In the court of public opinion, I was toast. The lowest of the low. Scum of the Earth.
My life disappeared the day that woman pushed her stroller in front of my car.
Now all I want is to disappear too.
* * *
I choseGinger’s house because it’s close to a grocery store and a pharmacy.
I need places I can walk to. I haven’t driven a car since the day it happened, and I hope I never have to again. The problem, of course, is that I can only carry so much. I could push a grocery cart home, and then back to the store, but then I’d be the girl pushing a grocery cart down the street. On top of being new. Talk about giving people a reason to notice me.
The walk to the grocery store isn’t that bad, and it’s nice out. I take a deep breath. The scent of pine and clean air is invigorating. I spent all day in the small house, cleaning the same surfaces, and trying to keep the memories at bay. There’s a modest garden in the backyard that Ginger asked me to maintain. I told her I lacked a green thumb, and she asked only that I not kill it. I hung up on her when she said that, out of shock not anger, and when she called back I blamed it on a bad connection.
The nightmares have decreased. It helps I’m so far away from where it happened. I’m still in Arizona, but nothing looks the same here. The elevation changes the landscape, and it was enough to help me. I wish I’d known a long time ago that all I needed to do was goup.
On my way home I pass the house with the black door. A large window faces the street, just like my house. The curtains ripple, swing aside, and a man’s face peers through. His deep wrinkles are evident from my place on the sidewalk. So is the scowl. For a reason I don’t fully understand, I lift a hand and wave, the grocery bag waving with me. He disappears from the window.
Why did I do that? Maybe I felt a kindred spirit. He looked like how I feel.
I’ve taken three steps forward when the sound of a door opening stops me. The old man steps out, walking to the end of his short porch. His fingers curl around the railing, using it for support as he slowly steps down the stairs. His steps are quicker once his feet hit a flat surface, and in no time he’s close to where I am on the sidewalk.
“Hi,” I say, stepping forward to greet him. I’ve always had a thing for old people.
“You’re on my lawn,” he growls, pointing down.
I follow his hand, the back of it dotted with age-spots, and look down.
Sighing, I step off the grass and back onto the sidewalk. “Happy now?”
“Hardly. Why were you spying on me?”
I snort. “You were the one peeking out your window. What size binoculars do you have? Are they military-grade? Or the kid’s kind that come in bug-catching sets? Because—”
“Argh,” he rumbles, throwing his hands out in my direction. “You’re one of those chatty types, huh? Well, keep your chit-chat away from me. I’m not interested.”
“Then why are you still standing here?” I don’t even try to hide my smile. Grumpy old men are my favorite.
“You were on my lawn.”
“No, I wasn’t. Not when you first came out.”
“Don’t you argue with me, young lady. That’s the problem with youth. You don’t have any respect.” He goes on and on, and I let him. I know his type. My grandpa was one of them before he passed away. This guy is lonely.
When he’s finished, I ask for his name.
“Walt,” he answers, his tone still as gruff as it was when he came out of his house.
“I’m Brynn,” I tell him. If I held my breath waiting for him to ask I would probably pass out first.
He gives me a skeptical look. “Sounds an awful lot like Bryan.”
“It’s not.” I take a step away. “Have a nice day, Walt.” Two more steps.
“Why did you get dropped off last weekend?” he calls out. “Don’t you have a car?”
I turn back, and I can’t help my grin. “Obviously those binoculars you’re using are military-grade. Do they have infrared?”
“Bah,” he grumbles loudly, turning around and heading up to his house. I continue on to mine.
