Together, Lily and the boys devised a system whereby she would ride in front, and then every few minutes she would call out to them to make sure they were doing alright, and they would respond. The boys understood that it would not be considered a joke to purposely remain silent when Lily called “Check!,” and they assured Lily that she could trust them in this regard. This system enabled Lily to lead the boys and clear their way, without sacrificing their independence, their safety, or Lily’s peace of mind - a commodity she’d come to regard as more precious with each passing day.
Even though her dreams were still sometimes peppered with frightening images of her sons in peril, over time the weekend rides helped her to understand that just because she couldn’t see the boys, it didn’t mean that tragedy was sure to befall them. She came to see that keeping her eyes on them was more for her own benefit than it was for theirs. It was out of this that her trust in their abilities grew, which in turn inspired appreciation in them for the latitude she offered.
The crusted black snow of March gave way to purple crocuses of April, which yielded to daffodils and lilacs. Lily, Joseph, and Pierce celebrated the new cycling season by taking a bike tour of Charlotte. They stopped at the beach to walk the pier and feed the ducks with leftover bread crusts. As they approached home, the trio rounded the corner, picking up speed, in anticipation of tackling the steep hill onto which Lily’s driveway emptied. Blasting up the hill and sailing into the garage was the crowning glory of each ride.
“Check!” Lily called.
“Check!” replied Pierce.
“Check!” echoed Joseph.
“OK, boys!” shouted Lily. “Full steam ahead!”
With grunts and groans, they crested the hill - Joseph passing Lily on the way, Pierce chugging along behind them both.
“C’mon buddy!” shouted Lily from the top of the hill.
“Go PJ!” cried Joseph.
With a face red with exertion and a grimace of determination that exposed the large gap where his front teeth used to be, Pierce cranked out the final few revolutions of his pedals, and as he glided past the mailbox and toward the open garage door, he raised his hands overhead and shouted, “I did it!”
Lily and Joseph clapped and cheered.
“Great ride, you two,” said Lily. “Please put your bikes away and let’s go inside and have some dinner. I am starving!”
Lily wheeled over to the mailbox, opened the door, and retrieved a brown eight-and-a-half-by-eleven envelope, exactly like the ones in which her Order of Protection, Separation Agreement, and Child Support orders had been delivered. Her heart jumped as she tried to imagine what else Joe could possibly have in store for her. Things had just started to settle down, to feel normal. Maybe too normal for his tastes. She turned the envelope over to discover the name, “Orvitz and Kramer” stamped in the return address area. It was from Curtis’ lawyer.
As soon as the boys left the next day, she would open it. Today was too perfect, and if Lily had learned anything during this ordeal, it was the skill for savoring a moment of perfection and for appreciating and protecting its frailty.
Just after lunch the following day, Joe pulled into the driveway and tooted the car horn.
“Your Dad’s here!” Lily called down to the boys. She collected the pile of dirty clothes from the floor of the bedroom and shoved it into the duffle bag they brought with them every Friday.
“Tell Samantha I’m sorry that I didn’t get time to wash your stuff,” said Lily. She handed the bag to Joseph.
“Mom,” said Pierce, using the tone that children use when they are about to reveal to their parents how little they really know about life, “We don’t have Samantha anymore.”
“You don’t?!”
“No,” said Joseph. “She moved out like two weeks ago,” indicating that this was a very, very long time, and that perhaps Lily should be concerned that she was so behind on the latest news.
“Why did she leave? What happened?”
“I dunno,” said Joseph. “My Dad says she’s crazy. They were screaming and yelling one night and then the next day she was gone.”
Good for you, Samantha, Lily thought. “That’s too bad,” she said. “I know you really liked her. And I know she did a lot to help your Dad take care of you guys and the house.”
“That’s OK, Mommy,” said Pierce. “We have Annette now.”
“Annette?”
“Yeah,” said Joseph. “My Dad says they just don’t make ‘em like Annette anymore.”
I bet they don’t, thought Lily.
Joe honked the car horn a second time.
“Kisses!” said Lily.
The boys kissed her and then headed for the car. Joe extended his arm out the window and waved. Lily waved back.
“Good luck with that,” she said as she turned and closed the door behind her.
By afternoon, Lily still felt unprepared to deal with whatever news was inside the envelope; good news rarely came in eight-and-a-half-by-eleven envelopes with a metal clap on the flap. She booted up her computer.
Iris, are you there? She typed.
Hey there! Yep, I’m here, typed Iris – you just caught me! I was getting ready to run out and get a few things for a trip I’m taking on Monday.
Oh, typed Lily. You’re taking a trip?
It’s for work, typed Iris. It’s just Venice.
Just Venice, thought Lily. I was going to go to Venice, too, but I thought I would cut the lawn instead.
What’s up? Iris typed.
I got an envelope in the mail from Curtis’ laywer yesterday but I haven’t had the nerve to open it.
Want me to be here with you when you do?
Yes, typed Lily. That’s what I was thinking.
Sure! Go ahead and open it and tell me what it says.
It’s just what I thought, Iris, typed Lily. Poor old Curtis. He died. Last week.
