That night, my mom had her book club and wouldn’t be back home until after nine o’clock, and if I timed it correctly, I could enter her room as if I had just gotten home from the Callahan’s house. I listened intently as her car pulled into the garage, and then I waited a few minutes before I walked into her bedroom. For a moment, I stood in her doorway, watching her take off her jewelry. She unclasped her charm bracelet and removed her cross necklace, gently laying them in the crystal dish on top of her dresser. She turned and noticed me. “Oh, are you just getting home?”
I nodded.
“That dress looks nice on you.”
“Uh, thanks.” I paused. “So, how was book club?”
“Oh, fine.” She walked into her closet, and I sat on the edge of the bed. “How was the party?” she asked, putting her shoes back on the shelf and sliding into her slippers.
“It was nice.” I improvised some generic details. “Mrs. Callahan had enough food to feed an army, and Grandpa really appreciated the scrapbook.”
“Well, I hope so. Tracy has been working on it for over a year.” She paused in the doorway of her closet. “Did he get pretty emotional?”
“Yeah, as emotional as old guys get.”
She shook her head and grabbed a book off the nightstand. “I’m going to relax in the tub, so I’ll say goodnight to you now.” She walked over and kissed the top of my head.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
I took a deep breath. “I was thinking of going to Grandma’s tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I feel bad that I didn’t go last weekend, and I already checked the flights.”
She crossed the room and sat next to me on the bed. “And?”
“I booked a 10:20 into Lexington.”
“What if I had said no, Chloe?”
I shrugged. “Dad said it was okay.”
“Of course, he did.”
“So, could you drop me off at the airport in the morning?”
“Me?” She gestured to herself. “Why isn’t Rob taking you?”
“It’s Saturday, and he’ll be out riding.”
She looked at me for a minute, examining me with her narrowing eyes because she wasn’t sure if I was telling her the whole truth. “I thought you and Rob couldn’t bear to be apart this summer.”
“Well, Mom.” I gave her a half smile. “I thought ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder.’” I borrowed my father’s favorite parting words even though I didn’t believe the old adage any more than she did.
In actuality, I was hoping absence would make the heart forget, or at least forget the bad stuff, and in the end, maybe our hearts would only remember the good.
-29-
Grandma’s House
I landed at the Lexington airport before noon, and my grandmother arrived with a huge smile on her face. As we drove along the highway, I stared at the endless white fences sprawling in every direction, and Grandma chattered on about our plans for the week. She talked up the summer carnival, the fresh vegetables from her garden, and how much the cat was looking forward to seeing me, which was my Grandma’s idea of a joke since Spike was a feline octogenarian and also quite blind.
Nevertheless, the cat was good company, and when I entered my room at the top of the stairs, he was already there, curled up in a ball at the end of the bed. I started unpacking, transferring my clothes from my suitcase to the old oak chest and topping the bathroom counter with my essentials. When I finished unpacking, I removed my journal from my personal carry-on and lowered myself to the bed. Lying on my stomach, I rested my bare feet on the pillow, and faced Spike. I scratched him under the chin and got his motor running, and then I opened my journal, finding the next blank page. I decided to write a letter to Rob, remembering Mrs. Rivers’s advice after Carly left our circle of friends. She told us to write a letter, one we would never send, and in the waning hours of a very long week, I wrote this:
Dear Rob,
You taught me the meaning of love, and for years, you spoke it to my heart, not with words, but with every action as my friend. And I cannot recall a time in my life when I didn’t love you, since I cannot remember my life before you, nor can I remember when I didn’t feel an affectionate warmth in your presence. I loved you like a brother, yet secretly desired you in ways that I never allowed myself to feel. For so long, I denied my feelings for you, since I could not understand them; but I know now that I always had a love for you, and no matter what, I always will.
Yet I wonder if we will ever find our way back to those hopeful days, and perhaps, that is why I had to leave. I wanted to give us a chance.
I know you, your heart, and your immense goodness. You would have done the right thing and stayed by my side regardless, patiently waiting for the healing process and waiting for the time when you could love me with the unyielding passion of a lover and not distantly like a defiled friend. You would wait, and I love you for your patience, but I also love you too much to watch you go through the days with me. I don’t know how long this will take, since I do not know the future—just the past.
So please forgive me, for all I have said, and for all I have done, and though it may not seem like it right now, I did this because I love you.
