Jo

It was November 20.1

The little white house with burgundy shutters sat on the corner of Fifteenth and Chestnut, with metal digits 1115 posted on the door frame. It was the only house with burgundy shutters in three blocks of white houses. Most of the others had green or tan shutters. Most of the other houses also grew pine or fir or some other evergreen tree in their front yards. But the house with the burgundy shutters on the corner of Fifteenth and Chestnut was the only one in the neighborhood with a hardwood tree in the front yard. Most of the leaves had fallen from it, and been raked up- but a few still clung to a twig here and there on the massive spreading branches.2

1115 Chestnut was also the only driveway in which more than one car was parked. A forest green RV was pulled up and sitting just outside of the garage. The second vehicle, a small white Honda, was backed into the driveway behind the RV. The Honda’s exhaust pipe puffed thin white clouds into the still air.3

Between the bumpers of the two vehicles a tall teen-aged boy leaned forward holding a backpack open in front of him. Facing him, and partly hidden by the exhaust, a very young girl with long chestnut hair was also leaning over the backpack and stuffing a blue sweater into it. In her other hand she held something brown and oddly-shaped.4

She stood up straight, still half-hiding the brown thing under her arm. She was much shorter than he was.5

“Zip it shut, Ry,” she said, regarding the backpack with her eyes.6

“What about Jo?”7

She shook her head and tugged at the backpack zipper herself while he held it steady. When it was shut, he rested it on his feet and looked at her.8

She pulled at her jacket sleeve and looked toward the house. The porch swing creaked from the weight of the pumpkin it held, and a burgundy curtain next to the burgundy window shutter fluttered. A man was standing at the window, watching them. He turned and disappeared in the unlighted interior of the house.9

She shoved the backpack to the ground and wrapped her arms around the boy's waist. He hunched over to rest his chin on her head, stroked her hair, and held her. 10

When she pulled away from him it was to press the brown thing into the crook of his arm.11

“You take Jo,” she said, looking up at him.12

He nodded.13

She bent to pick up her backpack and swung it over her shoulder.14

As the back door of the Honda opened, the window reflected twenty-six leaves still clinging in random places to the branches of the old tree. The door slammed shut and the tree reflection returned to position. The boy stood outside watching the back of her head. It was leaning against the glass, and the sprawling reflection tangled with her hair.15


The backpack lay on the seat beside her. The zipper was not completely shut. Just inside, at the very top, she saw the pale blue sweater. The tag on the inside of the neck had “R.D.” written in permanent black marker over the washing instructions. She fingered the wool, then zipped the pack shut.16

The lady in the front seat turned to look at her. 17

“You make sure you have everything? You know we aren’t coming back.”18

The girl looked at the floor and nodded.19

“Are you okay, Gina?”20

She took a deep breath, then raised her head. The corners of her mouth turned up in a smile.21

“Yes, mom, I’m fine.”22

23

The white Honda pulled out of the driveway of 1115 Chestnut, drove two blocks and turned right, leaving behind the little white house with the burgundy shutters and bare tree-- and the boy standing in the driveway looking after it, a worn teddy bear pressed to his chest.