Authors: Rachael Brownell
As I start to walk away, I hear him call my name softly. I stop but don’t turn around to face him, unsure what he might say. “It was nice meeting you, too.”
Taking a deep breath, I put one foot in front of the other. I try to clear my mind of all things Grant, but fail miserably. He’s probably just a nice boy with no friends to hang out with. Why else would he be down by the river this late on a Friday night alone? It doesn’t matter. I’ll probably never see him again anyway.
The house is silent. Not what I was expecting. I figured it would still be full of people drinking and sharing stories about Grandma. Pushing the large, heavy door closed behind me, a loud thud echoes through the foyer. I expect my father to appear after hearing the noise but he doesn’t. It’s Eloise who peeks her head around the corner to see who’s arrived. Smiling when she sees me, I wave as I make my way up the stairs to my room.
Fourth door on the left, just past the library. It’s the same room I’ve had since I was born. It’s changed over the years, of course. Grandma had a mural painted on the walls when my parents found out they were having a girl. Butterflies and rainbows. It was beautiful. Once I hit my teen years, she let me paint over it. Days like today make me wish I hadn’t.
My grandma would have done anything for me. She was selfless like that. She was a giving woman. Especially after she lost my grandpa when Dad was only a baby. He left her more money than she knew what to do with. She remarried a few years later only to find out that her new husband was only after her money. When she tried to divorce him, he became abusive. That’s when she ran, ending up here in the little town of New Bern, North Carolina. She hid for a few years before finally taking her life back, and starting the Thompson Foundation. She put everything she had into the Foundation. The one and only thing she did for herself was build this house.
She used to take in single mothers and run the Foundation from home. Once it got to be too much to handle, she bought a few houses in downtown New Bern. It’s expanded since it started. They now own ten houses and an apartment complex. Not to mention the beautiful Thompson Foundation Center that was only built a few years ago on the outskirts of town.
The Foundation is mine now. Grandma left it to me. I was surprised at first. The more I think about it, though, the more it makes sense. She wouldn’t leave it to my father. He would hire someone else to run it. He loves being a Marine and he’ll never stop.
I want to follow in her footsteps for two reasons. First, I want to know a life that doesn’t revolve around the Marine Corps. I want to know what it’s like to stay in one place long enough to make friends and build relationships. Secondly, I love this town. Since I was born, it’s always been my favorite place to visit. Part of that was Grandma, but the other part is the atmosphere. The small town vibe really appeals to me.
I’ve lived on two continents. In cities big and small. On military bases or around them. All my life I’ve felt out of place, like I was looking for somewhere to belong. I feel like I belong here. As long as my father keeps his word, and gets his transfer, the Thompson’s are here to stay.
I’m here to stay.
That’s my final thought as I close my eyes. I thank Grandma for loving me while she was here and for watching over me today. I promise to be stronger tomorrow—for her and for me. No more crying. Tomorrow marks the beginning of a new life for me. As sleep finally pulls me under, Grant’s dark figure entering the gazebo is all I see.
It’s been two days since I’ve seen anyone, including my father. He’s disappeared. I asked Eloise this morning if she knew where he was and she shook her head, leaving me alone with my breakfast. He has to show his face today. I can’t imagine he’s still grieving over Grandma. I was closer with her than he was the last few years.
It all started when my mother died. He withdrew from everyone, including me. Grandma never approved of my mother, but I didn’t know that until after she passed. I overheard a conversation between her and my father after the funeral.
“She’s better off, Michael. She can’t hurt you or Madison anymore. I never understood why you stayed with her this long to begin with. You should have seen this coming.” Grandma’s voice was soft and caring. Her words were anything but.
“You didn’t know her like I did, Mother. She was a good person. I loved her and she loved me. Why can’t you accept the fact that we were happy?” I could hear my father gasping for air between each word, attempting to restrain himself from crying.
“If she was happy, if she loved you, she wouldn’t have taken her own life. She would have fought harder to get better. For you, and for Madison.”
I walked away at the mention of my name. I loved my mother. She had her good days. I don’t remember them as clearly as I remember her bad ones. Depression is a disease. Some people are able to fight it with drugs or willpower, and overcome. Others, like my mother, only see one way the suffering can end.
I still miss her. It’s been five years and my father still can’t talk about her. We have no pictures of her in our house. It’s as if she never existed at all. His heart is still broken, and now with Grandma passing, I’m not sure what his mental state is.
My plan was to talk to him today. I want to stay here. I’ve already told him this, and he agreed to request a transfer, but that was the last I’d heard. Did he get the transfer? Are we going back to California? I have to register for school if we’re staying, and that would need to happen soon. I think classes start in a few weeks.
