The thermos has soup.
The post-it has a picture of a mouse.
Chapter Seventeen
Grandma greets me first outside the house. It seems so different to me now. It’s stupid, because nothing has changed. The front door is still painted white, the light blue siding is still chipped, and the walkway leading up to the main door still has moss growing between the stones.
The grass on the front lawn is a little longer than I’m used to, like someone hasn’t cut it for a little while but still tries to keep it up. The kiddy pool that used to rest off to the side by the lilac bushes is upside down and grimy from dirt, mud, and who knows what else. And the tire swing Lo was adamant on having is hanging unloved, with the rope fraying on one side from the weather.
How long have I been gone?
Grandma pulls me into a tight hug while Dad sets my bag down beside me. He gives Grandma a smile and kisses my cheek. My heart sings a little from the tiny gesture. He used to kiss our cheeks goodbye before work.
“Call me if you need me, okay?”
The ride here was long and quiet. He would sometimes ask me questions out of obligation more than curiosity. Like what music I like to listen to, so he could drown the silence. I remember his. Class rock—70s and 80s grunge bands with big hair and bigger voices. Dad used to play guitar in a garage band that went nowhere, because Mama said they weren’t any good.
I told him country was fine.
He liked that too.
“I will,” is my response, despite being positive I won’t pick up the phone once while I’m here.
Grandma thanks him for driving me before taking my bag and guiding me toward the house. I hold my breath as we walk in, unsure of what or who I’ll find.
Pictures still litter the walls in the entryway, though noticeably fewer of Lo and me. I wonder if Mama ever found the hoard of them in my old room. I never moved them when I packed up, because Mama rarely stepped foot inside the tiny space.
Grandma notices my gaze and gently squeezes my hand. “Don’t think about it, darling girl. You’re here to enjoy yourself.”
Am I?
I focus on the thin layer of dust coating the shelf off to the side. I can tell something is missing from it, but I can’t remember what. A bowl? A vase? Wracking my mind comes up empty, so I let Grandma walk me through the house.
It’s clean, not that I’m totally surprised. Mama would go into cleaning frenzies all the time. I just assumed she stopped once she didn’t have to worry about anything triggering our flares.
“It looks the same,” I murmur, feeling guilty over assuming the worst.
I keep doing that, thinking their life here would have gone up in ruins as soon as I left. Deep down, I know it’s the opposite. Their lives were unpredictable when I was here, waiting for the other shoe to drop before needing to stop what they were doing to help me out.
You left to give them some peace.
Grandma laughs softly. “Your mother has been keeping busy at her new job. She doesn’t have time to obsess over cleaning and reorganizing like she used to. Did she mention it to you?”
New job? I make a face, wondering if Mama has been telling Grandma that we’ve spoken. It’s been too long since we’ve exchanged words, and something tells me Grandma isn’t aware.
She sighs. “Emmy…”
I press my lips together. “Where does she work?”
Grandma walks over to the couch and pats the cushion next to her. Without hesitation, I drop down on the familiar worn seat, sinking into the material and remembering all the times I’d snuggle with Mama here.
“She works as a nurse for the local high school.” Grandma’s hand rests on my knee, giving it a tiny pat. “She used to love working in pediatrics, but the way she left made them hesitant to hire her back.”
I start to let the guilt consume me when Grandma shakes her head. “Don’t you dare blame yourself, Emery. Truth be told, I don’t think your mother could handle going back there and seeing sick kids. Not when she still pictures Logan so little. Where she is now is a great first step for her, and it gives her time to work and heal until she finds something else. I promise you, she’s doing better.”
I’m quiet.
Mama would sometimes have to work the floor on Saturdays at the clinic. After Dad left, she would bring Lo and I with her to play in the little area the hospital set up for the kids. There was a big plastic toy house that Lo, me, and some other children would play in until they had to go to their appointments.
Before Dad made his grand exit, he would visit us in between whatever job priorities he had on summer days when we were at the hospital with Mama. He’d take us to the ground floor where there was a long tunnel connecting the two different buildings from underground. He’d take us to the vending machines down there and let us run around to burn off the sugar.
I visited the tunnels shortly before leaving for Dad’s. It wasn’t as magical as I remember. The food in the vending machines was overpriced, and half the time when you’d click on one candy bar, a different one would fall out. Lo wouldn’t care if she got a Mounds or Almond Joy because she ate anything.
But I cared way more than I should because it’s not what I wanted.
It’s not what I wanted.
“Emmy?”
I break away from my train of thought, blushing over zoning out. “Sorry. Does she…is she okay? You know, with everything?”
Her shoulders draw back a little. “Your mother is stronger than even she believes.”
Why don’t I believe that?
We order pizza for dinner. Hawaiian for Mama, and pepperoni, sausage, broccoli, and onions for me and Grandma. We could have easily gotten a cheese and split it between us, but Grandma says Mama likes bringing leftovers to work.
When I hear the car pull up in the driveway, my body tenses on the couch. The pizza is in the kitchen, waiting to be served, and the television is on some soap opera rerun on a channel I’ve never heard of.
The door opens.
I hold my breath.
Is it possible to swallow your heart? It feels like it’s lodged in my throat, choking me. All because of the woman turning the door handle.
Grandma gives me a reassuring smile from the armchair she’s sitting in. She’s into the soap opera, I’m too in my head to figure out if the man really slept with his brother’s wife. It seems likely.
The door fully opens and Mama steps in, seemingly not realizing I’m now standing in the middle of the living room. My heart hammers rapidly and I hold my breath until she looks up from the purse she holds.
She’s in scrubs.
Her silver-blonde hair is a mess.
But it’s Mama.
“Hi,” I whisper, too afraid to step forward. I take in the little yellow ducks on her blue shirt. It’s the kind of top she’d wear at the hospital. The school probably doesn’t require them, but she’s got a closet full to choose from.
She remains by the door, her eyes sliding over me and then traveling back up to my hair. I wonder what she thinks of it. The style has grown on me, and Cam plans to take me every six weeks when she gets her hair trimmed to keep mine up.
I’m terrified when her lips part. I tell myself it’s been long enough—she won’t make the same mistakes she did when she was stuck in grief.