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“See you in Detroit.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Home is…where?
SUTTON
Everythingin my small apartment smells of smoke and stagnant water. The fire didn’t make its way to my unit, but the water from the firefighters’ hoses and fire suppressant sprinklers did, and the smoke clings to everything.
“What can be saved?” Elise asks, stepping beside me and wrapping a supportive arm around my shoulders as she and James survey the space with me.
We make our way through the apartment methodically. The few books that I own seem to have been unscathed by the water, so I carefully empty my bookshelf into a couple of tote bags that Elise had in her car. My clothes were protected in my closet and dresser, so I empty them both into laundry baskets that we load into my car. My bedding has had a rough go of it. It was hand-me-down from my parents when Mandy and I first moved into this place, and I don’t really have any reason to try and save it.
Except I do choose to save one of the quilts that Mom made me when I went to college. It’s worn and nearly threadbare, but I love it too much to let it go. I’m always afraid I’m going to leave it behind, so I never travel with it. I almost wish I had this year instead of leaving it home. We gently pack up a fewkitchen wares – things that belonged to my mom and grandma before me – and the few photos I have on the walls, as well.
With my car and Elise’s loaded with boxes, and help from James who insisted on staying until I was fully moved, we travel across Puget Sound to a house I’ve visited a handful of times, usually for dinner or board game nights with Max and Mandy before Elise moved in with her brother, and Mandy moved across the country.
Elise unlocks the door and James follows her inside with my bags of books in his hands, following her up the stairs before the two of them disappear down the hall. I stay at the foot of the stairs, looking around this house that feels familiar and brand new all at once. Anxiety creeps in at the back of my mind as I step deeper into the house, seeing all the little touches of Max.
The interior of the house doesn’t match the imposing industrial architecture of the exterior. Outside is all cool gray and dark wood and wrought iron railings, inside is all warmth. From the mismatched rugs to the wall of coffee mugs in the kitchen. The sectional sofa with seats so deep I could dive in and sink deep into the corner, covered with one of the many blankets in the nearby basket. And then there’s Loretta. The grumpy old Maine Coon is stretched out in a hammock attached to the bay window that offers an impressive view of Puget Sound.
Loretta, like her owner, doesn’t like very many people, but I’ve somehow managed to win her over. I reach out a hand and she lets me pet her, her purrs coming loud and fast as she nuzzles into my hand, bringing an odd sense of calm to this whole situation. I know that things will change once Max and I are under the same roof, but for now, I’m not missing my tiny shoebox apartment in the city, even if it was walking distance from work. The office is a ferry ride and short drive fromhere, but out here, surrounded by nature? Solitude? I might be able to get used to this.
My eyes catch on a room at the back of the house, french doors thrown wide open to a room whose walls are lined with dark wood shelves, loaded down with books, paperbacks mostly, with cracked spines that tell me just how often they’ve been read. There’s no clear organization to the books, but that’s not what gets my attention. What gets my attention is the baby grand piano in the center of it all. The bench cushion looks well worn and so do a few of the keys. This piano isn’t just for show. It gets played. A lot. I suspect the acoustic guitar on the stand nearby does as well.
Running my fingers over the smooth surface of the keys, I find myself wishing that I hadn’t been so obstinate and headstrong when it came to piano lessons. I didn’t want to play music, I wanted to play baseball. But mom insisted on music. Or art of some kind. I could barely color inside the lines of a coloring book, and had no artistic ability beyond hearts, stars, and stick figures, so piano lessons it was.
But I stunk.
So my parents pulled me from piano and moved me to youth choir and that was a much better fit.
“Sutton,” I turn around to find James entering the room behind me, his own gaze snagging on the bookshelves, jaw dropping just a bit before he remembers why he walked in. “Elise thought you’d like to see the room, get it arranged how you’d like it before I go.”
Turning to follow James, I hear a softthumpon the floor behind me and look down to find Loretta at my feet, her earnest eyes looking up at me as she follows us up the stairs and down the hall to the guest room. My eyes roam the spacious room, taking in the large, plush bed, the armchair inthe corner near an empty bookcase, the dresser and closet nearby.
“Anything you want moved?” Elise asks, standing in the middle of the room, watching me closely.
“I don’t think so.” I sit on the edge of the bed and look out the window of the sliding door that leads to my own balcony, offering a view of the wooded area to the back of the house, and the Sound. “It’s great the way it is.”
“Perfect. I’ll leave you to it, then. Sutton,” James stops in front of me, arms open, and I step into his embrace. “Amanda asked me to give you a hug, and her love.”
“Thank you, James. Consider us even.”
“Even?” He breaks the hug and holds me at arm’s length, brow quirked.
“You stole my best friend. But flying me up here and helping me move makes us even.”
“Anytime you need my services, I’m happy to help. Free of charge. Elise,” James hugs the young woman and she relaxes into his arms. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you, James.” Elise is quiet, emotion coloring her voice.
This feels like a private moment, one that I’m not supposed to be a part of. Max never elaborated to me or Mandy about the things his sister has been through, only that for a period of several years they had no contact with each other, and it was rough on Max. And, I suspect, on Elise as well but neither of them has shared with me, and it’s not my place to pry.
Elise leaves to drive James to the airport, leaving me and Loretta to unpack my belongings and settle into the guest room for however long I’ll be here. With a few taps on my phone, I turn on music, letting it fill the silence of the house, and start putting away my clothes and shoes in the dresser and closet, before starting on my books. It’s the box of kitchenthings that throws me for a loop. I stand in Max’s kitchen and look around at everything he has in the space – his stainless steel appliances, a coffee machine that looks like it belongs behind the counter at a coffee shop, a pegboard on one wall covered in mismatched mugs.
I decide to leave my kitchen things for another time, not wanting to move them into a space that Max and Elise have just the way they like it. In some ways, not wanting to make myself too comfortable here. The way that Loretta has made herselfverycomfortable on my bed where I find her curled up on my quilt. I’m not entirely sure what to do with myself at this point, so I carefully move Loretta off my quilt and curl up on the bed for the first nap I’ve had in months.
The ringing and buzzing of my cell phone wakes me after a few hours, and I answer the phone with a groggy hello and am happier than I probably should be, when Max’s deep voice resonates in my ear.