Always,
Chloe
I closed my journal and cried, wasting the final hours of the afternoon with more tears, and after dinner with Grandma, I retreated back to my room. I turned on my cell phone for the first time since the flight attendant instructed, “Turn off all cellular phones and electronic devices.” I scanned the call log. It showed five missed calls, but before I reached the end of the list, my phone rang.
“Hello,” I answered.
“Hey, I’ve been trying to reach you all afternoon.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
“Uh, listen, when we got back from the ride this morning, Mom was just pulling up the driveway. Rob asked her where she had been, and well, you can imagine the rest of the conversation…”
“What did she say?”
“I don’t think she knew what to say, Chloe.” Brad got quiet for a moment before he asked, “So, what happened with you and Rob?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Or think about it. I had envisioned the moment when Rob found out about my trip, and as much as I didn’t want to hurt him, I had to leave without telling him. It was the only way.
“Yeah, well, I think I can put two and two together.”
I changed the subject. “Is Mom mad at me?”
“For what? Lying to her?” He paused. “I don’t know, but she should be used to it by now.”
“Thanks a lot, Brad.”
“Anyway, Mom wants to know when you’re coming home.”
“Uh, next Saturday,” I answered, but I never made my return flight. I never went to the airport. I never packed my suitcase. I just decided to stay with my grandmother for a while longer.
In the days that followed, Rob never wrote me—or even called. And I knew he had every right to be upset with me, and I had every intention of picking up a pen or a phone, but unfortunately, it just seemed easier to avoid him, to avoid everything.
I barely spoke to anyone, and Brad acted like a liaison for my mother, who acted passive aggressively and barely spoke to me. My father, on the other hand, called me every Wednesday night, since “Call Chloe” remained a repeat event on his phone’s calendar.
As for my friends, Caitlyn called me once from Hilton Head, and Callie phoned a few times from basketball camp, but they both jabbered on about their lives, interjecting only an occasional inquiry into mine. I revealed nothing to either of them, and eventually, Courtney sent me a text—btw i took his side.
At first, I felt lonely, but that feeling only forced me to create a new life for myself. In a place where I had spent one week every summer, I reinvented myself like the new student at school, and since no one knew my past, I could pretend it never happened. I spent the days going on long runs through the hilly countr
yside, chatting with my grandmother on the front porch, or visiting with summer acquaintances. But at night, I often retreated to my room, finding solace in my reading and writing.
I was healing, slowly, and I started to feel something strange inside me: a slight twinge of happiness. I was in no rush to return home, and I talked to neighboring kids about their high school, wondering if my parents would let me complete my senior year under the tutelage of my grandmother.
Some days, I would drive my grandmother’s silver Cadillac into town by myself, and one morning, I entered the corner drugstore and switched the Claddagh ring to my left hand, just in case the cashier cared about my marital status. I purchased a two-pack of pregnancy tests, since I had missed my last period, which for most girls would be a tell-tale sign. But I ran on a runner’s cycle, and when I trained heavily, logging an excess of thirty miles a week, I didn’t have a period at all.
I slipped the box into my purse and crossed the parking lot to the McDonalds. It was a quiet Thursday morning crowd. A few moms ate with their children in the play place, and a group of elderly men sat in the back corner by the bathrooms. They dressed in similar fashion with overalls and dungarees, and while they chatted, they sipped on their coffees slowly. Most wore ball caps, pledging allegiance to a Kentucky team or their favorite farm equipment, and they filled the back corner like a group of regulars.
“Morning, Miss,” a few said as I passed by them.
“Good morning,” I returned with a slight smile.
“Wait, aren’t you Mark Preston’s daughter?” It was still a pretty small town.
“Why, it sure is! She looks just like a young Emmy Sue.” That was my grandmother. She was quite pretty in her younger years and had been crowned the queen of one of those fruit or vegetable festivals in town.
“You got a boyfriend back home?” asked another.
“Oh, she’s a bit young for you, Homer.”
“Shoot, George. I got me so many grandsons. She could have her pick of the litter.”
I smiled, finding the whole group pretty amusing. I liked the way they talked. Like Grandpa Preston did. And had I not been in a rush to get to the bathroom, I might have pulled up a chair, so to speak. But that would have been a Herculean feat since the McDonalds organization believes in bolted-down furnishings, which I assumed was a preventative measure against theft or a more heinous crime—reconfiguring the dining area.
