Ethan says there’s not enough pictures of me, so he takes a lot of photos, mostly of just me driving. We get a couple of us together at the state line into Pennsylvania. We stand at the sign and angle the camera to get both of us in the shot. Ethan kisses me on the cheek, and I hope that we were able to get that in the frame.
By the time we use up all the film in the camera, we’ve crossed into New York, and we take a detour toward Juanita’s trailer. We probably should have called first, but I figure if she’s at the Denny’s, we can just leave the card and key chain at the door. It was a nice thing she did for us. And I have a feeling that what she said to Ethan helped.
I tell Ethan that I hope she’s home. Maybe she’ll fix us some more tea and we can tell her about scattering Everett’s ashes.
But when we pull into the trailer park, and I drive around to her lemon-yellow trailer, I notice that it isn’t lemon-yellow anymore.
“What the hell?” Ethan leans forward in the seat.
It’s not the same trailer at all. In the day and a half since we’ve been here, the lemon yellow has turned a charred black. The bay window is boarded up with plywood. Some of the glass is broken and the curtains are torn and singed.
I get a horrible, sinking feeling as I stare at it. “This…can’t be the right one.”
Ethan gets out of the car.
I cut the engine and follow him over to the door. He knocks on it a couple of times, but no one answers.
I peek inside one of the windows. I can barely see, but it looks like there’s been a fire in one part of the trailer. Some of the mushroom and gnome knickknacks are still intact, albeit covered in soot. “Oh no.”
“What?” Ethan says.
“Excuse me.” I hear a voice behind us and turn to see a young woman with a toddler in her arms. “Do you boys need some help?”
“We’re looking for Juanita,” I tell her.
The woman gives a us a weird look. “Miss Juanita passed away a few months ago.”
I stare at her for a second. “No, that’s not possible. We saw her just the other day. We went in and talked to her.”
“She made us tea,” Ethan says.
The toddler in the woman’s arms starts to get fussy. “I don’t know what to tell you. Miss Juanita died months ago. She was a nice lady, and people have been real sad around here.” She sets the squirming toddler down. “We used to go to the Denny’s out by the exit to see her. Sit in her section. But her trailer caught fireone night. They say it was an electrical problem. The ambulance came and all, but…” The woman shakes her head.
“That’s not possible,” I insist. I turn to look at Ethan. “Right? I mean, we were just here.”
“Are you sure it was her?” Ethan says.
The kid tugs impatiently on the woman’s hand. “Listen, I wish I could help, but I gotta get going.” She wanders away with the kid, and I watch her go. Then I turn to Ethan again. He turns to me.
And then we both turn to the trailer.
“No fucking way,” I say. “Wetalkedto her. On the phone and face-to-face.”
Ethan stares at the door. It’s still a faded lemon yellow. He carefully sets the card and key chain down at the bottom, arranging them like an offering.
“Ethan?” I say, as he walks down the steps toward the car.
“Let’s go,” he says, getting in.
I take one last look at the trailer before getting in the car. I start the engine and glance warily over at Ethan. “Are you okay?”
He looks down at the chipped black polish on his nails. He says, “People come into our lives and leave them at just the right times.” He reaches for my hand, and I take it.
I feel compelled to have a moment of silence for Juanita before we drive off. As we pull away from the trailer, Ethan turns around in the seat and looks behind us. He waves.
I glance in the rearview mirror. I think I catch the glimpse of an old lady in a patchwork skirt, smiling and waving to us goodbye.
When I pull up to the Sawyer’s house, its early evening and dark. It almost feels as if I’m pulling up to this house for the first time. I guess it’s because something is different now.
