The Renovation

by Terri Kraus

Amen. I forgot to say amen.

  She debated whether she should knock or try the bell. Sometimes doorbells didn’t work and then you had to stand there for several minutes trying to decide if the bell didn’t work or if the people really weren’t home in the first place. Knocking took one variable out of the equation.

  She knocked three times—as politely as she could. She didn’t want it to sound like someone pounding.

  Of course she stepped back, back into the pool of light from the overhead porch light. You always wanted the person inside to be able to quickly see the person outside and not think that it was a robber or door-to-door salesman or anything invading their space, she remembered.

  Are there still door-to-door salesmen? Girl Scouts, maybe.

  She quickly adjusted the hem of her sweatshirt with a green Clarion College logo on it, and pushed her hair back from around her face.

  I should get a haircut or something.

  The clumping of footsteps grew louder … not the sound of an adult, but the horselike trample of a young man deliberately descending wooden steps. She saw Chase’s face pushed up against the glass of the sidelight. She could see his smile turn into a confused smile. He disappeared behind the door.

  “Miss Dane,” he said as he opened it. “I thought you were Elliot. He’s the only one who comes here at night.”

  “I’m sorry, Chase, but is your father at home? I think I might have left something in his truck. My calendar—and I sort of need it before tomorrow.”

  He pulled the door open as an invitation for her to come in. She did.

  “No. He’s not home right now. He said something about the Carter place.”

  “I checked there. It was dark.”

  Chase shrugged. “I dunno where he would be, then. But … you could … come in and wait. He’s never gone late or anything. It would be okay if you waited.”

  Cameron would have never come in before, never have imposed, most likely explaining that she would call in the morning. But tonight she felt a small, strange nudge to say yes.

  “Okay. If you don’t mind. I really do need my calendar.”

  “Sure. It’s okay with me. I mean, my dad always says to never let anyone come in—except Elliot. I think he’s worried about burglars. I don’t think you’re going to steal anything, are you?”

  Cameron laughed. “Not tonight. I’d probably wait until you’re both out of the house to do that.”

  Chase smiled broadly. Cameron imagined that he was smiling because he was now being sort of a grown-up, acting like an adult might act—sophisticated almost.

  “I could get you a drink while you wait. Like a pop, I mean. Not a drink drink. Or coffee. I think my dad has some instant out in the kitchen. I don’t drink it. He might have some stuff to make real coffee with.”

  “No, I’m fine, Chase.”

  “Tea?” Chase said brightly. “I can do tea. That’s boiling water and a teabag, right?”

  Chase was so disarming that she had to agree.

  “Tea, then. But let me help.” She followed him out into the kitchen. “My goodness. This is so nice. And tidy.”

  Chase ran some water into an electric kettle. “Yeah, we’re both pretty neat, I guess. I mean, you should see Elliot’s room. He’s my friend—the one who placed at the science fair. He lives down the street. There’s like stuff up to your knees in there. I couldn’t do that.”

  He poured hot water into a mug and handed her a teabag. “There’s sugar in that bowl on the table.”

  They both sat at a sturdy round table. Its top was made of beautiful old barn wood worn and finished to a soft patina, handcrafted by Ethan, Cameron imagined.

  She let the tea in her cup steep for a moment, then took an experimental sip. “This is good. Thank you.”

  Chase smiled even wider, nodding.

  “This is a very nice house, Chase. I’ve always admired the way it looked—from the outside—when I would drive by.”

  “Yeah, it’s real old. My dad fixed a lot of it up. Some of it is still real old. My mom wanted to, like, tear some of this stuff out, but my dad said he didn’t want to. He always says that he likes things the way they were, like in the olden days.”

  “Well, it’s still very nice.”

  Chase looked around the kitchen as if he were seeing it for the first time. “Like this kitchen. It’s neat and all, but she wanted an island or something and that wall over here taken down so we could have a bigger table and stuff. My dad said he liked it the way it was. And since … you know, since my mom died, my dad hasn’t done any more work on the inside.”

