Page 19 of Paper Ghosts

“Do I have a grandfather, too?” No one had yet mentioned that, and they usually came in pairs.

“No, sweetheart,” he said. “My father died when I was ten. But he would have loved you. His name was Terrence, just like me.”

He closed her door, got behind the wheel, and then drove out of Raleigh. It felt like there was physical resistance at first. The car engine even seemed to labor, like it was pulling something so heavy it was almost too much to bear. But then what had been tethering him broke and they shot forward, so fast Bailey’s head bumped the back of her seat. Her father had finally let go of whatever he’d been holding on to. An unattainable dream, perhaps. Or maybe simply the idea that, because he’d been living somewhere different, he would have become different.

Once out of the city, they drove on a rural highway for almost two hours, passing endless fields of tobacco and sweet potatoes in North Carolina’s central Piedmont. Bailey stared out the car window while eating her favorite thing, jelly beans, which she liked to pretend were jewels. Her mother had once tried to explain that you don’t eat jewels. But Bailey had insisted that, yes, you do, and that’s what made you rich. Her mother had dramatically hidden her jewelry box on a high shelf after that, as if afraid Bailey would ingest her rings.

They were in the middle of nowhere, winding their way through a labyrinth of back roads, when signs of civilization began to appear. A commercial greenhouse. A gas station. A dollar store. And, finally, a large, chicken-shaped billboard that read:

HEN TOWN WELCOMES YOU!

As if by magic, a postcard-worthy downtown suddenly appeared. There was a grassy park, as round as a circus ring, surrounded by dozens of shops and restaurants. Anchored on the far end was a gray stone courthouse with an imposing clock tower. Bailey didn’t know where to look first. There were chicken sculptures everywhere, from small cast-iron guinea hens in front of brightly painted businesses to a six-foot-tall tin rooster in the center park, whose sole purpose seemed to be for tourist photo opportunities.

Downtown had a distinct shine and bounce, full of the kind of energy new people bring to an old place. But the neighborhoods they turned in to had a different energy altogether; they seemed more set in their ways, and rather resentful of downtown’s newer energy, judging by the lack of chicken decor.

The car finally slowed on an affluent street of large homes set on a hill, and came to a stop in front of a house with three square stories of red brick and black shutters. The brick made it seem impenetrable, as if anything could be going on inside. In contrast, there was a newer glass sunroom addition to the side, sunlight winking off it.

“This is it?” Bailey asked.

“This is it,” her dad replied.

Bailey pointed to the green Victorian-style house next door. It had a white front porch wrapped around it like the bow of a present. “Can that be ours instead?” she asked.

“It doesn’t work that way, sweetheart.”

They got out and Bailey ran up the concrete steps, her dad following with their bags. He stacked them by the door next to a topiary in a very large pot, then paused to roll down his shirtsleeves and button the cuffs.

“Best behavior, okay?” he said as he slipped on a navy-blue blazer, the one he usually wore to work. He was sweating, which made his cologne smell stronger, as if he’d just put it on.

Bailey nodded.

He took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.

The black door opened. The beautiful older woman who stood before them was wearing a tweed skirt and a shirt that looked made of liquid, with a large bow tied at the shoulder. Her soft blond hair was cut just below her ears.

“Hello, Mother,” he said.

“You’ve lost weight, Tug,” she replied, staring at him with birdlike eyes.

That made Bailey turn to him, as if meeting him for the first time. She’d never heard anyone call him that before. Her mother had called him Terrence. His boss called him Terry. He had charm without a whisper of ego, and he even looked like a sweet man, with his blond hair cut short in back and longer in front, where it swooped boyishly over his forehead. He often seemed rudderless. Bailey thought Tug suited him. It was more indicative of the way he tugged at your heartstrings, especially now in the gauntness of young widowerhood.

The woman finally stepped back and opened the door wider. “Please bring in those bags. People will think I’m moving, and I refuse to give them that delight.”

“The neighbors would like you more if you didn’t spy on them.” Tug picked up the bags and herded Bailey in.

“I do not spy,” she said as she closed the door behind them.

It was very cold inside. The air-conditioning was blowing fast through brass floor vents. All the curtains were closed and lamps were on everywhere, their yellowy light reflecting off dark wooden floors. They were standing in a foyer with a staircase in front of them. A dining room was to the right and a living room was to the left. It was obvious this had been a grand place, once. It was still well kept and smelled of foamy furniture polish, but everything Bailey could see had a distinct patina of age now, like a fading photograph. As she looked around, she suddenly noticed an umbrella—long, old-fashioned, and vaguely Halloweenish—lying inside the narrow floor vent. She started to point it out, but her father put his hand on top of her head and said, “Mother, this is Bailey.”

She turned to see the woman staring at her.

She didn’t know what else to do, so she curtsied.

“She isn’t the queen, sweetheart. This is your grandmother, Willamena.” He paused. “What would you like for her to call you?”

It seemed to catch her grandmother off guard that this wasn’t already established, and it was clear she didn’t like being caught off guard. Something flashed across her face, and for a moment she turned into a young woman. A very beautiful, very sad young woman. She turned her head as if listening to someone, and then she smiled a little. “Yes, she may call me Mim.” She turned back to them. “I put sheets on all the beds for you. You can choose which rooms you want.”

“Thank you.”