The Second Home

by Christina Clancy

  “I’ve been in this fog for months,” Poppy said. “I miss them so much. We, like, have conversations in my head and I find myself narrating my life for them. Or you know what’s weirder? They have conversations with each other, like I’m not even there! I know it sounds crazy, but they’re like the people who sit in the booth next to you at a restaurant and you can’t help but listen in on what they are saying.”

  “That doesn’t sound crazy,” Michael said. But he was thinking about how, all these years, he’d silently narrated his life for Ann.

  “You think I’m nuts. Everyone does.”

  Michael smiled. “You’re just more aware than most people.”

  “Maybe.” She twirled some of her hair around her finger. “It’s funny how I think differently now. The other day I found a long, gray hair stuck to a bar of soap when I was in the shower. My mom’s hair. I tried to pull it off but it had already come loose and before I knew it, it slipped down the drain. I felt like, if I could have just held on to that hair I could, like, get her back. It’s stupid, the stuff I think. Like if I use up the roll of toilet paper they started, or finish the olive oil, or if I take the socks and towels they forgot to take out of the dryer, that they’ll really be gone. All their unfinished things will be finished—forever. It’s so irrational. Nothing has prepared me for this. I’ve spent the last decade learning yoga and mindfulness and delving into the spirit world and mysticism and it doesn’t help me feel better. It’s like I’ve failed at everything, even thinking.”

  She seemed so alone at that moment that he was glad to be there for her the way a brother might have been there. She trusted him enough to say these things.

  “And then I keep discovering all these secrets!” She hit Michael on the arm, a bit harder than she’d probably meant to. It was a punch that wasn’t meant to be entirely playful. “Nobody bothers to explain anything to me. Like, I mean, I was really happy my family wanted to adopt you, I really was, but nobody bothered to even tell me. And then … you left. One minute you were my best friend…”

  “You thought I was your best friend?”

  “Sure! We did everything together, especially, well, especially before I … you know.”

  “You found a new group.”

  “I was a dumb teenager. It was all so sudden. One minute you were helping me understand derivatives, and then you were gone. Just gone. Poof! I’m still trying to figure out how it happened. I had so many questions. The world was one way, with the family I thought I knew, and then we were strangers with these major secrets. Do you know that I found out from kids at school that Ann was pregnant—she didn’t even tell me. Those were the same kids who told me you were the father. It blew my mind. You were my friend. My brother.”

  The word “brother” might as well have been a knife in his gut. Not until she said it did he ever really believe she thought of him that way, and not until that moment, with the pines towering overhead and that incredible stillness in the marsh.

  “I always thought your family was too perfect for me.”

  Poppy seemed shocked by this. “Why would you think that? We were like any family. We argued. We had secrets. We could hardly shut the junk drawer.”

  Michael nodded. “No. You always took for granted how special you were.”

  “It doesn’t feel like we’re a family anymore, like we never were again after you left.” She was really crying now, a deep, heavy cry that wasn’t at all self-conscious; it was raw and real, and the truth of her emotions touched him in a place he usually kept protected, shielded. “Why didn’t you say goodbye, Michael?”

  He told her the truth: “I couldn’t.”

  “But we loved you! Even if you really had gotten Ann pregnant we would have worked it out.”

  “I thought I was protecting her.”

  He could tell by the way she rolled her eyes that things were not good between the two sisters. “Oh, please. Ann can take care of herself.”

  There was too much to say, too much to explain. “Everything was so fucked up.”

  “It still is. But I don’t know, seeing you again, I can’t help but feel like it’s starting to feel a little better.” Poppy stared at him in a way that made him feel vulnerable and transparent. She knew him, she did.

  “Let’s walk to the station,” Michael said, needing to move, or at least escape that look.

  Poppy grabbed him by the sleeve. “What went on with you two?”

  Michael threw his hands up in the air. “Nothing.”

  “Ann always had a thing for you.”

  “No way.”

  “Everyone knew, Michael. Everyone saw. I even heard her say it!”

  “You heard nothing.”