  Cameron sipped again. She could sense Ethan in this house, keeping the lines and proportions just the way they were when the house was first built. The kitchen felt cozy—useful and cozy.

  “You want a tour of the rest of the house? You know a lot about architecture, right?”

  “Well, a little. But I would like a tour. If you think it’s okay.”

  “Sure. It’s just a house. You can see it.”

  Chase took Cameron through the first floor, pointing out some things that his mom had insisted on being changed, and some things she had wished to change, and the things that had remained the same. The house was inviting and thoroughly charming.

  “You want to see my room?”

  Cameron shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

  It was the room of every teenage boy, Cameron thought—just like the rooms her brothers had occupied, filled with posters of sports teams and banners, trophies, photos taped to mirrors and newspaper clippings tacked to a bulletin board, and a large worn and weathered sign for Kennywood Park.

  “It’s the most awesome amusement park in the world,” Chase explained.

  Cameron saw an old unfinished pine bed with a windowpane check comforter and pillow shams, a nightstand, two matching chests, a student-sized desk and a couple of lamps. An overstuffed chair filled a corner.

  “This is so nice, Chase. It fits you so well. Did your mother pick out the furniture?”

  “Yeah. She was good at that. She was going to paint it, I guess, but never … she bought me that old Kennywood sign. She found it at a garage sale or something. It’s really cool.”

  The poor kid’s gonna be living that nightmare forever.

  Now … there was a nudge in Cameron’s heart … now.

  “Chase, I wanted to tell you how sorry I was when I first heard about your mother … how it happened.”

  She could see in his eyes that while the words hurt, he really wanted to hear them.

  “I was so sorry … especially when I heard that you were there … in the car and all that.”

  For a moment, Chase looked surprised. Then something akin to relief showed in his face. “You knew that?”

  “I spoke to a reporter on the Erie newspaper. The reporter wasn’t there when it happened, but he had heard that … that you were in the car that day.”

  Chase sort of nodded, acknowledging the truth. “Yeah. I was. Hardly anyone knows that I was. I mean, it wasn’t in the papers or anything. No one ever asks me about it.”

  “The newspaper never mentioned it. They thought it would be best that way.”

  Chase shrugged. “Maybe it was.”

  Cameron could almost see his thoughts whirling about in his mind.

  “Hey, would you like to see my secret room? Only me and Elliot know it’s there.”

  Cameron didn’t hesitate. “Sure.”

  Chase led the way again, switching on the closet light, removing the secret panel, cautioning Cameron to duck, “’cause it’s real low in here.”

  She scanned the narrow room, dimly illuminated with a low-watt bulb in an open socket. The room held the faint smell of old comic books and dust, of carpet and insulation. She touched the elegantly installe
d plasterboard mosaic walls with a fingertip.

  “You can sit in that chair.”

  She slid the lawn chair out an inch or two from the wall and sat down carefully, the webbing and metal frame creaking gently in the quiet.

  “We found that in an alley in town. Somebody was throwing away a perfectly good chair.”

  Chase sat on the floor.

  Cameron noticed a small, handcrafted wooden box in the darkness of the eave.

  Now.

  “What’s that, Chase?”

  Chase slowly pulled it closer and angled it toward Cameron. His hand lingered on the clasp. “Some stuff … from my mom.”

  Now.

  “Would you show it to me? I’d like to see it.” Her words were kind and soft, like a parent speaking to a damaged child. Cameron was not a parent, but she had heard her parents speak that way to her when she was small and wounded.

  He hesitated only another instant, then carefully lifted the lid. He handed her a program. “This was our hockey schedule. The Oilers. I’m in the back row. You sort of need a magnifying glass to see me.”

  Cameron held it close to her face. “You’re right there,” she said, pointing. “I can tell by your smile.”

