“It’s yellow now.” The puppy begins to snore in my arms, a low rumble that vibrates through me. I watch his eyelids twitch in sleep, his paws moving in time with some unknown dream. “My dad was allergic to dogs.”
“I know.”
“For real,” I add, which makes us both smile.
“I know,” he says again. “And cats too.”
“My mom was always bringing home strays, which drove him nuts.”
“Well, in fairness, he could sometimes drive her pretty nuts too.”
“It’s funny,” I say, the smile slipping from my face. “I’d kind of forgotten that.”
“What?”
“That they used to fight a lot.” I shift the puppy in my arms. Out the window it’s nearly dark, and I can see our reflections in the glass. “That they weren’t perfect.”
Uncle Jake gives me a funny look. “I don’t suppose it would help to tell you that nobody is.”
“I know,” I tell him. “People are just people. And a house is just a house, right?”
“Not always,” he says, spinning his beer in circles. “That was your home. And honestly I think it was pretty brave of you to go back. It couldn’t have been easy. I should’ve been the one to go with you. We probably should’ve done it a long time ago.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not, really. I’m sorry it’s so hard for me to talk to you about this stuff.”
“You talk to Aunt Sofia about it,” I say, trying not to sound so wounded.
He nods. “Yeah, I do.”
“So why not me?”
“Because,” he says, his voice cracking, “you remind me of him.”
“I do?”
“Of course you do,” he says. “You’re his kid through and through. The way you sneeze when you eat pepper. He used to do that too. And you make this face when you’re concentrating that knocks the air right out of me. You look just like him. And his eyes. You have his eyes.”
I realize I’m smiling. “So do you.”
“The thing is,” he says, “it doesn’t seem like nine years ago. I know that’s not an excuse, but it still seems like yesterday. And if it’s that way for me, I know it must be even worse for you.”
For some reason I think about Sawyer then, and his obsession with history. Sometimes, it feels like time is malleable, like the past refuses to stay put and you end up dragging it around with you whether or you like it or not. Other times it feels about as ancient and far away as those castles. Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be.
There’s a space between forgetting and moving on, and it’s not easy to find. We’re still searching for it, Uncle Jake and I. And that’s okay.
“He’d be so mad at me. If there was one thing he loved, your dad, it was talking things out.” He smiles, almost to himself, his eyes far away. “Man, that guy could talk.”
I laugh, feeling something start to loosen inside me. “He once went out to get groceries and didn’t come back for four hours. When he finally showed up, he brought this group of tourists he’d met at the store and they ended up staying for dinner.”
“That’s nothing,” Uncle Jake says, grinning now. “This one time we were camping in the backyard, and our neighbors called the cops because of the noise. But when they showed up, your dad ended up talking their ears off, of course, and the neighbors came over to see what was goingon.”
“And?”
“And they ended up staying for s’mores.”
I shake my head. “Sounds just like him.”