I’m sorry, Lily. I know he was really an angel to you.
Yes, he was. Whenever I’ve felt overwhelmed – which has been a lot, believe me – I’ve remembered the night I met him. It reminds that somehow, somewhere, someone cares, is looking out for me. Lily sniffed.
So what’s the deal? typed Iris. Did he name you in his will? :)
Lily scanned the document. Actually, he sort of did.
What?!
Don’t get too excited, typed Lily. He named me because he said I could stay here until he died, at which time the house would pass into probate and I would have to leave.
But I don’t want you to move! typed Iris. I love to think of you there, knowing that I helped you set it all up, remembering that day we cleaned and sang along with “I Don’t Know How to Love Him”. It makes me feel like I’m still there with you, in a way.
It was good to know that Iris was still Iris... still focused on the good times, still endowed with the vision to see beauty even when beauty would hide. It must be wonderful to remember the good times with such clarity, but it also must make it really hard to let go and move on.
To be honest, I am not that sad about this, typed Lily. I’m actually kind of relieved.
You are?
Iris, I have lots of memories of this place. Not all of them are good.
But some are, right?
Yes, some are - that’s true. Every evening when I curl up on the couch with my tea and pull one of those sorry old afghans over my knees, I think of you and how you came over to try and help that day.
I’m so glad.
And I think of all the sleepy Saturday afternoons when the boys conked out watching TV or resting after a long ride, waiting for dinner.
Sounds so cozy.
But you know, every time I go up the stairs to the second floor, I also remember when Joseph locked me out and I kicked the door in.
God, that must have been so awful...
I can still feel the pain shooting through my foot, I can still hear Pierce crying, and I can still feel that sense of death when they walked out the
door. Maybe it’s time to let those memories go, you know? Maybe it’s time for me to get a new place that doesn’t harbor painful ghosts.
I completely understand that, Lily. Promise me the next time I come there I can stay with you in your new place?
Only if you help me find it! Are you going to be around tomorrow? I’ll go down to the grocery store and get a copy of the Sunday paper and then maybe we can check out the listings online.
Sure! typed Iris. Call me on the phone around two-o’clock your time; I’ll just about be ready for a glass of wine by then. And don’t you buy any cigarettes at the store, young lady. I quit for good, and you can too.
Don’t worry - I’ll definitely have to stay off of them if I’m going to keep up with those boys on their bikes!
The next day, as Lily placed the staples of her weekly diet onto the conveyer belt at grocery store – cereal, milk, eggs, wheat bread, sliced turkey from the deli, five frozen entrees, and a twelve-pack of diet coke – she felt grateful. It was simple fare, but it was hers, and she was able to pay for it with money she earned from a job she got on her own. She tossed a newspaper and a pack of gum onto the belt. She drove home on a full tank of gas, and hope swelled in the warmth of the shining sun. She spent the morning doing her laundry, and getting ready for the new week at work, giving thanks for everything she touched – it wasn’t so long ago, she reminded herself, that life was so painful that she couldn’t imagine going on. Today was better. Today was a good day.
At two o’clock, Lily brewed a cup of tea before sitting down to call Iris.
“It’s been a whole day since we chatted,” said Iris. “Did you miss me?”
“Yes,” said Lily. She had. “It’s nice to be able to hear your voice.” It was.
“I know - the connection is great! OK, so how do you want to do this?” Iris asked.
“Well, some agents only list stuff online – so why don’t I start with the paper, and you can start online. I sent you the link on email earlier. Let me know if you see anything interesting.”
“Are you going to rent, or buy?”
“Probably rent for now, but maybe I’ll buy - I don’t know. There are some good government loans out there for first time buyers. Depends on what we find.”
“You want two bedrooms, or three?” Iris asked.
“Three is better if I want to stay for awhile... but many of the three bedrooms are too expensive for me.”
“Do you want to stay on the east side?”
“I think so,” said Lily, turning the page of the newspaper. “I want to give the boys a chance to live somewhere else besides in their father’s shadow.”
Lily turned the pages as Iris clicked through the listings.
“Oh my, God!” shouted Iris.
“You are not going to believe this!” cried Lily.
In unison they cried, “Chestnut Crest is for sale!”
“What does your listing say?” asked Iris.
“It just says, ‘Circa Nineteen-eighteen. Rural living on the bus line. Suburban farm house with one-and-a-quarter acres. Save this timeless beauty from foreclosure! Immediate occupancy.’”
“Mine says pretty much the same thing,” said Iris.
“Any photos?” Lily asked.
“Only of the outside.”
“I can’t believe it’s for sale,” said Lily.
“You should go look at it,” said Iris.
“I hope you’re kidding me,” said Lily. “I would never want to live there again.”
“Not to live,” said Iris. “But aren’t you curious? Oh, Lily, you have to go see it!”
“I just told you yesterday that I’m trying to leave my ghosts behind,” said Lily. “And now you want me to go chasing after them?”
