reconcile crooked front
Livingston? Dusty? Seth stared, trying to teeth, dimples, an unruly coppertop, and freckles with the handsome man staring at him from his aunt’s picture frame. Well, damn. It hadn’t truly sunk in when Jill called Dustin “Doc.” Even as kids Dustin had talked about being a doctor or veterinarian some day, or “maybe both.” Well, at least one of them had fulfilled their dreams. Seth’s childhood dream had changed constantly, from fireman one day to astronaut the next, but he’d never figured on taking people’s pictures for a living.
After a few more moments spent indulging in the past, Seth retrieved his laptop and suitcase, and proceeded to pick a room.
He came to his aunt’s first. Once again, memories flooded him. It was like each new room held a key to events from his history. He left his things in the hallway and tiptoed inside, much like he’d done when he’d been a kid. Everything appeared to be the same. Ignoring the aching in his heart, he focused on why he’d come. This wasn’t a visit home; he’d come to settle his aunt’s estate, and then hopefully return to Chicago in a few weeks. Not that he had anything left to go back to.
Loneliness setting in, he reached for his back pocket out of habit, determined to connect with his sixteen hundred strong cyber friends, most of whom didn’t even know his real name. Damn! No phone. Silently cursing Monica, he vowed to catch up with his real world later, via laptop, and set about viewing the room and his aunt’s possessions with his eyes, not his heart.
The elaborately carved four-poster bed, matching dresser, mirror, and chest would net a fortune in a Chicago antique shop, if shipping didn’t prove cost-prohibitive. A genuine St. Lawrence clock sat in its place of honor on the mantel. Later he’d need to catalogue the lot, but for now he’d simply make a mental inventory, astounded that someone hadn’t crept in and cleaned the place out since the house had stood unoccupied and unlocked for weeks.
Tiny cut-glass perfume bottles and other knickknacks took up space on Auntie’s dresser, and the old rolltop desk in the corner had most likely cost a fortune when new. If he took his time, sold each piece separately for maximum profit, not only would he keep his inner capitalist happy for about a year, he could afford to concentrate on photographing only what he wanted to, leaving bitchy brides, preening divas, and noisy bar mitzvahs behind for good.
Only…. A wooden frame hung from the wall, holding a picture of Auntie’s parents. On the nightstand, a porcelain Labrador kept watch over a folded pair of glasses. He picked up the trinket and ran a finger over a hairline crack, from when he’d once dropped the little dog. Auntie had scolded him soundly and swept up the pieces in a dustpan to toss out. Seth, maybe six at the time, had cried over the poor thing he’d broken. In the end, they’d sat down at the kitchen table and glued the dog’s ear back on. And she’d kept it. A broken, dime-store figurine, and she’d kept it all these years. How could he possibly part with any of her treasures?
Unchanged from his memories, the same patchwork comforter covered his aunt’s bed. Upon closer inspection, the intricate stitches and tiny triangles of pieced-together fabric appeared hand-sewn. Like he’d expected, the backing consisted of joined flour sacks. He recalled using a similar quilt to build his tent forts over the backs of chairs on rainy days, or to curl up with when the weather turned cool, his mother nestled against him, reading or making him sound out difficult words while his father built houses in the next town.
He detected a tiny hair clinging to his thumb and shook it off. Yes, he needed to give the place a good cleaning. Then he noticed many such hairs coving the quilt. He ran his hand over the surface of the bed. A feather mattress? A quick jab of a finger proved his theory, but didn’t explain the gray, wiry hairs. Had his aunt owned a cat? If so, had anyone been feeding the poor creature?
Poking his head into the hall, he called, “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.” No furry feline rallied to his cry. Oh well, he’d ask around later. Maybe visit the neighbors. Surely they’d be able to tell him if he’d inherited a pet.
After deciding to indefinitely postpone any decisions about what to do with his great-aunt’s possessions, he made his way to his parents’ former room. Leaning his head against the cool wooden panel of the door, he drew in a deep breath, steeling himself for what might wait inside. Photo albums? Clothing he might remember? Personal notes to each other? Reminders of the happy life they’d shared? Once more, he reached for his phone, needing a friend, even if only a cyber one, to enter the room with him. Again he came up empty-handed.
“Here goes nothing,” he murmured as he turned the handle and eased the door open. Inside he found… a room. Blue-checked curtains that appeared homemade hung over the window; a chenille cover neatly encased the bed. Unlike Aunt Irene’s room, every flat surface crowded to capacity, giving the place a lived-in ambiance, his parents’ room lacked personalization.
A pair of chifforobes stood against one wall, in lieu of a closet. Their hinges squealed protest at Seth’s invasion. Nothing. Not a sock or a scarf left to mark the lives of the two people who’d meant the most to him. A cane-backed chair sat next to the double bed. Emitting a depressed sigh, he sank down on the bed, wishing he’d made more of an effort to connect with his aunt. Of course, the distance between them wasn’t entirely his fault. If his aunt wanted anything to do with him, she would have come to Chicago, right? Or at least called him once in a while. Only, would his grandmother and her iron-handed control have allowed a meeting? He recalled the argument between the two women the day of his parents’ memorial service. For some reason Seth had never comprehended, Nana seemed to blame Auntie for his mother’s death. Why? She’d stepped into the path of an oncoming car while crossing the road, and his father had died trying to save her. Seth, having spent many years in Chicago, and understanding the treacheries of traffic, was no stranger to vehicular tragedies.
