“You remember my grandson, Carl, right?”
“Yeah.”
“He rents an apartment near downtown Nashville. A roommate of his had to move all sudden-like.” He coughed, flicked ashes. “So, Carl’s looking for someone to take the extra space.” Danny paused and scratched his white stubble. “Carl ain’t the brightest, but he managed to get in good with a major construction company. Supervisor there now. Said he could probably get you a job. They work west of Nashville, so you’d likely have to move out there with the city folk.” He grunted in disgust. “Figured you might not want to hang around Pleasant Gap while tryin’ to get on your feet anyway.”
“I don’t know the first thing about construction, Danny.”
“You’re smart. You’d learn.”
I reckon I should’ve been thankful Danny was trying to extend some kindness. I certainly owed him a lot. But thinking about moving, getting a job, and trying to fit back into the real world sounded like hell. I stifled a deep breath and chose a clenched exhale that made my chest hurt instead.
“I’ll think about it.”
He tried to smile. “I’ll call Carl whenever you decide you want the job. The apartment might not be available very long though.” He flicked his ashes again out the open window.
The red lights up ahead indicated we were pulling into downtown Pleasant Gap. The downtown I remembered was two measly little stop lights, a Dollar General, a Mexican restaurant, the bank, and the post office. But fourteen years changes a lot. There had to be at least twenty new establishments, three new stop lights, and the high school had been rebuilt.
When the truck stopped at a light, I turned my face away from the window. What if someone recognized me? The notion was paranoia, but I hid my face anyway.
The drive through town and closer to home was slow motion. Seconds dragged by. I stole a couple glances at the speedometer to make sure he wasn’t going under the speed limit.
Some people get an excited welcoming committee when they come home. There was no one left for me though. Except my old neighbor Danny Kirkfield. He was the singular person I knew to call for a ride. His aged, hardened features were difficult to read. Was he ready to drop me off and hightail it?
Not that I’d blame him.
He turned into the wrap-around drive. The house looked frozen in time. Only thing that had changed was the big oaks. They were taller, and the branches scraped against the shingles in the breeze. Mama had always kept them trimmed. Otherwise, the dark brick, black shutters, and manicured hedges looked like I remembered. A quick survey of the front yard showed Danny had done a fine job keeping the place up. He smothered his light in the tray on the console and parked.
“Want me to go in with you?”
I shook my head. No way.
“Alright. You know where I’ll be.” He scribbled his phone number on the back of a lottery ticket receipt and handed it to me with a cough. “There’s my number if ya need it again. Call me if you don’t feel like walking over.”
“Will do.” I shouldered my duffel bag and opened the door. “Thanks for picking me up.”
After he left, I turned to face my childhood home. Honeysuckle wafted on the breeze. At one point, it was my favorite smell in the whole world. I’d spent the last fourteen springs wishing I could breathe it in again. Now, it made my stomach twist. The overwhelming aroma was more an unwelcome stench, delivering memories I’d rather forget. The fragrant blooms caused a sharp pang in my head and urged me toward the door.
I scoffed in disbelief as I walked through the carport. The dang Buick was still here. Of all the things to survive this mess, it just had to be the Buick, huh? I hurried by, making a point to not look in the windows.
The key was under the mat like Danny said it would be. My sweaty hands fumbled with the stiff lock. Would other neighbors see me coming home? I glanced over my shoulder to see if any prying eyes had spotted me yet. I could hear them already talking about the prodigal son returning. The door gave, and I rushed over the threshold.
Inside, my dignity was momentarily safe from the grapevine, but my soul was a ship lost at sea.
How would I find my footing here?
Plastic sheets covered everything in the house. When I swiped open the drapes, a wave of dust mites danced in the resulting sunshine. Danny had admitted it’d been a minute since he aired the place out.
A plastic sheet clung to the sides of the dining room table as I peeled it off, slowly rolling it into a ball. I continued through the house, pulling plastic off of furniture and opening drapes. The dust made me sneeze, but it took only a few minutes to make it look like the home I left behind.
But it didn’t smell like I remembered. Not sure why that surprised me. Instead of coffee, baked goods, and upholstery, the place smelled of fresh pesticides and dust.
Mama’s chair sat facing the picture window like it always had. Daddy’s bookcase was still in the corner, too. I pulled a book off the shelf and flipped through it to see his scrawl in the margins. He was forever writing in his books. Many of them had pages and pages of notes crammed into every blank, white space.
I shelved the book and headed to my old bedroom. The floor squeaked in all the same places. It reminded me of when I used to sneak out late at night, tiptoeing around the loudest boards. I had their melody memorized.
Pushing open the bedroom door revealed more plastic. As I removed the sheets, I realized things hadn’t changed much. My old calculus book was on the desk, and Gracie’s favorite fluffy, pink pen was in the pencil jar. I plucked it out and rubbed the feather against my palm. Gracie used to do that. Said it was relaxing.
Looked like I’d left yesterday.
