@linguabarno. no time for goodbye

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linwood barclay no time for goodbye linwood barclay no time for goodbye copyright © 2007 by linwood barclay this is for my wife, neetha may 1983 when cynthia woke up , it was so quiet in the house she thought it must be saturday. if only. if there’d ever been a day that she needed to be a saturday, to be anything but a school day, this was it. her stomach was still doing the occasional somersault, her head was full of cement, and it took some effort to keep it from falling forward or onto her shoulders. jesus, what the hell was that in the wastepaper basket next to the bed? she couldn’t even remember throwing up in the night, but if you were looking for evidence, there it was. she had to deal with this first, before her parents came in. cynthia got to her feet, wobbled a …

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round to making them until later in the morning-todd never made his own, and their mother let him get away with it-but here they were, looking as though they’d never been slept in. cynthia felt a wave of panic. was she already late for school? just how late was it? she could see todd’s clock on his bedside table from where she stood. just ten before eight. nearly half an hour before she usually left for her first class. the house was still. she could usually hear her parents down in the kitchen about this time. even if they weren’t speaking to each other, which was often the case, there’d be the faint sounds of the fridge opening and closing, a spatula scraping against a frying pan, the muffled rattling of dishes in the sink. someone, her father usually, leafing through the pages of the morning newspaper, grunting about something …

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she was giving it her best shot to get into as much bad stuff as he was. wait’ll she told him about getting really drunk for the first time. no, wait, he’d just rat her out later when he was in the doghouse himself and needed to score points. okay, so maybe todd had to go to school early, but where were her mother and father? her dad, maybe he’d left on another business trip before the sun even came up. he was always heading off somewhere, you could never keep track. too bad he hadn’t been away the night before. and her mother, maybe she’d driven todd to school or something. she got dressed. jeans, a sweater. put on her makeup. enough not to look like shit, but not too much that her mother started making cracks about her going to “tramp tryouts.” when she got to the kitchen, …

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he grabbed the schoolbooks she needed and headed out the door. the journal courier , rolled up with a rubber band like a log, lay on the front step. cynthia kicked it out of her way, not really thinking about it, and strode down the empty driveway-her father’s dodge and mother’s ford escort were both gone-in the direction of milford south high school. maybe, if she could find her brother, she’d learn just what was going on, just how much trouble she might actually be in. plenty, she figured. she’d missed curfew, an early one of eight o’clock. it was a school night, first of all, and then there’d been that call earlier in the evening from mrs. asphodel about how if she didn’t hand in her english assignments, she wasn’t going to pass. she told her parents she was going to pam’s house to do homework, that pam was …

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that he was some bad guy or something, but she figured it was just bullshit. it was just a fluke that her dad spotted the car at the far end of the parking lot of the connecticut post mall, out on the post road, not far from the theaters. the mustang was backed up to the curb, and her father parked in front, blocking it in. she knew it was him instantly when she saw the fedora. “shit,” said cynthia. good thing he hadn’t shown up two minutes earlier, when they’d been making out, or when vince was showing her his new switchblade-jesus, you pressed this little button, and zap! six inches of steel suddenly appeared-vince holding it in his lap, moving it around and grinning, like maybe it was something else. cynthia had tried holding it, had sliced the air in front of her and giggled. “easy,” vince had …

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linwood barclay no time for goodbye linwood barclay no time for goodbye copyright © 2007 by linwood barclay this is for my wife, neetha may 1983 when cynthia woke up , it was so quiet in the house she thought it must be saturday. if only. if there’d ever been a day that she needed to be a saturday, to be anything but a school day, this was it. her stomach was still doing the occasional somersault, her head was full of cement, and it took some effort to keep it from falling forward or onto her shoulders. jesus, what the hell was that in the wastepaper basket next to the bed? she couldn’t even remember throwing up in the …

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