When Life Took A Turn

The driver climbed down from the bus. Through the windshield, Jason watched him run toward the car. Other adults appeared from the houses along the road. A man in a blue shirt pulled a phone from his pocket. Another stood beside the tree with both hands pressed to his head.

Jason looked at the clock above the driver’s seat. His parents usually came home before six. His mother worked at the office until five, and his father’s clerk shift ended at half past five. If traffic was bad, they arrived later, but one of them always called.

He reached into his pocket for his phone. The screen showed no missed calls.

A girl across the aisle whispered, “Is anyone dead?”

“Don’t say that,” her friend answered.

Jason lowered his eyes to the mathematics book. The page was covered in neat numbers, but they had lost their meaning. He could still see the open door of the car. He could still hear the woman crying beside the road.

After several minutes, the driver returned. His face had changed. He wiped one hand on his shirt before taking the wheel.

“Is everybody alive?” a student asked.

The driver stared at the road. “The ambulance is coming.”

That was all he said.

The bus moved again, slower now. Jason kept his eyes on the wreck until the stone wall hid it. He wanted to ask another question, but the driver’s hands were tight around the steering wheel, and nobody spoke.

At his stop, Jason jumped down before the bus had fully settled.

“Don’t run across the road,” the driver called.

Jason was already moving.

Their house stood three streets away, behind a low gate with chipped white paint. He hurried past the corner shop and the tailor’s closed shutters. The sun had dropped behind the roofs, leaving the road gray and cool. He expected to hear Jax before he opened the gate - his small feet on the floor, his voice calling Jason’s name.

The house was quiet.

Jason unlocked the door.

“Jax?”

A wooden car rolled from the sitting room and stopped against his shoe.

Jax appeared behind it, wearing a shirt with a smear of blue paint on the front. “You’re late.”

“The bus stopped.”

“Why?”

“There was an accident.”

Jax’s eyes widened. “Did you get hurt?”

“No.” Jason crouched and held out his arms. Jax ran into them. His hair was soft against Jason’s chin, and his body still had the round, warm weight of a little child.

“Did Mama come home?”

“Not yet.”

“Is she bringing food?”

“Probably.”

Jax pulled back. “What food?”

Jason glanced toward the kitchen. Their mother had left a covered pot on the stove that morning, but the house felt different now. The lid sat exactly where she had placed it. No one had touched it.

“Let’s see,” he said.

The pot held rice and vegetables, enough for both of them. Jason warmed it while Jax sat on the counter and swung his legs. The kitchen light flickered once. Outside, a motorcycle passed, its engine fading down the street.

“Papa said he’d bring bread,” Jax said.

“He will.”

“And milk.”

“He will.”

“And the chocolate biscuits.”

Jason set two plates on the table. “You can have the last two.”

Jax smiled, reassured by the biscuits more than the promise. Jason watched him eat, breaking each biscuit into small pieces and dipping them into the rice.

At six thirty, Jason called their mother.

The phone rang until the call ended.

He tried his father. The same thing happened.

“Why aren’t they answering?” Jax asked.

“They’re probably on the bus.”

“Papa doesn’t take the bus.”

Jason put the phone face down. “Maybe he’s talking to someone.”

Jax accepted this for less than a minute. “Did the accident happen to them?”

The question struck harder than the bus had.

“No,” Jason said quickly. “It was on a different road.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know.”

Jax studied him. “You’re scared.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Jason pushed his plate away and stood. “Come on. We’ll play.”

They played on the sitting-room floor, though Jason kept looking toward the window. Jax made the wooden cars race around a cushion. One car crashed into the leg of the table, and Jax laughed.

“Again,” he said.

Jason pushed the car back. “Ready?”

The clock ticked above them. At seven, he called again. At seven fifteen, he called the office where their mother worked. No one answered. He searched for the number of his father’s workplace, found it written on a piece of paper near the telephone, and called there too.

A tired man answered.

