I looked back. And glared again. This time, fire shooting from my terrified eyes. With a locked jaw, I explained, “Just because this is your job doesn’t mean you have a clue how it feels on the other side.”
Nodding, she fidgeted, smoothing her palms over her knees “That’s just it. I’ve been through something similar.”
Even though I found an ounce of empathy, I still smarted off, “Losing someone you love and being forced into foster care?”
“Yeah.” Not offering more, she tilted her head back and let the final sun’s rays spread over her skin.
For real. I wanted her to elaborate. I wanted to know if all this was survivable. I wanted to know if her life had been anything like mine. I wanted to know what the fuck was coming next.
I looked to the tree, terrified to dare hope. Found.
She must’ve misread my uneasiness because she simply offered, “We can stay as long as you need.”
“Not going to indulge my last question?”
“Some stories don’t need to be retold.”
Stories… Books…
That made me think of a special librarian I’d never see again. And the house was only reminding me of that pitiful fact. “I’m ready.”
Kristen’s head snapped up in surprise. “You sure?”
“Yep.”
I couldn’t quite read her expression, but it definitely held some sadness before she became a social worker again. “Umm… Door locked?”
“I’m not an idiot.” I handed her a set of keys, not mentioning they were fake.
She glanced at the backpack, duffle bag, and single suitcase I had with me. Nothing else. “That’s all you’ve got? There’s nothing else you want to take with you?”
Maybe it was odd, but I felt I was going on the run again. Old fears were returning. Running with too much luggage didn’t seem wise, so I left many things behind, as Noma had me do five years ago. So, with my knife and knuckles hidden, I shook my head. “No.”
The rest of the things in this house? Only reminders of my Noma. Superficial items I didn’t need. I only wanted. But life wasn’t being fair or giving me what I wanted. You took the frozen meals, I thought. It’s something of her. A little trinket to get through the next few days or weeks.
The rest of the money would wait until the right time. Noma’s plan B. I knew where to find it.
“All right.” She groaned, lifting the duffel bag. “What is in here? Bricks?”
Preferring Noma’s cooking not being referred to as bricks, I handed her the lighter suitcase and took the duffle from her. “Is the lawyer going to call me?” Then slung the backpack over my shoulder.
“He’s doing exactly what your Noma asked in her will, already paid to do the job.”
I knew that, but I wanted to be sure this social worker didn’t have any plans to enter this house. “So, you’re not coming back here?”
She shook her head. “Nope.”
Good.
After loading my belongings in the trunk, I stood there, staring at the house, clutching my backpack, my feet unable to move. I begged myself to understand, she’s no longer there, but I felt as if I was leaving Noma. Abandoning her memory. She had just been within those little pink walls. Her smile had blessed every corner of the house that had shielded us from the rest of the world.
Blowing out air past trembling lips, I peered up the tree, and to the clouds above us. Watch over her, Grandpa. Then I barked, “I said I’m ready.”
Kristen had been so respectful. It was as if she knew I needed that moment and hoped I would take it. Not that she voiced it. Kristen gestured to the front passenger seat. “Hop in. I’ll take you to your new,” she paused briefly, “place.”
Place. Not home.
My home was dead.
