HEIRON

Bridget liked to play a game whenever she stood in front of the closet packed with men’s suits. Which ones were new? Which ones were worn by dead men? She flipped through them until she came to the dry-cleaned American flags on hangars and the casket palls. She pulled off a flag and accidentally kicked a bucket of cleaning equipment. Agitated, she checked her watch.

"Come on, Daniel, come on, come on, come on, fuck..."

She glanced down the hallway and checked her watch again.

"Fuck this. I’m not staying."

She grabbed an old corded vacuum, swung it around and wheeled it down the hall. When she turned left toward the visitation room, she banged it into the easel holding the announcement sign for the Mary Jane Smith visitation. It wobbled and she caught it.

Then she saw a boy named Harold, a 6-year-old in a blue

suit, sitting on a bench, staring at the floor and swinging his legs outside the visitation room. He looked up at her and his lips were trembling.

"Hello."

Bridget pushed the vacuum into the corner and sat down across from him. She offered him a tissue. He ignored it.

"Why aren’t you inside? Are you okay? Do you want a soda?"

"That’s my sister in there."

"I didn’t know."

"While she was in the hospital, she made me promise that I would be brave. That’s why I’m out here. I don’t want her to see me sad."

"I’m sorry."

"It’s okay. I know she’s not there. I know she’s gone. I know there’s nothing..."

He broke down and sobbed. Bridget, unsure what to do, sat next to him and put her arm around his shoulders.

"Don’t worry. She’s in heaven. She’s with the angels now..."

She looked at the ceiling so he wouldn't see her cry. Her eyes darted back and forth, like she was looking for something she couldn't see.

As Bridget drove past the pastel-colored stucco homes, she imagined credits rolling down each front door like the end of a movie:

Inside is a happy family...A mommy and daddy and three perfect girls live here...Welcome to our happy home!...Mom, Dad, two good boys, one bad dog, one stinky cat and one cranky parrot live here!

She tightened her grip on the wheel and sped up to 45 in the 20 zone. Her husband Greg, 38, a doughy golf pro, stubbed out his cigarette and lit another, flicking the match out the window.

"You’re driving a little fast."

"You want to drive?"

"Naw, I like reckless you. It's sexy..."

Bridget looked in the rearview and watched Tommy, her 8-year-old son, squirm in the backseat.

"How are you doing back there, honey?"

"I want to go home."

"We’re almost there, buddy," Greg said.

"You’re not going to leave me there forever, are you mommy?"

"No, baby, of course not."

"Do you promise?"

Greg turned around and gave his son the thumbs up. "Swear to God, we’re coming to get you in a week."

"Do you promise, too?"

"Yeah, buddy, we promise."

"Good. Good. Good. Good."

Tommy slid over to the right passenger-side door and pressed his face against the window. Bridget tapped the child-safety door lock.

"You’ll learn so many new things from Aunt Wendy, sweetie. Good things on how to be a good boy."

Tommy watched as the car moved past the swing-sets and smiling faces, the whiplashing running hoses and the mothers planting pastel-colored flowers. He smiled and hummed to himself until he sees a man back out of the front door of a shuttered house.

Then the man turned around and Tommy saw the black horns jutting out of his forehead.

He gasps when the man waved, opened his mouth and a long black tongue snaked out. He pushed away from the window.

"I want to go home!"

Greg flicked his cigarette out the window. "Here we go."

"We’re almost there. Aunt Wendy is looking forward to spending time with you."

"Take me home."

"Don’t be scared, baby. Aunt Wendy loves you."

"I want to go home, mommy."

"Your mom and I think you need some re-direction."

"Even when I’m old like you, mommy, I’ll still love you...and I won’t ever leave you."

Bridget started to cry, slowed down and parked in front of a one-story home with a clean lawn and a car in the driveway. Greg waited for her to open her eyes before he opened his door.

"We’re here, champ."

Bridget wiped her cheeks. "Are you hungry, sweetie?"

"No."

"Aunt Wendy said she’ll make you a grilled cheese every day."

"I saw a bird eat a dog’s vomit once."

Greg looked at Bridget, mouthed the words Jesus Christ and then turned to face Tommy.

"You might want to dial back on the strange talk."

"Time to go, baby."