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Angus responded on her behalf. “Goanae no bother yer ma. Ah’ll take ye, joost give me a sec.”
Birdie could see Mia was disappointed by the way she twisted her mouth to the side and grimaced. Just like her father. “Again, I’m sure all the doors are locked. And even if they aren’t, don’t go inside. The owners don’t care that your mom used to live there. I’d take you, but I need to make this place habitable.”
“All right,” Mia mumbled, jumping off the counter and grabbing her denim boho purse. She placed it over her shoulder, stepping over the empty boxes and bags to wait by the door. “Want us to pick you up something to eat on our way back?”
Birdie kissed Mia on the forehead before she got past her, wishing she had a better family history to share with her daughter. “Bring me back a burger from the diner.”
Mia made a gagging gesture while Angus jumped from the seat, having hung the first set of blinds.
Birdie opened her purse sitting on a crate and fished out a twenty. “Here you go,” she said, placing it in Angus’s meaty palm and sharing a knowing look with her burly friend. Thankfully, he didn’t refuse the money, his eyes were soft and understanding as he nodded, saying everything she needed to hear without uttering a word.
“Weel be back, lass.”
* * *
Mia lookedthrough the window of the house and could see the faint outline of furniture inside. The condition of the Federal-style frame building reminded her of Bernadette’s home before they gifted her with a much-needed exterior facelift, the slim wooden siding lacking any notable paint and the floor of the porch worn bare.
A jogger saw her and Angus on the porch as she was passing by and introduced herself as the new neighbor who had just moved in next door. The woman informed them she was told by her realtor the house hadn’t been lived in for years.
Mia introduced herself, mentioning her grandparents used to live there and was curious to see it.
Just as her mom had assumed, the front door was locked. But the lady simply jiggled the knob and twisted it a few times and it creaked open.
“I might have been curious,” she said sheepishly. “Given the tragic accident and all.”
Mia assumed she was referring to the accident and assumed it must have been a bad one.
She also had every expectation of feeling a sense of nostalgia when walking into her mother’s childhood home for the first time. Within minutes of Angus shutting the door behind them and Mia stepping inside the front living room, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck raise, her body temperature lowering several degrees
“Why is it so cold in here when it’s eighty-five degrees outside?” she asked, making a slow circle turn as she rubbed her arms, taking in the furniture covered with dust and the wallpaper peeling from the walls.
“Aye, tis a wee bit chilly, init no?”
Mia, highly curious despite the freezing temperature, walked past the staircase on her left and toward the kitchen in the back of the house. She took in her surroundings, noticing dishes placed in a drainer by the white porcelain sink, which still had an empty coffee cup and a few pieces of cutlery inside.
She turned to Angus, who appeared to be checking out a huge stain in the ceiling. “Do you know anything about the accident my grandparents were in? Whenever I ask Mom, she changes the subject.”
“An accident is awl I ken.”
“Is it me, or is it kinda creepy in here?”
“Aye,” he said, looking at the cobwebs in the corners. “A wee bit.”
She opened a cabinet and found a set of canning jars on the upper shelf and plastic bowls on the lower one. “Do you think it was like this when Mom lived here?”
He shook his head. “I dunno, lass.” Then he opened the door to the pantry, boxes and cans of food still inside.
“How long ago did they die?” Mia asked, picking up an unopened box of Aunt Jemima pancake mix. She turned it upside down and the expiration date indicated it had expired eight years ago.
She set the box back on the shelf, taking in the jars of canned tomatoes and green beans.
So far, the house was deficient of items that exuded warmth or a sense of coziness. The kitchen table was made of a yellowish wood, the mismatched chairs without cushions. The tabletop was missing a salt and pepper shaker or one of those lazy Susan trays a lot of people kept in the middle of the table.
Maybe her mom’s bedroom would give her insight into her upbringing? A personal space where she had dreamed about boys and planned her future.
Holding on to the banister, making her way up the staircase, she opened the first door to the right.
In the far corner was a small twin bed, the top blanket meticulously tucked into the mattress, giving it an austere look, with the help of its dark brown color and single flat pillow.
