“Oh. Yes, I—” She realized her response was going to be too long to relay through a tiny crack in the door. “Actually... could I come up to you in a minute? I was just finishing up here.”
“Not a problem. 2B!” Mrs. Foster reminded her.
“Got it.” Lorna shut the door. Then she used the breathing techniques she’d learned at Bodhi to keep from hyperventilating. Those damn Precious Moments!
“Bring Aggie!” Mrs. Foster shouted from the other side of the door, startling her.
She was not bringing Aggie. She had enough trouble managing small talk, much less trying to corral her dog in the event Bean had misread the friend situation between Aggie and Garfield. She gave Aggie a biscuit and scratched her head, made empty promises to be home soon, and then made her way upstairs with the brownies.
Mrs. Foster answered right away, swinging the door open onto a scene from Lorna’s childhood, but with all the wrong furniture. Lorna stood frozen for a moment, staring into the room that looked exactly like what she remembered—but also completely different.
Mrs. Foster was dressed in shorts and an old baggy T-shirt. Lorna, on the other hand, was dressed as though she might be headed to a funeral. The dumb orange cat was wrapping around Mrs. Foster’s legs.
“Thank you for coming!” She looked at the brownies. “Oh.”
“Bean made them,” Lorna said, pushing the tray into Mrs. Foster’s hands.
“Well, thank you! I’ve noticed you’re home a lot these days. Vacation?”
She hadn’t had a vacation in two years. “No, I’m taking some time off to... to work on myself,” Lorna said.
She expected a litany of follow-up questions, but Mrs. Foster said only, “That’s great! Everyone should.” She took a bite of a brownie. “Yummy! Come in!”
Lorna did. Reluctantly. And walked right into a bubble of childhood nostalgia. Her eyes began to feel a little misty.For heaven’s sake, not now.“I love what you’ve done with the place, Mrs. Foster,” she said, and turned her head slightly, dipping a knuckle under her lashes to catch a tear that felt like it might fall.
“Oh please, call me Liz,” Mrs. Foster said.
“Liz. Got it.” Lorna glanced toward the door that led into what had been her bedroom all those years ago. She could see the corner of a poster bed.
“And maybe I can call you Lorna? Do you go by Lorna?” Liz asked. “No need to be so formal here.”
“What?” Lorna looked away from her old bedroom. Her skin began to itch. She shouldn’t be here. She didn’t know how to be here.What am I doing? This is Nana’s house. Why did she take down the wood blinds? They were perfect for this room. We built our Barbie dream towns in here. This was our playroom. But wait... didn’t Nana die in here? Yes, this is the room where Nana died. Should I tell her?
She became aware that Liz was watching her, waiting for a response. “Oh. Yes. Lorna. I’m Lorna.” She smiled. And now her nerves were launching a full-on assault. She felt like a beacon for disapproval—wrong clothes, wrong attitude, her mind wandering off. She could feel a bead of perspiration on her nape.
Liz ate another brownie. “These are so good. I’m going to get a glass of water.” She put the brownies on a coffee table.
Lorna watched her walk into what had once been a front bedroom. She and Kristen had carved their initials into the windowsill. Nana had thrown a fit and had her handyman sand them out and repaint the sill. Then Kristen had carved KL + CD in the same spot, because she had a crush on Casey Dell. She claimed she could see his bedroom from that window. She couldn’t—Casey Dell lived blocks away. But then again, Kristen lied about everything. Lorna had known it then, but she’d always wanted so desperately to believe Kristen.
There had been a piano in this room, although no one everplayed it. Mom had made them take lessons, but neither of them had any love of the piano, and once the lessons had ended, the piano sat unused.
On the doorframe to Lorna’s old room, there had been pen markings to track the girls’ height. Red for Lorna, blue for Kristen. From the time she was twelve, Lorna was taller than Kristen. But the marks had been painted over.
“Would you like some water?” Liz called from the kitchen.
“Pardon?” Lorna asked, shaking off the memories. “Oh, no thanks.”
A moment later, Liz returned. She gestured to her couch. “Make yourself at home.”
Shewasat home. But she was standing in the middle of the room with her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Something felt off. These rooms belonged to her and her happy memories. And yet there was something not quite right about that. Like the memories were flawed. She turned slightly and suddenly had a vision of her grandmother sitting in a chair near the window, her head lolling on her chest, passed out again from too much gin.No no no no...this was the playroom. They had played here. It had been filled with books and toys. Not drunk old women.
“Are you okay, Lorna?”
“What?” She had to stop acting like she was having an episode or whatever this was. “Oh, I’m fine. Just looking around.” She forced a smile.
Liz plopped down on the couch. “I do my best with decor. I’m not a natural. Feel free to let your hair down.”
Lorna carefully lowered herself to sit. When she did, she watched a run in her stocking begin its path down her leg.