Over the next week, the thought of driving by the house on Chestnut Crest - just to take a peek - kept creeping into Lily’s mind, and she kept pushing it back out again. She had to admit, the idea did hold appeal for her, but perhaps not in the same way as it seemed to for Iris. Iris idealized the old house, the way you might romanticize a former lover that you have no chance of ever seeing again and so run no risk of remembering the pain around why you broke up in the first place. For Lily, going back to Chestnut Crest was more like facing an old demon - which was an argument both for and against doing so.
As Lily walked up the long empty driveway, she passed a red, white, and black sign that had been pounded into the grass: For Sale - Call Jackson Guardiner. One apple tree was now only a stump, but the other was still there, its tiny blossoms dreaming of September. The memory of the apples' tartness and of the way her jaw tingled whenever she bit into one made Lily's mouth water, but the sensation was chased off by a wave of nausea, as she recalled the smell of the rotting fruit, and of the dead bird she had found among it as a child. Now that she was here, it seemed senseless not to try and take a peek inside. She stepped up onto the back porch, balanced herself on the top step and cupped her hands around her face as she peered through the window glass. From inside the house, she could hear strains of “Dust in the Wind” being played on the guitar.
“Oh, shit!” she cried, and losing her balance she fell against the aluminum door with a clatter.
The music stopped, and the door between the kitchen and the porch opened. Lily turned and walked away as briskly as she could without breaking into a run, hoping to reach her car in the street before whoever was inside could discover her.
“Hey - hey there!” shouted a man’s voice. “Did you want to take a look?”
Lily stopped, her heart pounding. Slowly, she turned around. “Oh - hi.”
“Hi.” The man was about Lily’s age. He had a guitar slung over his back, the strap stretched across his broad chest. “Did you want to check it out?” He walked toward Lily. His blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail.
“Check it out?”
“The house... did you want to see the inside?” The look of expectation on his face made Lily feel bad for him. She had the sense that prospects on this place were hard to come by.
“The inside?”
“Yea. Or, you could just stand there all day and repeat everything I say.” He extended his hand toward Lily. “I’m Jackson Guardiner, the listing agent.”
“I’m Lily,” she replied. She shook his hand and looked up at him, using her free hand to shield her eyes from the sun.
“This is a great old house,” said Jackson. “I’d be happy to give you a quick tour.” He walked back toward the door and motioned for Lily to follow.
“OK,” Lily said, not sure at all if it was, but she couldn’t bring herself to disappoint this guitar-playing real estate agent who was obviously dying to show the place to someone.
Lily followed Jackson onto the back porch. She automatically kicked off her shoes and left them by the kitchen door.
“Don’t bother,” said Jackson. “The place is vacant.”
“Where are the owners?”
“Technically there aren’t any - unless you count the bank. The people who lived here are divorced. The husband got laid off from his job, and then he just took off. The wife kept up with the place for as long as she could, but this is too much house for one person. After a while she just gave up, so the mortgage went into default and now it’s headed into foreclosure.”
“That’s too bad.” Lily had never thought about how her father had managed to keep this place going after her mother moved out. And after she followed.
Lily allowed Jackson to lead her into the living room. The old stained and worn green carpeting had been replaced with a wide-slat cherry hardwood floor. The yellowed wallpaper was gone, and the walls were now simply covered in a flat paint in soft eggshell. The rickety windows and grimy light fixtures had been replaced by new ones at some point, but those had also grown old and worn in the ensuing years. There was no vomit stained furniture, no ash-covered smoking stand, no lingering voices.
“This,” said Jackson, flinging open the French doors leading into the su
nroom, “Is my favorite room in the whole house.”
“Mine too,” said Lily, drawing a quizzical look from Jackson.
The room was awash in afternoon sunlight, and greenery sprouted and flowed from pots of all shapes, sizes, and colors, which lined the shelves of the bookcases and filled every corner.
“Wow - how are these plants so beautiful, with no one living here?” Lily asked.
“I come by every day or two and water them,” said Jackson. “She - the wife - was going to toss them into the dumpster when she moved, but I couldn’t stand to see them get trashed.”
“Why didn’t you just take them to your place?” Lily asked.
“They were an awful mess,” said Jackson. “I was afraid they would die if I moved them. Anyway,” he said, leaning in toward Lily. “I’ll tell you a secret: it’s so nice and quiet in this neighborhood - the plants give me a reason to come here so I can practice. It’s secluded, so I’m not bothering my neighbors like I do when I play at my apartment. Plus, I don’t have to be self-conscious because I know no one can hear me.”
“Is there such a thing as a self-conscious guitar player?” asked Lily. She would have backed away to balance out the personal space between them, but she was enjoying the quality of his eyes. They were a crystal clear blue, grazed by the glint of the sun. “I thought you guys were all about putting on a show, as if God gave you an extra ‘look at me’ gene.”
“I must’ve stepped out of the showmanship line to get stoned or something,” said Jackson, “because I did not get that gene at all. Probably why I’m playing to a room full of plants. But they do really seem to like it.” He scanned the array of pots with a smile, as if they were loyal and adoring fans.
“I heard you playing when I was outside,” said Lily. “Kansas, right? It was very nice.”
[Iris and Lily 01.0 - 03.0] The Complete Series Page 142