  “It was when we were in the process of adopting you. I overheard her talking to Claire Caldwell when she slept over one night. I always eavesdropped on Ann. She said she was worried her feelings for you weren’t exactly, you know, the kind you might feel for a brother.”

  “She did not.” He could feel his face get hot.

  “She did! She said she wondered if what she’d really wanted was for you to be her boyfriend.”

  “That sure would have been a lot easier.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. And then when that lady she babysat for called and told my parents you kissed her? Like her kids saw it or something? That’s part of the reason I believed the story about you getting her pregnant.”

  Mo told Connie about that?

  “Look at me. You loved her that way too, Michael. You did, didn’t you? Just say it.”

  Michael stuffed his hands into his pockets and felt for his “worry stone,” a milky white quartz pebble Connie had given him all those years ago. “Rub it whenever you need to calm down,” she’d said. He was surprised he hadn’t rubbed it down into fine grains of sand over the years—hell, he felt like he could rub it to sand at that very moment. “I don’t even know what you’re trying to get me to say. That was a long time ago.”

  Poppy was growing impatient with his evasiveness, he could tell. Why couldn’t he just be honest? Instead he bit his lip, rubbed the stone, looked down at his feet as they kicked at the sandy ground.

  She let out an exasperated sigh. “So, Carol says you want the house?”

  Oh, God. The house. He’d almost forgotten that this was what all this was about. “You and Ann were going to sell it anyway.”

  “Ann was going to. She railroaded me. We never even talked about it. But now that I’m back, I’m having second thoughts. She keeps telling me I can’t afford it, it’s so much work, it’s just a house, blah blah blah.”

  “It’s not just a house, and I’m a legitimate heir.” A breeze picked up, a warm breeze from the south, carrying with it the surprising smell of summer.

  “But why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you want it? Even if you’re entitled, you could get some of the money from the sale.”

  “I don’t give a damn about the money, you know that. I’ve always loved that house. It’s the only place where my life ever felt like it made any sense.” This felt like such an enormous confession that Michael couldn’t just stand there and let his words settle in the air around them. He started to walk because he had to move, had to escape his own weakness, had to resist everything Poppy wanted to say to him. He walked with a brisk pace through the empty parking lot until he got to the open shelter, perched on the edge of the bluff overlooking the Atlantic, where it had to be moved because of erosion. The whole damn Cape was getting chewed up on all sides the same way he was. The wind was so strong closer to the water that bits of sand blew into his face, and when he licked his lip, it tasted like salt. Poppy stood next to him, her hair tossing wildly in the cool ocean breeze. She tugged his sleeve again.

  “Maybe we can think of something, the two of us. There must be some way for us to keep it.”

  “But you said Ann is hot to sell, and you know she doesn’t want me to have it.”

  “I don’t even kn
ow what she thinks. We haven’t talked much yet. She’s been avoiding me.”

  Michael was grateful for the wind; perhaps Poppy thought his eyes were just watering. “How did we end up like this?”

  “I wish we could do everything over again,” she said. He’d thought the same thing a thousand times.

  Poppy stepped closer to Michael and leaned lightly against him. “At least I found you. I’ve missed you, Michael. I’ve missed you so much.” She was crying, too. “Don’t you know I’ve looked for you everywhere I’ve ever been?”

  THIRTY-THREE

  Ann

  Ann and Noah argued the whole ride down to the Cape. He assailed her with a litany of reasons not to sell. “We’ve gone over this again and again,” she said. “Old houses are a lot of work.”

  “I’m the one who does the work. I got the whole place running when Poppy arrived. I can do it. I’ll open the house. I’ll close the house. I’ll fix the house. Dude taught me everything.”

  “Is that really how you want to spend your time? What about when you get an internship? What if you want to be like Poppy and travel? You don’t want to be tied to a house. Houses tie you down.”

  “Like kids? Kids tie you down. You knew that. You didn’t get rid of me.”

  Ann smiled. “Maybe it’s not too late.”

