CHAPTER 25
Wet footsteps trail me as I climb the stairs. Water rolls down my arms, dripping from my fingertips. My shoes squish as forming blisters burn and rub at my heels. All the while my heart’s breaking for the second time after.
At the top landing, Mr. Gusterson stands in his bathrobe watching me. He’s a human pigpen, smelly and unkempt, clawing at a bag of Garrett Popcorn before tossing pieces into his open mouth. He chews too loud, and with each crunch my shoulder ticks.
“What are you looking at?” I snap and stomp past.
“Cable’s out. Thank God for you two.” Through his nose, he chuckles in a low, raspy tone.
The sound grates on my nerves, causing my back to straighten. I pause with my hand on my doorknob, considering a comeback worthy of his jab, but I’ve never been good at these things. Not to my knowledge, anyway. Maybe it’s because I’m an only child. Or maybe, I’m tired of fighting. Whatever the reason, I compose myself, take a deep breath, and open my door. When I’m inside, I can’t help slamming it shut. Maybe he’ll get the message: show’s over!
I kick off my shoes and peel drenched clothing from my skin before dropping them in a soggy pile at my feet. With the sopped stack gathered in my arms, I head down the hall. In the doorway of the bathroom I halt at the sight of what’s sitting on top of the vanity. A gift. A new set of fluffy white towels wrapped with a Tiffany-colored ribbon. The house keys Evan stole from Aggie sit on top.
I squeeze my laundry. Cold water releases and dribbles down my bare stomach and naked legs. For now, I toss the clothes in the tub before I turn to face the gift. I circle it, unwilling to touch it right away. My instinct is to take the stack to the window and launch it out front so Evan finds them scattered across his planter tomorrow. I still may do that, but I can’t help but swipe the card to read it first. Maybe he’ll say the perfect thing so I won’t hate him anymore.
Replacements for your grandmother’s ugly towels. —E
***
Ozzy’s seated in a wheelchair on the sidewalk, waiting for me when I arrive by taxi. The car stops in front of his building near the handicap ramp. I pop open the passenger door, and a medical aid helps him stand and guides him into the backseat.
“Don’t you look nice,” I offer, admiring his pageboy hat.
“It’s not often I have a date.” He adjusts his dapper wool coat, appearing pleased with himself. He grabs my hand, and I squeeze it tight. Today’s a big day. I think he’s nervous too.
The passenger door slams. The taxi zooms off and ten minutes later we’re parking in front of Ozzy’s home. After some finagling, we’re standing before it, him leaning against his cane, and I holding on to him. I find myself smiling, but when I look to Ozzy, a sad breath escapes his pursed lips. His weight sinks into me.
“Everything okay? We can do this another day.” I clutch him tighter, giving him more support.
“When Ada and I lived here, ivy crept along that picket fence. Peonies wrapped a wooden trellis that stood over there.” He juts his chin to the side yard. “And beneath the windows, she planted the most beautiful cornflower-blue hydrangeas I’d ever seen. The blooms were as big as watermelons. It might have been the smallest house on the street, but it was always the prettiest and happiest.”
He tsks. “Not much to look at now, is it?”
He taps his cane as he shuffles. Step, step, tap. Step, step, tap. At the door, he pulls the keys from his pocket and hands them over. I unlock and push open the door. It swings wide with a loud whine. The smell of stale air hits me, and I wince. I turn my head away and cough. Ozzy does the same. I help him inside.
“I’ll open some windows to let in some fresh air.” I leave him sitting in a metal fold-out chair in the living room.
Though I register Ozzy’s disappointment, I can’t help my own excitement. It’s the first time I’ve ever been inside the home. Yes, the yard’s overgrown, the rooms dusty, and the kitchen and baths are outdated, but it’s everything I’d hoped for.
Beneath the years of neglect sleep beautiful thick moldings, art deco tiles, a marble fireplace, chair railings, and bead boarding. Everything’s original and begging to be restored. When I imagined it in my mind, it looked exactly like this, down to the old farmhouse sink. It’s as though I was psychic, and it was meant to be.
It takes some work, but I manage to crack open two windows and prop the back door wide with a brick I found in the side yard. With the cool breeze blowing through, the house is already airing out. When I return to Ozzy, he’s slumped in chair, both hands steady on his cane. Slow tears stream down his dark cheeks.
“Ozzy?” I rush to him. He glances at me, and I find his cheeks shiny and wet. He removes a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wipes his eyes.
“Breaks my heart to see it like this.” When he admits this, my own heart aches. What must it feel like for him to return home after all these years and find it so different than he remembered?
“It’s still beautiful, just needs a little TLC.”
“Ada would be disappointed.” He shakes his head.
“She knows you’re doing the best you can.” When I hug him, his shoulders bobble beneath my touch. I draw back and crouch beside him. I keep a hand on his arm, rubbing the length.
“I’ve been greedy holding on to it. I did it believing she was part of this house, that our life together was this house. I tried to let it go a few years back, but it felt like I was giving Ada away. But her spirit isn’t here; I can see that now.”
“Maybe it’s because she’s been inside here all along.” I place my hand over his heart. “And in here.” I touch the side of his head.
I continue, “Those are the only places she needs to be—with you.”
His teary eyes widen. “How’d you get so smart?”
“Must be from talking to you.”
He returns my smile. The ruddiness of his skin fades with his lifting mood.
“I have an idea, why don’t you show me around and tell me how it used to look? I want to know everything.” I hold out my arm. He latches on and stands with a grunt.
Room by room we waddle through the living room, dining room, small kitchen, enclosed screened porch, two baths, and three small bedrooms. He shares stories about how Ada called him potato-head when she was mad at him for not taking out the trash, where he hid her Christmas gifts, and that they stashed a time capsule in the walls, but he won’t reveal where. Inside this tiny home was seventy years of love and laughter.
In hearing him regale the stories of his life, my lonely half wishes for a love so deep, like Ozzy and Ada’s, that despite everything, I would never let go. It’s too late for me now, but if it happened before, maybe my life would be different today.