We meet with Grandma’s lawyer tomorrow and he’s going to read her will. I already know most of what it says. Grandma was open about what she was leaving me. Not that it matters right now. I’d trade it all to have her back.
My plane ticket, for our return flight tomorrow, is where I left it on my dresser—if I need to use it. I pray that my father took me seriously when I said that I wanted to stay. I know his job has to take priority, so I try not to ask for much. This is the first time I’ve asked to stay anywhere. This is something I want. I want to be here. I feel close to Grandma here.
I hope he understands that.
A knock on the door startles me. “Come in,” I call. It can only be one of two people. Eloise or my father.
“Your father would like to speak with you in the den, Miss Madison,” Eloise says, her voice muffled by the door.
“Thank you, Eloise. Please let him know that I will be down shortly.” I wait for a response, but no other words are spoken.
Eloise has been with my grandmother since she built the house. I’m hoping that my father has made her an offer to stay. To some, she may be the maid. To me, she’s a friend. My only friend right now. We barely speak, or rather Eloise barely speaks, but she’s here.
My plan for today is to go into town, check out some of the shops and pick up a few things. I need some new clothes before I start school—wherever that may be—and a few personal items. We’ve been here for almost a month, and I’ve been rotating the same five outfits. Before I head out, I stop in to see my father.
He looks distressed. His head is propped up with his hand, his elbow resting on the desk, and he’s reading from a stack of papers. Judging by the look on his face, he’s displeased with what they say.
“You wanted to see me?” I don’t bother to say hello. It’s been days since I’ve seen him, and now that I know he’s here, I’d rather not be.
“Yes,” he states without looking up. “There is a set of keys in the dish on the table in the foyer. I’ve purchased you a car. The moving truck will be here tomorrow morning. Please make sure you are available. They will need to know where things go. I’ll meet you at Mr. Finch’s office for the reading of Mother’s will. If there’s time after that, we need to get you registered for classes.”
It’s as if he was reading a checklist as he spoke. No emotion. Just the facts. He bought me a car. We need to do this. I need to do that.
“Thank you. I’m going into town. Do you need anything?” I don’t know why I offer. He wouldn’t have done the same. I’ve been shopping for myself, alone, since Mother died.
“No. Please drive carefully.” You can hear the finality of the conversation in his voice. I have been dismissed.
A brand new, shiny, white convertible is sitting in the driveway with the top down. It’s beautiful, but not my style. If my father paid attention to me in the slightest he would know that. This is the kind of car my mother would have liked. The black SUV with the tinted windows sitting next to it, my father’s vehicle I’m guessing, is more my style. My taste in cars is one of the only things I got from my father.
The fifteen-minute walk takes less than five minutes by car. As I turn onto the main street that runs through downtown I begin searching for a place to park. Downtown seems busy for a Monday morning. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but this wasn’t it. There are people milling about, couples my age walking hand in hand down the sidewalk, business men in suits talking on their cell phones.
I see a parking spot up ahead and pull in easily. Parallel parking has never been my strength. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I had to parallel park.
I’ve parked in front of a pharmacy, how convenient. A bell rings above my head as I open the door, and a female voice from across the room hollers “hello” as I enter. I turn to find the source of the voice, but can’t locate anyone.
Grabbing a basket, I start my hunt for the basics. If my stuff is going to be arriving tomorrow, I won’t need much. I grab a few necessities for the shower, some deodorant, and a toothbrush. When I head to pay, I find the source of the voice that welcomed me when I walked in. She can’t be more that fourteen or fifteen years old, and it appears that she is running the store. After thanking her I drop my bag in the car and start down the sidewalk in search of a clothing store.
The next block has exactly what I’m looking for. A thrift store catches my eye right away, two racks of clothing sitting on the sidewalk out front with no one attending them.
There are a couple of girls looking through the racks and I join them. I pull a button-down shirt and a zip-up hoodie off the rack. Fall is going to be arriving in a few months and it’s been years since I’ve lived somewhere that celebrates the changing of the seasons. I’m going to need to invest in warmer clothing.
After looking at every item on the racks, I make my way inside the store and stop dead in my tracks when I spot the cutest pair of cowboy boots I’ve ever seen. One of the girls that were outside holds them in her hands. The look on her face tells me that she’s debating whether or not to buy them. She pulls the price tag from inside the boot and flips it over. That made her decision for her. The boots go back on the rack she pulled them from and the girls make their way past me and out the front door.
Trying to act natural, I walk over and pick up the boots she was just holding. I close my eyes and hope they’re my size. I could care less about the price, or the fact that someone else has worn them before me—they broke them in.
Size seven. Perfect!