“Could I speak to Jason’s father?” Jason asked.

“Who?”

He gave his father’s name.

There was a pause. Papers shifted on the other end. “He left hours ago.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“No. Who is this?”

Jason hung up.

Jax had stopped playing. “What did they say?”

“Nothing.”

“Are they coming?”

“Yes.”

The word came out too fast.

Rain began tapping against the window. Jax gathered the cars and placed them in a line beside his knee. The room grew darker, but neither of them turned on the lamp. Jason did not want to sit under its yellow circle and watch the clock become later.

At eight, someone knocked at the gate.

Jax sprang up. “Mama!”

“Stay here.” Jason crossed the room and looked through the curtain.

It was the neighbor from across the street, carrying an umbrella. She lifted a hand when she saw him.

Jason opened the door.

“Your parents haven’t come home?” she asked.

“No.”

Her eyes moved past him toward Jax. “Have you called them?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe they are delayed.”

“That’s what I thought.”

She stepped under the porch. Rainwater ran from the edge of her umbrella. “Do you want to come to my house?”

Jason shook his head. “They’ll come here.”

The neighbor hesitated. “You shouldn’t stay alone.”

“I’m not alone.”

Jax stood behind Jason, gripping the back of his shirt.

The neighbor looked at the boy, then back at Jason. “Keep the door locked. If you need anything, knock.”

Jason nodded.

After she left, he locked the door and checked it twice.

Jax’s voice was small. “She thinks something happened.”

“She thinks it’s raining.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

Jason turned around. He wanted to tell Jax the truth, but he did not know the truth himself. The accident on the road had become a picture in his mind, sharper each time he tried to push it away. The crushed hood. The open door. The hand against the broken window.

He knelt in front of Jax. “Listen to me. Mama and Papa know how to get home. They’ve done it every day.”

“Then why aren’t they here?”

Jason had no answer.

He took Jax to the bedroom and helped him change into his pajamas. Jax brushed his teeth without being asked, but he kept turning toward the hallway whenever a car passed outside.

“Tell me a story,” he said.

“Which one?”

“The one about the brave soldier.”

Jason sat on the edge of the bed. “Once there was a soldier who had to cross a forest.”

“Was he alone?”

“Yes.”

“Was he scared?”

“A little.”

“What did he do?”

“He kept walking.”

Jax pulled the blanket to his chin. “Did he find his family?”

Jason looked at the rain sliding down the window.

“Yes,” he said. “He did.”

Jax closed his eyes. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

It took nearly an hour for Jax to fall asleep. Jason stayed beside him until his breathing settled into a slow rhythm. Then he went back to the sitting room with the phone in his hand.

Nine fifteen.

He called their mother again.

No answer.

He called his father.

No answer.

The rain grew heavier. Water struck the roof in a steady rush, hiding the sounds of the street. Jason stood by the window and watched headlights pass through the wet darkness. Each pair made him straighten. Each car continued beyond the gate.

At ten, he heard a vehicle slow outside.

Jason ran to the door.

A taxi stopped near the corner, its roof light glowing through the rain. A man got out, lifted a bag over his head, and hurried into a house.

Jason remained with his hand on the lock.

Behind him, Jax stirred in the bedroom. “Jason?”

“I’m here.”

“Are they back?”

Jason looked at the silent phone.

“No,” he said. “But I’m here.”

He returned to the bedroom and lay beside his brother. Jax reached for him without opening his eyes. Jason wrapped an arm around him and listened to the rain.

The house had always seemed too small when their parents were home. Their voices filled it. Their footsteps moved from room to room. Now every silence had space inside it.

Near midnight, Jason heard a car turn into their street.

He sat up.

The engine slowed near the gate, then continued past.

Jax slept against his shoulder. Jason held him tighter and stared at the dark doorway, waiting for the key to turn.

It never did.

End of chapter one. 4 more chapters and about 9,561 words in the full book.