Liz watched the buildings blur together outside her window. The businesses and tourist traps of downtown quickly gave way to the outdated, unkempt buildings of Mountain View. She normally never drove through this part of Anchorage herself, but whenever she did, she made double sure her doors were locked.
As she passed through now, though, she felt oddly safe in Dorian’s company.
A cracked and yellowed apartment complex loomed on their right, and outside, teens passed around a bottle in a brown paper bag. She’d expected Dorian to pull into the lot, but he kept driving. She’d known he didn’t have much money, but Mountain View? How could he have ever afforded to pay off Bingham with such a massive sum?
Five minutes later, they arrived at a house rather than a group of apartments.
“This is me,” Dorian announced, cutting the ignition.
“Is this all yours?” she stared up at the two-story home before her. It was at least as big as her father’s house. Although the vinyl siding showed signs of wear and tear and the porch steps were uneven, a beautiful garden bloomed around the perimeter.
“You seem surprised,” Dorian answered, his eyes just as green as the verdant grass in his yard.
“Well… I…”
He laughed. “Relax, it’s okay. I’m just teasing you.”
She did just that as he grabbed her suitcase from the trunk and headed up the steps. They had the next steps of their search planned out. Tonight she could rest, knowing that all the biggest questions had already been answered.
“It was my grandparents’ house,” Dorian explained as he paused on the porch and waited for her to catch up. “They lived here from the time it was built. A couple years back Grandpa died, and Grandma got moved to assisted living. My family wanted to let it go to foreclosure, but there were too many memories here to just give up.”
“And now it’s all yours.” Liz looked at the neighboring houses with their yellowed lawns and broken toys scattered across the yards. Dorian’s home didn’t look like it belonged. He didn’t look like he belonged, yet he seemed so at ease, so proud of his home.
“Now it’s mine. Well, I do have an occasional roommate. His name is Travis, and he’s just as likely to show up for the night as not. Usually sleeps on the couch. Don’t worry, he won’t come tonight. Already texted me.”
“The garden is beautiful,” she said, taking in the rainbow of colors and wondering why she’d never learned to identify the various blooms.
Dorian blushed, the fresh pink in his cheeks sharpening the greenness of his eyes. “Thanks. I’ve worked hard on it. Whenever I get writer’s block or don’t have enough side gigs to keep me busy, I come out here to weed and plant and to just be among the weeds. Pretty weird, huh?”
She shook her head. “No, I understand completely. Just because you have a rundown house in a bad neighborhood doesn’t mean you can’t have something beautiful all your own.”
“Ouch.” He lifted a hand to his chest and took on a pained expression, as if she’d literally broken his heart.
The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him when he had gone to such lengths to help heal her. “I didn’t mean…”
He laughed and shook his head. “Yeah, just teasing again. Sorry, I’ll stop. And, hey, I’m glad you like it. Just wait until you see the inside.”
Liz followed Dorian through the front door and into a massive living room decked out with floral couches and honey wood paneling along the walls.
“I’m guessing you can tell this was my grandma’s place?” he asked with a subtle raise of his eyebrow.
The mid-century modern decor reminded her of the old people’s houses she’d seen on sitcoms. She’d never known her grandparents, real or otherwise, but now wasn’t the time to get into that. “Well…”
Dorian beamed proudly. “That’s what I love about it.”
She hadn’t pictured him for the sentimental type or for a grandma’s boy, but she nodded as he shared some of his memories of her.
“Memories are a hard thing, you know?” he said, motioning for her to take a seat on the flowery sofa. “Sometimes they haunt you. Sometimes they slip through your fingers. Sometimes they’re all that keep you going. My grandma was my best friend growing up. I always loved coming to her house. It was like another world where my problems at home didn’t exist. Now my grandma doesn’t even know who I am most days.”
“Oh Dorian, I’m so sorry.” She wondered how many tears he had shed over his own loss, whether she was actually lucky that Bingham was still alive and in his right mind. It meant they still had a chance. Dorian had run out of chances with his grandmother.
He smiled wistfully. “It’s okay. I’m thankful for all the time we had together before her Alzheimer’s set in. Even if she doesn’t have our memories anymore, I do. I keep them safe for the both of us.”
“Is that what you think my father did? With my early memories?”
“I don’t know, but I like to think so. Don’t you?”
“Yes,” she said, answering his question as well as the ones that had been floating about in her own mind all afternoon. “Yes, I do.”