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He waved. They backed out, waved from the windows, and drove off, disappearing the way a dream might, the images of them lingering for a few moments, ghost memories, soon caught in the breeze and carried off, leaving us with empty eyes.
My grandfather put his arm around my grandmother, and she put her head on his shoulder and they started back to the house. In that moment I truly understood how hard it was to be a parent and a grandparent and put another good-bye in your pocket. Even though they had each other, they couldn't fill the emptiness in their hearts. It was at once the curse and the blessing such love brought with it.
Instead of following them into the house, I started a walk toward the village. I hadn't intended to go the whole way, but I was in such deep thought about everything that I wasn't paying attention to time and distance and suddenly realized that I had reached town.
I rarely went to the village alone. There wasn't much for me to do there, and I was especially uncomfortable under the gaze of some of the older residents who knew everything about my story. Some spoke to me, asking me how my grandparents were. Maybe it was all my imagination, but I sensed they were asking how they were holding up, having a granddaughter like me living with them. One of the houses in which I couldn't help but have interest was the one that had been my mother's. The people who lived in it now, the Harrisons, had owned the lumber company for generations. Recently, they had expanded it into a hardware supermarket as well. Now they were one of the wealthiest families not only in the community but in the entire county as well. Of course, even if they hadn't lived here, the Harrisons had to know the history of the house. I understood from my grandfather that the death of Harry Pearson had to be in the disclosure any real estate agent offered to a prospective buyer.
The house was a rich-looking home with brick siding and perfectly manicured hedges. My grandfather said Dan Harrison was obsessive about his lawn and insisted on having the greenest, richest grass in the community. His lawn did stay green longer than anyone else's. They made some changes in the windows, redid the roof and added a flagpole, but other than that, the house, at least on the outside, remained as it had been when my mother and my grandmother Darlene Pearson lived there with Harry. I couldn't help but wonder what it looked like inside and especially what my mother's old room was like. I had this overwhelming need to stand in that room and look out the same windows. That was my obsession.
The Harrisons' son Craig was a junior in my school and one of the most popular boys. In fact, he was currently president of our class, the captain of the baseball team, and one of the starting five on the basketball team. He was one of those people who seemed to have been blessed with everything. He was bright, good- looking and from a wealthy family. I couldn't help but wonder what it was that determined he would be born into the world he was in and I would be born into mine. Were we sinners before we were born? Or was that biblical phrase I heard true: the sins of the fathers would be visited on the heads of the sons, but in my case, the sins of the mother would be visited on the head of her daughter?
I sauntered up the sidewalk and paused in front of the Harrisons' house. I don't think I ever walked or rode past it without looking at it and thinking about it. The flag flapped and snapped in the breeze. I saw the lawn sprinklers go on and begin saturating some of the new seeds and the blades that were already starting the spring grasses. Mrs. Harrison had a row of multicolored flowers in front of the porch. It all looked picture perfect, belonging on some house and garden magazine. There was nothing to suggest its sordid past.
I started to turn away when I heard someone ask, "Is that you?"
I turned more to my left and saw Craig Harrison step out from behind a hedge. He had a pair of hedge cutters in his hands. He wore a very tight Tshirt, which emphasized his sculptured muscularity, a baseball cap on backwards and jeans. Some strands of his light-brown hair stuck out of the sides of his cap, and his bangs seemed to float over his forehead, not touching his skin. His eyes were light green, but in sunlight they became a richer emerald. At six feet two, with his broad shoulders and narrow waist, he looked like a prime candidate for Mr. Teen America. I always thought there was something impish about his tight smile. Although I tried to ignore most of the boys at school, especially the ones who leered and whispered when I passed by, I couldn't help but cast a glance at Craig.
"No," I said. "It's someone else."
I started to walk away.
"Hey, wait a minute," he cried and came hurrying around the hedges to the sidewalk. "What's the rush?"
"I have a dental appointment," I said.
"Huh?" He stared at me a moment, and then he laughed. "Okay. Sorry. I just didn't recognize you. Nice outfit," he said, letting his eyes move slowly up from my feet to my head, as if he had to capture me in some memory bank forever and ever. "I knew there was a pretty girl in those potato sacks you wear."
"They're not potato sacks."
"Whatever." He drew closer. "Never saw you wearing lipstick and stuff. What's up? You have a birthday or something?"
"No. Why would that matter anyway?" I asked, smirking at him
He shrugged. "I heard some mothers don't let their daughters wear makeup until they're a certain age."
I didn't want to point out that I didn't live with my mother, but I could see the thought registering in his mind.
"Or grandmothers," he quickly added.
"No. I just decided myself," I said.
"Good decision. So what are you up to?"
"Nothing. I just took a walk."
He nodded, glanced at his house and then at me. "I've seen you looking at the house before, you know." -
"Great. Have a nice day," I said and continued down the sidewalk. He quickly caught up.
"Take it easy," he said. "I wasn't complaining about it."
"I don't care if you were."
"Jeez."
"What?" I said, spinning on him.
"I heard you c
