Thomas smashed the gray urn against the mantle, shattering it in dozens of pieces. He wasn’t prepared for the massive dust cloud that eddied and spread. 

“F*** him.” He didn’t raise his voice. Anger suffered long enough becomes calm.

His mom didn’t react. She didn’t jerk, or even let her eyes widen. After thirty-two years with the object of her son’s anger, she understood. Her husband had no idea how many times she calculated the odds of getting caught if she ended him. Two weeks ago, she decided that waiting for him to do her in didn’t work for her any longer.

“Thomas, leave the mess. I’ll make us a cup of coffee with a dash of whiskey. We can curse about him as we drink it.”

Thomas followed his mom into the kitchen as she made them both a cup of coffee. Each of them were mired in their own thoughts as they picked up their cups and exited the house through the back door. 

“What are you going to do now?” Thomas sat on one of the three stumps that served as seats. He stared at the fire pit between them.

“Well, I don’t know, but it can be whatever the hell I want to for once.” 

Thomas burst out laughing. After a couple of seconds, his mom joined him.

His mom took a sip of her coffee and smiled. “I guess I can vacuum up the mess. I could leave the vacuum bag on the mantle when I’m done.”

“I’m sorry about the mess. I’ll clean it up when we go back inside.”

“You know, I just realized it’s the last time either one of us will have to clean up after him.”

Thomas laughed again. Standing up, he pulled the little bottle out of his pocket and poured the liquid into the flickering fire.

“We don’t need this anymore.”

“Never again,” his mom reverently whispered. 

Thomas dropped the empty bottle into the flames. 

Both of them watched the bottle blacken and then crack as the heat enveloped it. 

Sometimes fire is the only exit. 

X

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