He rose from the bed to continue exploring. Neither his auntie’s nor his parents’ room would do for a new base camp. Slowly he approached the room at the end of the hall like he’d done, usually at higher speeds, in his youth. The knob turned effortlessly, and the door emitted no wail of disuse like he’d expected. Seth gasped. The room looked exactly as he remembered. The bed was unmade, a forgotten toy truck lying on the quilt, as though he’d recently put it there. A thin layer of dust coated the surface of the dresser and the airplane models he’d once painstakingly assembled.
With a trembling finger, he touched the delicate propeller of a World War II fighter plane. The twenty-year-old plastic popped loose, falling to the floor. Apparently, his aunt hadn’t forgotten him, preserving the room as some kind of shrine to his childhood.
At that moment, he hated himself for ever thinking about selling even one piece of his tenuous connection to his family. But what would he do with all this stuff?
Stumbling backward out of the open door, he staggered to the house’s fourth bedroom, reserved for guests back in his youth, and placed his suitcase and laptop by the bed. This room held few enough memories. Perhaps sleeping here wouldn’t prove too awkward. He briefly considered staying at a motel, before remembering he didn’t have a car.
A few books and other items lay scattered around the room, possibly discarded by someone who’d spent the night. He ran his finger over the cover ofWatership Down. Talking animals, huh? Shades of blue graced the windows and bed, the patchwork quilt sporting pieces of denim and chambray. A masculine room, but not overly so. Seth found he quite liked it.
With a bed to sleep in settled, he retraced his steps to where he’d left his groceries and hauled them to the kitchen, hoping the appliances weren’t as ancient as the rest of the furnishings. The stench grew with each step he took. He stopped in his tracks just inside the door.Oh my God! No wonder the place smelled like garbage!Although the rest of the house wasn’t pristine, a war had obviously been fought in the kitchen—and lost. Monica mentioned a get-together depleting the pantry, but instead of empty cabinets, Seth found empty cabinetsandan unholy mess. Gnawed, sprouting potatoes lay haphazardly on the floor, and at least two chewed-open bread bags sat on the table, moldy former contents spread over the surface. Remnants of half-eaten sandwiches littered the floor. He wrinkled his nose at the disgusting odor and flung open the windows.
Once he’d regained his composure, he peered into the antique refrigerator. While the crisper drawer might have held rotting vegetables, at least they didn’t appear to have been chewed by large rodents. What the hell? Had field rats invaded? Recalling the hair on his aunt’s bedspread, he let out a relieved chuckle. If a pet cat had been left in the house alone, of course it would scavenge. But potatoes? Poor hungry kitty. And sandwiches? Perhaps a well-meaning neighbor had left them. Seth vowed to make it up to the poor beast if ever he found it. He’d always wanted a pet, but his stern grandmother couldn’t abide anything coming to her house and leaving a mess to clean, barely making an exception for a grandson.
A quick search of the house turned up no food bowls or litter box. Maybe the culprit was an indoor/outdoor cat. Surely it’d come around when hungry.
After finding cleaner under the sink and brooms, dustpans, mops, and cloths hanging on the enclosed back porch or in the pantry, he tuned out the daunting big picture and focused on completing one task at a time.
He’d succeeded in making the room presentable when he noticed a rather large hole in a panel along the wall that he supposed hid the water heater, judging by the occasional burbling whenever he used the sink. The accidental entrance must be where the cat came in. Well, the critter would have to learn to use the front door like everyone else.
Tired and hungry, he stared into the refrigerator, trying to decide on something quick and easy for dinner. Spying a splattered notebook on the buffet, he ambled over and flipped open the cover to reveal page after page of handwritten recipes. “Aunt Bessie’s Potato Salad” caught his eyes and made his mouth water. Searching through the refrigerator and cabinets, he found the potatoes he’d recently purchased, eggs, an onion, pickle relish, and everything else he needed to make one of his favorite childhood dishes. The results weren’t as good as Aunt Irene’s, but sometimes memories grew sweeter with time, right? Only, he didn’t remember crunchy bits of eggshell in the original version.
While Seth mopped the floor and bagged up trash, the sun sank lower in the sky, painting the horizon with a brilliant wave of blues and golds, unlike any sunset in the city. He watched the display from the kitchen window until a yawn stretched his mouth wide. Worried about nocturnal visitors, he blocked the hole in the wall with an upturned footstool from the sitting room, vowing to make proper repairs after a good night’s sleep.
He wolfed down a quick dinner of canned soup and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, along with a few bites of his disappointing potato salad. Later, Seth unpacked his bags, took a tub bath since the one lone bathroom didn’t have a shower or even a shower nozzle, and then crawled into bed, exhausted.
Chapter 5
DUSTINmade the rounds, flipping on lights and unbolting doors. A quick check out a plate-glass window showed Andy Coleman’s Jeep Cherokee in the parking lot. If the world only knew how often patients checked in to the doctor’s office, only to be shuffled to the veterinarian’s next door to hide their true nature. Sometimes maintaining the secrecy wore Dustin out.
But the world wasn’t ready for proof of shape-shifters existing for real, outside of movie theaters, even if some sectors considered them an open secret of sorts. Exhibit A? Seth’s grandmother, who’d deemed Possum Kingdom a quarantine unit for a highly contagious disease.
