“I didn’t know the sign was still there,” he says after a long pause. “I told my son to take it down.”
“Is there a reason it’s not for sale anymore?” I ask. “Did someone already buy it?”
“No, and no one is going to buy it. It’s mine!”
This time the silence is because he hung up.
Jett and I stare at the phone’s home screen for a long time. It’s a picture of Harper and me riding a merry go round at the county fair last summer. Now I feel a little guilty because my phone screen is just a picture of Harper. To be fair, there are a dozen photos of my husband taped around my office at work.
“Maybe it’s just not meant to be,” he says.
Three of our regular customers walk in, the bell on the door chimes like a literal “saved by the bell” kind of moment in our conversation. Arko leaps to his feet, body rigid as he stares down the newcomers.
“It’s okay,” I say softly, petting his head. “They’re friends.”
He looks at me with his golden brown eyes. I’m not entirely sure that he understands me, but he sits back down, leaning his body against my leg, and he no longer looks like he’s about to take a bite out of these guys, so that’s a good thing.
“Jett, man, how’s it going?” Cody says, swinging out his arm for a bro-style handshake. “Congrats on your podium finish. We all watched the race down at the bar.”
“Yeah? They played the races instead of football?”
“Hell yeah they did,” Cody’s brother Casey says. “I mean, football was on the other television, but we’re still here reppin’ our boy in Lawson, Texas!”
They chat for a while and I check them in without asking for ID. We have hundreds of members who pay a monthly fee for unlimited riding on our tracks, and I know most of them by name. The distraction doesn’t make me feel any better. In fact, I start feeling more annoyed that the old man was being so rude to us. If it’s not for sale anymore, why leave the sign up? Why isn’t anyone living in it?
I pull up the county tax website and search for the house. I don’t know the address, so I search Cherry Street, forgetting that street is like ten miles long so there are way too many houses that pull up in the database. While Jett talks with the guys, I go to Google Earth and search the street. I click, click, click, virtually driving down the road until I get to the stop sign. I pan over to the house. These street view images were taken two years ago. I gasp.
The house is gorgeous. The paint is still faded, but the grass is bright green and neatly trimmed. Beautiful rose bushes line the porch, and a cute little garden flag greets visitors by the mailbox. Two vehicles are parked in the driveway. A small black Chevy truck and a dark blue SUV. The house was alive just two years ago. Now it’s abandoned and in disarray. I wonder what happened?
Jett blows me a kiss and heads outside with the guys, still talking about dirt bikes and fame and professional racing. I can’t let it go. Armed with the address now: 1414 Cherry Street, I click back to the tax records and search for it.
The home belongs to Benjamin McCartney. He’s owned it since 1972 and the taxes are paid up to date, and that’s about all I can tell from the county’s property tax website. I open another tab and search for his name plus Lawson, Texas. The first result is an obituary for his wife, Patricia. She passed of cancer shortly after that street view photo was taken. And I’m willing to bet that his home fell into disarray shortly after. Maybe I shouldn’t dig any further, but I do. I can’t help myself. This blue house is the house Harper imagined, and it would be so perfect for our family.
Benjamin doesn’t have any social media accounts, but I find an old Facebook page that belonged to his wife. Her wall is full of messages that loved ones left after she passed away. From here, I find her son, Jack. He’s older than my parents, and works as an engineer for the oil and gas industry. I scroll through his Facebook page, past pictures of his family and sports memes, and keep scrolling until something interesting catches my eye. Two years ago, he made a post about moving his father into a retirement home. The post has a dozen pictures of inside the blue house, back when it was full of their belongings. I look at each photo, admiring the gorgeous interior of the house, but mostly feeling so sad knowing that none of that love and happiness exists inside it anymore.
Jack’s post reads:
* * *
Today was a hard day. Took Dad to Shady Acres Retirement Home (Room 211 if anyone wants to visit him). I hate to have to do it, but it was time. With Mom gone, Dad’s memory is worsening every day, and he’s just not the same without her. That house is too much for him. He’s mad at me, but it’s for the best. I know he’ll enjoy living in his new home with round the clock care and a cafeteria inside the building.
* * *
The post has twelve comments. Everyone is comforting him for moving his dad out of his home against his will. My heart aches. I’ve never had to care for an aging parent, not yet at least, but it seems like he could have done things differently. Like getting Benjamin on board with the plan. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t want to sell the house.
I scroll a little further until some customers come in, waking me from my intense internet stalking. I straighten my shoulders and feel my cheeks redden. I can’t believe I just spent so long looking into the personal lives of people I don’t know.
But as the day goes on, I can’t stop thinking about the house.
I think about it all afternoon, and I’m still thinking about it when work is over, Harper is asleep, and I’m finally snuggled up with Jett in bed, watching a TV show on his childhood TV.
“Babe?” I say, pausing the show. “I have something to tell you.”
Chapter 16
Jett
Kenna speaks quickly, unraveling an entire internet journey she took today. She learned about the blue house and who owns it, and we come to the conclusion that the house was likely put up for sale by the owner’s son, but the owner refuses to sell it. Who can blame him? That was his house with his wife. They spent decades there, raising their kids. But if no one’s living in it now, and no one is allowed to buy it, what’s going to happen to it?