“Take a look at her hand, boys.” The lone supporter of the Louisville team stood up. “You see, I still remember to look at a young lady’s hand before I ask that question.” He glanced down at my left hand. “Engaged or married?”
I blushed and moved the ring back to its rightful place. “Neither, but it’s from my boyfriend. His name’s Rob, and he’s going to Georgetown next year.”
“Well, that’s a fine school.” His accolades were meant for Georgetown College in Kentucky.
“The one in Washington D.C.,” I said apologetically.
“Well, I’m sure he’s nice boy anyway.” He shrugged. “Listen, Miss Preston, you say hello to your grandma for me.” He gave me a little wink. “My name’s Willis. First name, Douglas.” He lifted his hat off his head, revealing a surprisingly full head of silvery hair.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Willis.” I shook his hand.
“Likewise.” He pumped my hand and examined me for a moment. “You sure do look a lot like your Grandma, and it seems to me you have her same sweet disposition too.” My grandma was a real fine Southern lady, but I never imagined anyone comparing me to her. I always thought I took after the Preston men: bull-headed and outspoken.
“Thanks,” I said quietly and headed into the bathroom. I sat down on the toilet seat and opened the box of tests. I pulled out the directions. There were several diagrams on the front and a lengthy Q & A section on the back. But really, how many different ways could the pamphlet authors say, “Pee on the end of a stick”?
Still, I read each word carefully, and with trembling fingers and a swirling sickness in my stomach, I unwrapped the testing stick. I followed the steps verbatim, recapped the test, and set it on the silver box next to the toilet. I glanced at my watch and rested my forehead on folded hands.
Dear God, I started with tears. I don’t pray enough, and I ask for too much when I do, but I don’t want this.
I wiped the tears with the back of my hand, and then I looked at the ring. I thought back to what Rob said about having children—even though it was a taboo subject at sixteen—and he said seven. He created names similar to the seven dwarfs, and according to him, I was going to be the mother of Whiney, Weepy, Stinky, Fluffy, Snotty, Scruffy, and Wesley.
“Wesley,” I repeated with a knowing smile.
He nodded. “Yeah, and we could call him Wes for short.”
Meanwhile, I kept turning the ring with my thumb, and periodically, I glimpsed at my watch. I still had another minute left, and it took willpower I didn’t have to keep from looking at the test. So I watched the lethargic second hand sweep around in a circle. It was like waiting for the minutes to elapse from pre-calc class.
Finally, time was up.
I picked up the test. Luckily, I bought one with words rather than with lines or colors, not thinking an unwanted pregnancy was the best time to be deciphering a code that would change my life. The test read: Not Pregnant. I wrapped it in toilet paper and tossed it in the trash.
I repeated the test. The second one revealed the same result. Satisfied, I left the stall of the bathroom, slipped through an empty back corner of the restaurant, and drove across town to my grandmother’s house. She lived in a white two-story house with a wrap-around porch, and in the front yard, there was a small pond, which my grandpa stocked for recreational fishing. As I came up the drive, I spied her on the front porch, watering her hanging plants, and as I walked up the steps, I heard her humming a familiar tune.
“What is that song, Grandma?” I asked as I neared her side.
“Oh, your grandpa wrote it for me a long, long time ago. He could be a real Romeo, you know?”
“Yeah, I know.” I smiled at the memory of my grandparents holding hands into their seventies. In the evenings, they would take walks along the side of the road or swing on the porch swing, and their hands would be fused together in a bond as strong as their love.
“So,” I started. “I ran into Mr. Willis at the McDonalds.” It was a small town, and unlike Riverside where every chain had to be identified by a cross section, there was only one of everything here.
“Yeah,” she said, getting a little schoolgirl grin on her face. “He comes by here every now and then. He likes to check in on me.”
“He seems real nice,” I said, noticing I used “real” a lot more often when I visited her. “And I think he really likes you, Grandma.”
She waved her hand dismissingly. “Oh, he’s just a big, old flirt.”
“Well, at least he’s a big, old flirt with hair and teeth,” I clarified as I sat down on the swing.
She took the seat next to me. “I tell you what, young lady!”
“C’mon, Grandma.” I gave her a gentle nudge. “Do you like him?”