  Noah banged the car dash with his cast—he’d broken his arm at the skate park, and his friend painted the YouTube star Miranda Sings on it, with her pouty red lips and center part, and the words Hi Guys! It’s me. Miranda. “I’m serious! I like being tied down to that house. It’s ours, Mom.”

  “Have you seen the tax bill? Hurricane insurance isn’t cheap, either. And it needs a roof. Carol calls it ‘deferred maintenance.’”

  “Poppy and I have thought of a million ways to make it work out.”

  Ann laughed. “The two great business minds in our family.”

  “You gotta fight for what you love! Stop the car.”

  “No. Please would you stop being dramatic.”

  Noah twisted around and reached for the emergency brake with his good hand. “I said stop the car. I’ll walk the rest of the way there.”

  Ann kept driving; she knew Noah was bluffing, or at least she thought she knew until she began to feel the pinch of brakes against her wheels. She swatted at his hand, alarmed, remembering how her own parents had died. “Noah Gordon! That’s dangerous.”

  Noah was crying. His tears moved her deeply, but she couldn’t let him see that. “Please, Mom. Don’t sell. Keep the house for me even if you don’t want it.”

  “I wish it were that easy.”

  She didn’t tell him that Carol had left a curt voicemail saying simply that she’d canceled the contract. Why would a Realtor give up a commission? Ann was afraid to talk to Carol because she worried this had something to do with Michael, but how would he find out about the house? He was probably back in Milwaukee or Chicago or who knows where. Carol didn’t answer, and she didn’t return her calls. It was fine, fine. Ann didn’t care. She’d find another Realtor. She had to let go of the stupid idea that she’d feel better about her parents’ deaths once the house changed hands. She’d started to believe that her grief was part of the transaction.

  Poppy wasn’t home when Ann and Noah arrived. He was still upset and walked into the girls’ bedroom, set his bag down on one of the beds, and shut the door.

  She took a deep breath and looked around. The place was messy, so Ann went straight to cleaning, resentfully scrubbing the dishes that her sister had left in the sink, wiping the counters, taking out the garbage. The more she cleaned, the more messes she encountered—clumps of hair in the drain, wet towels on the hardwood floors, empty beer bottles on the end tables. She was putting the playing cards laid out for solitaire back into the box when Poppy blew through the door.

  There she was, at long last. Her sister’s face was chapped and red from the outdoors, and her long hair was pulled back into a fishtail braid. She looked the same as always: fresh, soft, sweet. For a second, all the pent-up anger Ann felt disappeared. Despite everything, it felt good to see Poppy—better than good. She saw not just Poppy but also her mother, whose features were now more visible in her sister. She was overcome with an unexpected gush of warmth. Ann said, “Where’ve you been?”

  All the energy drained from Poppy’s face when she looked at Ann. “Out.” Poppy kicked off her rain boots and breezed right past the spot where Ann stood, stirring up the dust pile she’d just swept. Ann might as well have been a piece of furniture in the wrong place. Poppy walked into her parents’ bedroom and threw her coat on the bed. It wasn’t just unmade; the sheets were so twisted it looked like people had been wrestling on it.

  Ann was so surprised by Poppy’s dismissiveness that all of her emotions jammed up in her mind. Why was Poppy mad at her? She was the one who’d taken care of things—she should be grateful. Ann was trying to think of what to say next when a man walked through the kitchen door carrying a bag of groceries.

  “Hello?”

  “Oh hey, Ann.”

  He set the bag on the kitchen counter and shook Ann’s hand.

  “Brad? Milwaukee Brad?”

  “The very same.”

  “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

  “Just got in last week.” He pulled a head of cabbage from the bag and set it on the kitchen counter. “I wanted to see your place here, and Poppy, of course. When she called and asked if I could come out, I booked the first flight.”

  “It’s great you’re buying the house in Milwaukee. My parents would have loved that.”

  “Yeah, so about that—”

  Before he could say more, Noah emerged from the bedroom. “You’re here!”

  Poppy gave him a fist bump followed by a warm hug—nothing like the cold shoulder Ann had received.

