Glass Shatters Read Online Free PDF Page A

I’ll talk to Iris again. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll go see what else she knows.
    The air is surprisingly cold, stinging against my cheeks, and it isn’t until I’ve walked halfway down the block that I realize I’m only wearing socks. I think about what I must look like, a shoeless, unshaven man prowling the street at night, and I catch a brief glimpse of myself in one of the windows. I’m shocked by how gaunt my cheeks are, like a skeleton just rising from the dead. My eyes are empty wishing wells, and my shirt is slack, hanging off my shoulders. I’m still Charles, still the same young man from the memories, but some sort of terrible transformation has occurred, leaving me a desiccated husk of my former self. I consider heading back but instead continue a few houses further down the block, careful to stay hidden in the shadows. And then I see them, Ava and Iris under the warm lights of the kitchen, eating dinner, talking and giggling. I’m surprised by how similar they look when sitting side by side, their cheeks blushing pink and then redwith laughter. I can’t help myself. For several minutes I just stand there, watching them, waiting, wishing that they would notice me. I want to knock on the door, to ask if I can join. I can’t help but feel angry, resentful, jealous that I wasn’t invited. I understand, though. We’re friends but not family. Julie and Jess were my family, and now they’re gone. Finally, Iris and Ava clear their dishes from the table, and I trudge home, pebbles jabbing into my feet, the woodsy smell of the nearby wilderness only making me feel lonelier than before.
    I hang up my coat, then wander down the hallway, still wishing I had invited myself over for dinner. Suddenly I notice I’m standing in the middle of a room that feels like a dollhouse, a perfectly preserved and static world. A turquoise leotard sits atop the dresser, folded and pristine, the tags still on. There are wood block letters on the outside of the door painted with squiggles, polka dots, and black zebra stripes—JESS. For a moment I imagine movement in the room, but it’s only the wind pushing a branch up against the window. The room itself is still, silent. The carpet is lavender with velvet curtains covering the windows, the edges uneven. The canopied bed is short and narrow, and the lacy white sheets are tucked neatly over the pillows. Posters of Russian ballet dancers are taped above the bed, holding difficult poses under bright stage lights. Along one wall sit dozens of porcelain dolls. Even knowing this was Jess’s bedroom, I feel like the room has always belonged to the dolls. I sit down on the bed and take a worn fleece blanket from the end, wrapping it around my shoulders as I look around.
    There’s one doll in particular that strikes my interest,wearing a lingering white wedding dress with puffed shoulder sleeves and jeweled embroidery along the bodice. The dark hair is pulled back to reveal black eyebrows and eyelashes painted with mascara. A veil drapes down her back, a bouquet of flowers clutched in her hand. I realize that the doll looks exactly like Jess.

    August 4, 2010
    Age Thirty-Two

    T he young man lies in Jess’s bed, tossing and turning in the midst of a bad dream. He clutches Jess’s teddy bear against his chest, wishing that his daughter would come back, just come back. His clothes are soaked through, his forehead covered with perspiration. He’s in the throes of a nightmare. The chime of church bells strikes midnight. There’s the looming presence of an altar, of an omnipotent God. An organist plays “Here Comes the Bride” but more of the pitches are off than on. The church’s interior is obscured by darkness—all that lights the room is a single candle glowing from behind stained glass.
    Jess walks down the aisle in her turquoise leotard and ballet slippers, wearing a veil torn at the edges and holding a bouquet of petrified flowers. Her skin is white as bone, her teeth