  He smiled up at her.

  Now.

  “What else is in there?”

  He put his hand on some fabric, a shirt maybe. Cameron could not tell what it was.

  “Just this, really. It’s a … it’s a hockey jersey.” He pulled it up and out—a small white jersey with a penguin in the center and a stain on one corner. “It’s an old Pittsburgh Penguins jersey.”

  Now.

  “Chase …”

  “That’s why we went to Erie. That’s why we were there that day. I wanted this jersey, and no one in Franklin had one just like this. I bugged her for weeks to get me one. I think I even cried about it, so she gave in and we went to Erie to get it. I was so happy when we found it. I mean … that was just the best thing in the world. Then we were driving home and that mean guy came over to the car and started yelling. I saw the gun and heard it go off. Then the glass broke and the car hit the curb and stopped.”

  Cameron reached over and placed her hand on Chase’s left shoulder.

  “She didn’t say anything to me. She just looked surprised and hurt. There was all this blood, like everywhere. She was trying to say something to me, but I couldn’t hear it. I was in the backseat and was trying to get closer to her, but I must have been buckled up in the seat belt ’cause I couldn’t get any closer to her. I dunno … she sort of reached over somehow, with her hand … reached out to me and touched my leg.” Chase paused and swallowed hard. “And then she died, I guess.”

  Cameron squeezed his shoulder. She could barely see from the tears that brimmed.

  “That was the last time she touched me.” Chase was crying now, crying without shame, crying freely. “That was the last time …”

  Cameron leaned forward.

  “It was because of this stupid jersey. That’s why we were there. To get this jersey for me. That I wanted so bad. It was my fault that we were there. I know that’s what my dad thinks.”

  Now.

  “Chase,” Cameron said, “none of that was your fault.”

  “It was. Because of this stupid jersey. It was.”

  “Chase,” Cameron said, her words edged with conviction, “none of it was your fault. It was a horrible thing, a horrible tragedy, but it was not your fault. It wasn’t, Chase. Sometimes terrible things like that just happen.”

  He simply cried without responding.

  Cameron waited, hoping for the right words to say, praying for some deep spiritual insight, some theological explanation that would make things right for this boy. No words came.

  Instead she slipped off the chair and got down on her knees beside him and gently took him in her arms and held him tight. She held him there as he sobbed.

  “Chase, when I was a little girl—a little younger than you are—my younger brother drowned in the ocean. And I was with him. I almost saved him. But I didn’t. And he was in the water because I dared him. Every day since that day, I blamed myself for his death … that it was all my fault. But I couldn’t carry that weight anymore. It was crushing me.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I asked God to forgive me.”

  Chase sniffed. “That’s all?”

  “Yes, Chase … you just have to ask. And He will forgive you, too. He will, Chase.”

  Chase closed his eyes and, after a long moment, Cameron saw his lips move. She knew what he was asking, and she knew what the answer would be.

  When he stopped, she said softly, “He has forgiven you, Chase. And I forgive you. You are forgiven.”

  He cried even harder, but she knew these tears would help wash the pain away, cleanse him. They were the tears he should have cried so many years ago.

  So she simply held him close, stroked his hair, and whispered, “It’s all right,” over and over into his ear.

  Eventually, his crying stopped. She let go of him and he looked up into her face.

  “Is it really okay? Really? I’m forgiven?”

  “Chase, I know that God forgives you, and that He loves you. No matter what. I know that, even if I don’t know much else.”

  He looked down, then wiped his eyes with his palms. “Thanks, Miss Dane. Thanks a lot.”

  That urgent whispering had been what it took for Cameron to get off her chair and offer forgiveness—forgiveness for a lost young boy who did not know how to find forgiveness on his own … and for a father who did not know he needed it.

  That boy just needed someone to offer him the gift.

  Moments later, Cameron reached over into the footlocker and extracted a beige envelope—the size of a greeting card. Chase watched as she opened the flap. It was a Mother’s Day card.