“Oh, heaven’s no, Chloe!” Her gaze drifted off into the distance, and then she answered quietly. “After all, I still have your grandfather.”
“But he’s gone, Grandma. And it’s been almost four years.”
“Yes, dear, but his memory still keeps me good company.” I thought about Rob and how I took him to bed with me at night, holding onto his memory like nothing had ever changed. I looked at my ring and sighed.
My grandmother’s eyes followed mine. “Why don’t you tell me about him?”
“You’ve met him many times.”
“Yes, when he was your friend, but tell me about him as your boyfriend.”
“It’s not much different. We just make out, that’s all.”
She cracked a smile. “Does he write you poetry? Sing you songs? Does he make you laug
h?”
I answered her quickly, “No. No. And only sometimes.”
She rested a hand on my knee. “Listen, dear, I can’t help but notice that he hasn’t bothered to call or write. Do you want to talk about what happened?”
“No, Grandma.” My voice cracked. “I really don’t.”
“Fine, fine. We have lots of corn that needs shucking, and we’ll get it done faster if you’re not jabbering on about your love life anyway.”
Then we moved to the front steps, peeling off the fresh corn husks and dropping the remnants into a paper bag. Grandma believed in cooking in bulk, freezing or canning summer’s bountiful harvest in preparation for the winter, I suppose.
Occasionally, we’d glance up at the kids passing on bikes and wave. A few neighbors would stop on the porch and ask how my family was doing, since my father was the local celebrity and the townsfolk were proud of him. Whether or not they ever read his books never seemed to matter; they just liked having their own success story in town.
“Well, I’m heading into the kitchen,” Grandma announced with a smile and a stock pot full of fresh corn.
“Need any help?”
She shook her head. “Did you pack that journal I sent you?”
I nodded.
“Well, I was thinking,” she said, resting the pot on her hip. “If you can’t talk about what’s going on inside that head of yours, then maybe you can write about it.” It sounded like one of the phrases she used on her own children, seeing how my dad makes a good living from expressing his thoughts on a page. And like a good little girl, I headed up the stairs to the bedroom and grabbed my journal.
I returned to the front porch and found a spot on the swing. I watched the sun dip behind the rolling hills and noticed how the soft illuminations turned the small pond into a sheet of glass. Light could change the way things appeared, and with a sigh, I remembered the morning on the beach when the sun transformed Rob’s eyes into a warm auburn hue. I turned to a blank page and jotted down these words:
Auburn Eyes
A rush of words poured out of my heart and filled my head, and I knew I might never feel the same inspiration again in my entire life, but as a writer, I would always remember my first time, the first time the words flowed effortlessly onto a page, and how those words consumed me and time held no importance. I was in a world without minutes, and when the porch light went on, I brought my legs up to my chest and rested my journal on a knee. I couldn’t keep up with the words in my head, and the feeling inside my heart was invigorating. It was like a runner’s high, and I had reached the covetous plateau where my pen scrawled effortlessly across the blank lines of the page. And when I emptied the last words from my head, I heaved a sigh of satisfaction and closed the journal.
Then I got up, opened the screen door of the house, and walked into the kitchen.
“Grandma?”
“Yes, dear?” she asked as she sliced cooked corn off the cob.
“I’m ready to go home now.”
-30-
Homecoming
My mother pulled into the arrival side of the Orlando International Airport. My flight arrived shortly after seven o’clock on Friday evening, making it almost three weeks since I had left home, and as I neared the Civic, she popped the trunk. I lowered my suitcase full of clean clothes into it. Grandma had spent the morning doing my wash, saying she didn’t want to send me home with a bunch of dirty clothes.
“Hi, Mom,” I said quietly as I opened the passenger door.
She offered me a slight smile. “Did you have a nice visit with your grandmother?”
“Yes, it was nice.” I glanced in the back seat. “Where’s Brad?”
“He went to the movies with Lisa.”
“Who’s Lisa?”
“I think she’s his girlfriend.”
“Oh,” I paused. “Anyone I know?”
She shook her head. “Probably not.”
“When’s Dad coming home?”
“Wednesday, I think.”
“Anything new with you?”
“Nope.”
We had reached the end of our conversation; my mother leaned over and clicked on the radio, and I pulled a book out of my bag. But as I stared at Steinbeck’s Cannery Row, I only saw Rob.
****