only brothers can. I savored the moment for a bit before uttering a hello that sounded mousy even to my own ears.
         Each of them looked at me with a different yet anticipated look on their faces. Jack’s face was contorted in an angry sort of surprise, either at me interrupting their conversation or at my general presence in the house, I couldn‘t be sure which was the correct reason. Palmer’s gray eyes held the same sense of indifference they always did when it came to me. The wide, ever present smile that lit up Anthony’s face almost brought tears to my eyes as I reached out to hug him. The hug was over too quickly and the four of us went back to standing in an awkward semicircle of silence. The change in mood was unmistakable since I had entered the home. I seemed to have that effect despite the fact that I was just as much a part of this family as the rest of them.
         I found my eyes wandering all over the kitchen willing them to look anywhere but my brothers faces. This was all suddenly too much, the uncomfortable silence, no one looking at each other, I silently begged someone to speak up already. I took a deep breath and opened my mouth, “So, when‘s Benjamin getting here?” I looked at my feet as I spoke, sure that my face held the look of dread that entered my body from even saying his name.
         “He’s not, Madison.” The cold way Palmer said my name confirmed my suspicion that he wasn’t thrilled by my presence. I looked at my brother’s closed face wondering what had happened to my sweet, champion of an older brother from when I was a little girl. So much had changed since then, it had been years since the two of us had had a conversation beyond casualties about the weather, his children, my job. When I was seven Palmer was my hero, the big, strong, nineteen year old champion for his sister. I always wanted him to come home the most when things escalated to their worst. By the time things were at the peak of hideousness he wanted nothing to do with me or anyone else in the family, too busy with law school and his soon to be wife. His voice broke into my thoughts and I was back to reality, “Dad didn‘t think you‘d come if he was here so he‘s leaving it to us to
handle.”   
         “Well, that’s a first,” the words were out of my mouth before I could catch myself. I looked up defiantly, daring someone to challenge me.
         “Isn‘t it about time you grow up and move on Maddison? It‘s been years since the two of you have spoken. You‘ve both changed and it‘s about damn time you give him a chance. I know I speak for all of us when I say this feud is out of control. You‘re twenty eight years old, for Christ‘s sake, get over it already.” Jack’s words cut like a knife, how dare he, I thought to myself? He was another one that could never be bothered to be around when things were going south, and when he did show up he turned a blind eye to the things that happened.
         At a loss for words I just stared at him in disbelief, he knew what happened here and yet he felt no sympathy, he didn’t even pretend to feel any sense of remorse for not stopping it. I instantly regretted the hot tears that stung my eyes as I turned around and stomped out of the house. I collapsed onto the porch swing, wiping furiously at the tears as they continued to stream down my face. I didn’t have to open my eyes to know who was sitting beside me on the swing, Anthony was always my favorite brother even if it had been over four years since we’d last spoken. The weight of his arm around my shoulder as he pulled me against him made the floodgates open further and I found myself balling into his shoulder like I had so many times before.
         “You okay, kiddo?,” he asked as my tears finally began to slow into quiet hiccups of sobs.
         “I‘ll be fine, you know better than to think otherwise, Anth.”
         “It‘s okay to be emotional, Maddy. Tears aren‘t a sign of weakness, you should know better than think that by now.”
         “Don’t start with the psychological analysis, please.” There was nothing that annoyed me more than when Anthony tried to act like my therapist. I already had a therapist back in the city I didn’t listen to, I didn’t need my brother to lecture me as well.
         “You know, I don‘t want to sound like Jack and Palmer but  maybe they‘re right, dad‘s changed. I know you‘re still struggling with everything but it‘s time to look your fears in the eye, little one.”
         I stood up with a sigh, casting a longing glance at my car before walking back into the house with a determined stride. Anthony was right, it was time to stop acting like a child. I was a grown woman it was about time I stopped letting them treat me like one.