  “Hey, man.” Noah’s face was lit with a smile. Hey, man. Since when did he talk like that? What had Noah and Poppy done together? Did they get high? Listen to Bob Marley? Chant? So, they were buddies now. Poppy could just sashay into his life and fist-bump her way into his heart.

  “This is Brad,” Poppy said. “He’s the guy I told you about.”

  “Your boyfriend,” Noah said teasingly.

  For someone so natural and easy, Poppy seemed oddly thrown off by the word “boyfriend.” “Yeah, I guess.”

  Brad came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and kissed her on top of her head. There was no denying the chemistry between them. “You guess?”

  “You know I don’t like labels.”

  Ann thought of the dates she’d gone on over the years, the guys she’d imagined introducing Noah to. Aside from safe Kevin, they never measured up, never seemed worthy of the emotional trauma she might inflict on him. He was possessive of her, sensitive, needy. Ann envied the ease with which Poppy could bring a man into Noah’s life. Everything seemed easy for her. She was in Milwaukee, what, two months? And here she’d sold a home and met someone willing to travel halfway across the country just to see her. Now she and Noah were thick as thieves.

  “No surfing for us tonight,” Poppy told Noah. “Rain coming in. How about I teach you tomorrow? OK if Brad joins us?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “You were going to surf?” Ann asked. “You never told me that. No way. It’s freezing. And aren’t there sharks?”

  Noah rolled his eyes. “Mom, Poppy promised to teach me. A friend loaned her a wet suit for me to wear.”

  “I’m down for surfing too,” Brad said. “I’ll fend off the great whites.”

  It was obvious Ann was the only person who wasn’t invited to come along. “No.” She wasn’t about to let Noah get into surfing, but not because of the danger. She was worried that if he loved it, he’d disappear the same way Poppy had.

  Brad started cooking dinner, a Polish dish called haluški that Brad said was a secret family recipe. Soon the kitchen was filled with the smell of cabbage and pork. Noah put her dad’s Gene Krupa
album on the record player, and Poppy lit candles and turned on the string lights. The house, which had seemed so empty and abandoned this past year, felt warm and golden, almost like a home again, only Ann felt unwelcome.

  “Noah, c’mere,” Brad said. “I’m going to teach you how to make this the way my babcia taught me.” Noah was eager for a cooking lesson, and hungry for attention from Brad, who drove a motorcycle, played a mandolin, and ran a machine shop. He told him stories about the characters he’d hired to work for him and the rats on the shop floor.

  With nothing better to do, Ann started wiping down the walls so she could get them ready to paint. Poppy sat at the table in the area between the kitchen and the living room drinking wine. Occasionally, Ann would find her gaze cast in her direction. Ann thought about trying to strike up a conversation, but Poppy quickly looked back at her crossword puzzle. Poppy’s silence was out of character. So was her anger. She was the one who’d been gone all these years, the one who was AWOL when their parents died. Poppy knew something, and so did Brad, and that was why they were so cool to Ann. But what did they know?

  “I’m worried about all these cracks in the walls,” Ann said. “There might be a problem with the foundation.”

  “The foundation is fine,” Poppy said, her voice scolding, as if Ann were some kid who was worried about a monster under her bed.

  “It can’t be fine. The house is over two hundred years old. There are problems, you know there are.”

  “It looks OK to me,” Brad said, “and I know a thing or two about houses.” He’d set some plates on the table. “The walls are amazingly plumb for a structure this old.” He gently lifted the album off the record player and leafed through her dad’s album collection as if it were his own. “How about some dinner music? Look at this Grant Green. The LT Series. This is better than the Blue Note edition. I wonder where your dad picked this up.” The song “Solid” began to play, a song far too tinkling and light for Ann’s dour mood. Ann’s father called songs like that one “Sunday morning music.” For a moment, it felt as if he’d walked into the room to join them. Ann could picture him exactly, right down to his soft T-shirts, paint-stained carpenter shorts, and tattered sandals, his big toenail always split like a piece of old wood.