  Inside, under the printed sentiment, were the carefully written words of a five-year-old:

  I miss you Mommy. I hope heaven is nice. I hope you are not angry with me.

  I love you,

  Chase

  Cameron tried her best not to weep but could not help herself. Her tears flowed as she asked Chase, “Have you ever talked to your father about this?”

  He shook his head. “He never asked.”

  “He needs to know, Chase. You need to tell him what happened and how you feel.”

  Chase shook his head again. “He doesn’t want to talk about it. He’s mad at me and thinks it’s my fault. I know he does. That’s why he never wanted to talk about it.”

  Cameron couldn’t stop from hugging the boy again. “Oh, Chase …”

  After a few more minutes, Cameron helped Chase fold the hockey jersey again and laid it, with great care, back in the footlocker. She placed the card and the program on top and lowered the lid gently.

  She waited for Chase to reinsert the secret door back in place.

  “Miss Dane, I’m really tired. Would it be okay if I just went to bed?”

  “Of course that’s okay, Chase.” Cameron was well aware that such a torrent of tears could be exhausting.

  “Could you wait up for him, Miss Dane?”

  “I could, if you want me to.”

  “And maybe, could you tell him that it wasn’t my fault?”

  Cameron hesitated. She knew that Chase had to talk to his father—but maybe she was here this night for this one specific reason.

  “Sure, Chase. I’ll tell him. You sleep well, okay?”

  And she kissed him ever so lightly on the forehead, as her mother did to her so many years earlier.

  Forgiveness is the key

  that unlocks the door

  of resentment and the handcuffs of hate.

  It is
a power that breaks

  the chains of bitterness

  and the shackles of selfishness.

  —Corrie ten Boom

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-ONE

  CAMERON STOOD IN THE entryway of Ethan’s home, debating what to do next. She wanted to jump in her car and start looking for Chase’s father. There were not that many places to hide in Franklin. She could drive past the few restaurants that were open, back past the Carter house, maybe over to Fountain Park or to Joel’s house.

  That would mean leaving Chase alone upstairs.

  But he was alone when I got here, she told herself.

  She went as far as retrieving her car keys from her pocket, then stopped.

  If I start driving around, I may not find him. Then I’ll have to come back here … and what if he’s still not home? I would have to make sure the door is locked if I left, and I wouldn’t be able to get back in. And if Ethan was home then, I’d have to explain that I was here earlier—and that might not be all that simple.

  In the end, Cameron decided to stay where she was. When he drove up to the house, she would go outside and meet him.

  That puts us in neutral territory, she told herself, as if being in the house he had shared with his wife might complicate what Cameron had to say.

  This isn’t easy. God, please give me the words.

  She paced back and forth, walking softly from the kitchen to the front door. She repeatedly stopped at the door to look through the sidelights, scanning Otter Street in both directions. There were so few cars on the street after dark; it would be impossible to miss Ethan’s truck.

  Two framed pictures hung on the wall between the alcove with the phone and the doorway into the kitchen. The first time Cameron passed them she only glanced at them, knowing what they were without having to stare. She did not want to stop and examine them more closely. But as she paced, her eyes kept being drawn to them, again and again.

  She finally stopped and faced them.

  One was a wedding picture.

  Ethan stood on church steps, very handsome in a tuxedo. Next to him was his wife, Lynne. Ethan was a little thinner, his hair a little fuller and longer. He wore a wide, happy smile, as if everything that day was exactly the most perfect it could be. His wife had her arm through his, her bouquet in her hand against the white of her dress. She was gorgeous, Cameron thought, with hair the color of summer, of wheat, of the sun, and hauntingly piercing eyes. Chase’s eyes were like hers. He had inherited her hair as well. His mother looked as if she would be equally lovely and at home in a wedding dress as she would be in torn jeans and a work shirt.