Taking a seat on the bench behind me, I lay the clothes I’ve already picked up next to me and slip off my sandal. I look around for a bootie to slip over my foot, but I don’t see any. Hoping the boots have been sanitized, I slip my foot in one and then the other. As I stand, a smile breaks out across my face. They fit perfectly.
Gathering all my items, I slip my sandals back on. I’m loving this store already and there’s so much more to check out. Aisle by aisle my hands grow fuller, my arms burning from the weight. By the time I finally make myself head to the cash register, the pain is almost unbearable. The girl behind the counter has been watching me for the last twenty minutes trying to carry all my items without dropping them. She’s still smirking at me as I place everything on the counter in front of her.
“Did you find everything you were looking for?” Her words are laced with humor. She knows damn well that I tried to pick up a few things that I couldn’t handle with my arms full.
“I found plenty for today, thank you,” I reply, pleased with myself.
“Not from around here?” she asks as she begins scanning tags and folding clothes. Why is everyone asking me that question? “It’s the accent that gave you away.”
“What accent?”
“Exactly.” She giggles to herself as she keeps scanning my items.
“Did you just move to town?”
“Yeah. Actually my stuff won’t be here until tomorrow so I needed to pick up a few things in the meantime,” I say, gesturing to the pile growing smaller by the second.
“Just a few things?” she asks, raising her eyebrow suspiciously.
“For now.”
She finishes ringing up my items and takes my credit card. She studies the card for a few minutes and then asks for my I.D. before handing it back along with the four bags of items that I just purchased. I thank her for her help and make my way out of the store and back to my car.
As I load the bags in the backseat, I contemplate my next move. I have nowhere to be, no one to meet. My afternoon is completely open, but I have no idea what I want to do with it. I scan the surrounding stores and spot a bookstore down the block. Perfect.
After locking the car, I cross the street and make my way through a crowd of people my age and into a coffee shop. I order and wait patiently for my cappuccino. Once they call my name, I push through the crowd again and head toward the bookstore.
I swear I hear someone call my name, so I stop and scan my surroundings. I take in all the faces, but no one is looking in my direction. Not recognizing anyone, I turn and continue down the sidewalk. Scanning the sidewalk for anyone familiar one last time before I walk through the front door of the bookstore, I cause another bell to ring as I enter.
***
The sun is about to set and my feet are finally starting to feel a little relief. I’ve been sitting in the gazebo for the last hour, resting and reading after walking around town for the entire day. I ended up buying a handful of books, snagging another coffee, and heading into another clothing store. I now have an entirely new wardrobe for fall. I bought a dozen new shirts, four pairs of pants, two pairs of shoes, the cowboy boots, and two new purses. Not to mention the copious amounts of accessories I bought. Hair pieces, jewelry, scarfs, and so many other things. I spent enough money that my father may actually have a conversation with me about the limit on my credit card.
None of that matters right now. All I’m thinking about right now is the fact that I’m sitting in our spot, mine and Grandma’s, and I’m about to watch the most beautiful sunset. You would think that with as many of them as I’ve seen over the years I might tire of watching them, but I don’t. No two have ever been the same. No two have ever made me feel the same.
My phone alerts me to a text message just as the sun sinks behind the horizon. I wait a few beats, enjoying the beautiful sight in front of me, before I dig my phone out of my purse. It’s from my father.
You missed dinner. Please reply and let me know you’re safe
.
I shake my head at his formality. I know that he wasn’t always this way. There was a time when he was more personable, a time when he was fun. He used to be an energetic, upbeat, and happy person. That part of him died with my mother. Since her suicide, he’s serious and everything is treated as if it’s a business transaction. Even his dealings with me.
I’m sure this makes him better at his job. I’m sure the Marine Corps don’t mind he is completely focused on them and the job he’s been trained to do. There are times when it doesn’t bother me, either. Most of the time, though, I wish he would ease up, pull the stick out of his ass, and wrap me in a bear hug like he used to.
Those days are gone, I’m certain.
I reply that I am on my way home before packing up my things and heading back toward town where I left my car.
When I arrive home, my father is nowhere to be found. Go figure.
It takes two trips to get all my bags inside and up to my room. Just as I’m about to close my door, Eloise appears with a plate of piping hot food in one hand, the steam rising and fogging up her glasses, and a diet soda in the other.
“Thank you so much. That was very kind of you,” I say sincerely as I take the plate and soda from her. Eloise smiles at me and then disappears down the hall toward her room.
I eat silently in my room, my back propped against the frame of my bed and the television on for background noise. Alone. Again. Grandma wouldn’t be happy about this situation. She wouldn’t like the fact that I’ve seen my father for less than five minutes since her funeral.