         I found the boys sitting at the kitchen table, the leg still broken, another thing my father promised for years to fix even after my mother was gone.  I quietly sat down across from Palmer and Jack glancing at the photo album they had sitting open in front of them. I had looked at it hundreds of times, memorized the captions my mother had methodically written under each picture. When she was having good days we’d sit at this very table and she’d regale me with the stories that were behind each picture. Some of my fondest memories of the woman who gave birth to me but wasn’t capable of raising me came from that table. The picture they were looking at was a favorite of mine, taken right before things took a turn for the worst. It was the summer I turned eight just before the fourth of July, the six of us were gathered in the front yard, all happy as could be, Anthony and Palmer with Arms slung around each others shoulders companionably. Jack had picked me up just before the neighbor lady snapped the picture, you could tell from the childhood delight  in my face that I was thrilled by my callus brothers playfulness.
         Palmer looked up after a moment, finally acknowledging my presence, “Hey Madison. Where‘s Anth?” I shrugged my response eliciting a sigh from my oldest brother. “Alright. Listen, you and Jack don‘t have to play nice, you don‘t have to speak to each other as far as I‘m concerned. We‘re just here to clean out the house. It‘s been almost nine years since anyone has been in here, don‘t you think it‘s about time we clean it up and move on with our lives?”
         “That’s absolutely fine, Palmer. I don’t want to be here anymore than the rest of you do. You might as well call dad and tell him to get over here, it’s his mess too. The more help we have the faster we can get out of here,” Jack replied in his usual arrogant voice. He had a knack for playing the scorned middle brother despite his position as the golden boy of the family. When I was younger I envied the relationship my brother’s had with our father, they were all always so close. My father kept his distance from me, as if I’d shatter if he got too close to me, physically or emotionally. 
         I heard the car pull into the driveway as Anthony walked back into the kitchen the distinct look of unease creasing his usually handsome features. I didn’t even have to look up to tell who was there when the door clattered shut, the man of the hour had finally arrived and I was nowhere near ready to face my demons. I finally looked up slowly to see the smiling face of the man that had haunted my dreams for years, Benjamin Kane.


BREAK IN STORY


         As I slowly climbed the stairs to what was once my only sanctuary my stomach began to twist and turn. I was suddenly seven again running up the stairs thinking that locking a door would protect me from the bad things that awaited me in the world. By the time I was fourteen I had known the heartache of a seasoned woman then and even more so now I wished with all my being to go back to the time before. I longed to be the naïve girl of seven who didn’t know the true meaning of the word bad but lived cocooned in a land of fresh baked cookies and playing kickball until the soft hush of night would fall over the neighborhood.
         I lifted the edge of the sheet my body rigid with a potent combination of anticipation and apprehension. Closing my eyes I reached blindly underneath the bed that I once thought housed monsters, before I knew what real monsters were. My fingers found the edges of the box and I felt myself breathe a sigh of relief. There was something comforting about finding it there after ten years of neglect. In the back of my mind I knew with a warranted sense of certainty that I would find it there.
         The box was simple, an old shoe box I had decorated with stickers when the box was originally intended for magazine cut outs of cute guys and notes I passed with my friends in class. I never dreamed when I first made the box that it would hold two of the most important pieces of paper I’d ever hold. I slowly lifted the top off of the box unsure of whether I was ready to look at the contents again. It was now or never, I decided, staring down at the two white sealed envelopes in the box, my name written on the front of each  in my mothers distinctive handwriting. Right before the sickness overcame her my mother gave me the envelopes with strict instructions not to open them until I was ‘all grown up.’ I’d waited all these years, secretly hoping that I’d never feel I was grown up enough to read the envelopes contents.
         As I pulled out the envelopes my heart began to race, apprehension settling in once again. I wasn’t sure I was ready now after fourteen years to know what my mother was hiding. Part of me wanted to call downstairs and ask Anthony to come upstairs and read them for me, but cowardice was never a trait I admired. As if my thoughts had been spoken aloud I heard footsteps outside my door before Benjamin entered the room.
         “Sweetheart, you alright? You seem a little pale.” The patronizing way he said sweetheart made my stomach turn but there was something comforting about someone else being there when I opened the letters.