"Laura" by Tim Lieder (Fiction Extra)

Even when you found the Ex Lax in her room you didn’t let yourself worry.

How would you like to be Laura's mother? You walk into your house with groceries and something stinks. You scold Laura for not taking Max, the German Shepherd, outside. You carry on until the silence spooks you. You go to the living room and you are just about to return to the kitchen when you know. She's hanging dead in the study and she's wearing the short black dress that you thought you had thrown away. No 15-year old should dress like a hooker. You set down the groceries and an onion falls out. You call the police because you’re supposed to call the police when there’s a body in your study.

See where she moved the desk? She kicked over the wooden chair. She didn’t even remove her green letter jacket. She was on the soccer team. The jacket reminds you that she was supposed to meet with Veronica to study for the Geometry final. Veronica isn’t even on the team. You call Veronica’s mother and tell her that Laura won’t be able to make it.

Would you rather be your father? Coming home from work late, wondering if you need to stay married. Asking why you’ve become a cliché. You still drive the station wagon. You love your wife. You flirt with co-workers. You had an affair when your wife was pregnant. You ended it, but you miss her. You haven’t touched alcohol since the accident. You come home thinking about The Righteous Brothers, cowboy movies and the monthly report. You shouldn't be thinking about your job. You don't take your job home with you. You always vow not to be one of those sad men dying three days after retirement.

You see police cars - one in your driveway and one by the sidewalk. Why did they send two? You make up rational explanations. Someone stole the television. Someone broke in. Someone set a fire in the backyard. Laura is dealing drugs. Laura had an accident but isn’t hurt. Laura killed someone. What did Laura do now?