“You know that my grandson is a realtor, right?” Dolores asks. I’m thrown by the change in subject, and turn away from the window to give her my attention.
I nod. I’ve met her family as they live just a short drive north of Centralia. Having a mother and grandmother like Dolores is a gift that they haven’t overlooked. There isn’t a day that goesby that Dolores doesn’t have a visitor from either her blood relatives or one of our stitched-together family.
“Well, I have been debating whether this would be a good thing to tell you or not, until today. Your old house came back on the market, and my grandson gave me a key so that we can come and see it.”
My breath catches, and I feel my heart stall for a second. In that infinitesimal blip of time, I let myself believe that behind that door, my parents are alive and well. They never went out that night, never tried driving home in the rain, and therefore they never went off the road.
I don’t know what my life would look like if that were true, but I doubt it would be anything like it is. I love my life, and I hate to think that my parents had to die for me to be where I am today.
Without saying a word, Dolores sets the key on the center console.
I don’t hesitate to take it. “You aren’t coming with me?” I ask them both.
Bess shakes her head. “Nah, Wrenegade, I think this is a trip down memory lane for one. We’ll be out here when you’re ready.”
Dolores said that the best way to find what you’ve lost is to start at the beginning. It is the best way to retrace your steps. This would be a lot easier if I already knew what I was meant to look for.
There have been a lot of changes made over the almost seventeen years since I was forced to sell the house. The carpet has been removed and hardwood floors installed in their place. The paint has been updated from the creamy beige everyone had in the nineties to a soft gray with bold accent walls.
I think I understand that saying about how you can’t go home again now. This might be the same house where my family lived,but it’s just not the same home. I guess home isn’t four walls and a roof, but the people who inhabit it. Without my parents, all that’s left is wood and plaster.
Dropping down on the third step from the bottom, I put my head in my hands. “What am I doing?” I ask myself, my voice muffled by my hands.
I take a breath and release, then repeat the process a few times until I’m settled enough to lift my head. Looking around the room, I try to see past all of the changes that have been made since this home was mine.
Try as hard as I can, nothing here remains of my parents. I’m not sure what I was expecting to find anyway. Even if our memory has been erased from this house, being here is a gift I never thought I’d get. When I sold the house during my senior year of high school, everything was so overwhelming that I barely remember much of that time. I’ve often regretted not having said goodbye to the house. Not something that an eighteen-year-old would think to do.
Using the banister, I pull myself up to my feet and slowly climb the stairs. The changes continue on the second level, but it doesn’t have the same effect up here. My feet start moving before it registers where I’m going. It hits me when I cross the threshold for the primary bedroom. Without even meaning to, my instinct is to seek out my mother.
Inside the room, I close my eyes and let my mind wander. Even though it has been years since my mother has stepped foot in this room, I let myself remember the soft floral smell of her perfume. I go into the ensuite bathroom and sit on the closed lid of the toilet.
I know that I’m in an empty house, and that my mom has been gone for nearly twenty years, but I’ve been told over and over again that the ones we love live on in our memories. If that is true, then I should be able to visit them by stepping intoone. I can’t think of a better place to do it than the scene of the memory.
“Hey, Mom,” I say in a whisper. I have to look up for a moment to keep from crying. If I start now, I don’t think I can stop.
“It’s been a while since I’ve talked to you. Not sure if you can hear me or not, but I really miss you. When the police told me that you were gone, I wasn’t sure how I’d even breathe from one moment to the next. They brought in grief counselors, and they all told me that it would get easier.”
In my mind, I can see her turn away from the mirror and focus her attention on me. She always did that, stopped whatever she was doing, and gave me all her attention. “They lied. Sure, I figured out how to breathe again, but there hasn’t been a major event in my life where one of my first thoughts wasn’t how much I missed you and wished you were there. The day I found out I was pregnant with Parker, I needed you so bad. When I got married to Griffin, I wished Dad were there to walk me down the aisle, or you were there helping me get ready. Every time my kids have a birthday party, game, or any other milestone, I miss you.”
I take a moment to try and hold on a little longer. “And now, I feel so lost and confused, and of course, I miss you now too. I don’t believe this is ever going to get better anymore. I just got better at living with it. Right now, though, I’m struggling. I guess Dolores figured that out. I’m surprised she didn’t take me to the cemetery, but come to think of it, I have seen her talking to her late husband out in her flower garden. That is where he used to spend time with her while she tended to her flower beds.”
“So, here I am, I guess, coming to find you in the last place I saw you. I wish I could hear you again. I don’t have anything with the sound of your voice. I just want to hear you again.”
The details of the last night I sat in here with her while she got ready for a date with my dad start to come back to me. More than any other night, I’ve tried to push that one out of my mind until I nearly forgot it completely.
Not anymore. This is the memory, the night everything changed, and the direction of my life shifted dramatically.
The memory is so strong now that I’m not fighting it, that it feels like it’s happening right now.
“Hey, Bean, you look pretty,” my mom says, looking into the mirror.
“Thanks, Mom. Is it okay if Liam comes over while you guys are out?” I say, following along with our conversation that night, seventeen years ago.
She frowns for a second, then I watch her shake it off. “If you really want him to. Just?—”
“Just what, Mom?” I repeat, upset with myself that my final interaction with her was me acting like a brat.
“I worry that you are going to let him get you off track. You should be focused on school, hanging out with friends, and getting ready for college. I just don’t think Liam is going anywhere, not for a long while at least, and you—” I close my eyes and remember her framing my face in her hands before brushing my hair behind my ears “—my darling girl, are going everywhere, as long as you don’t let him hold you back.”
