by Nance Sparks
“Come on, Bailey, let me open the door would ya?” Aren said, prodding the dog away from the door. Bailey burst by them into the house, pushing the doorknob out of Aren’s hand.
Stepping into the foyer, Aren could smell the musty odor of a long ago closed up house. She stood still for a moment and took another breath. Was it her imagination or could she still smell the sweet fragrance of fresh picked herbs hanging to dry? Dill, cilantro, sage, and basil were some of her favorites to help strip from the stem once dried. The fragrance of each seemed determined to hang on and always made her feel like summer would never end. Aren closed the screen door behind them, but left the solid door open to allow some fresh air in.
“Let me open up the curtains and windows. Maybe it will help push out some of this musty smell.”
Aren opened windows in several rooms around the house. She found Carol still standing in the entryway, her head swiveling around as she tried to take it all in. Aren stood next to her and sought out the comfort of Carol’s hand. The interior of the house didn’t look nearly as nice as the exterior. The walls were still painted in a seventies’ gold color from about three feet up to the ceiling. From the three-foot mark to the floor was wallpaper with the gold color as a background to orange flowers and drab olive-green stems and leaves. The furniture in the living room was vinyl and showed evidence of heavy use. The arms of the couch and chairs were ripped, with fuzzy stuff poking up through the tears. The side tables were solid wood and were all covered with stains from sweating cups and glasses. The carpet, probably the greatest cause of the odors, was stained from spills over the years.
“I see why you didn’t take the couch.”
Aren looked down at Carol and smiled. “Yeah, that couch is nasty. This main level is in rough shape. The entire thing would need to be gutted. Are you up for a look around?”
“Yes, if you are,” Carol said.
“Okay, you asked for it,” Aren said. She kept hold of Carol’s hand.
Aren led them into the living room off to the right of the foyer through a large archway opening just a few feet from the front door. Carol pulled a little to the left and stopped. Aren turned to see what had caught her attention. The family photo wall. She’d forgotten that was up there. Carol walked up to the photograph of a young Aren sporting short, light brown hair and sparkling blue eyes. She touched it as if she were touching the person sitting still for the picture.
Aren rolled her eyes. “Yes, that’s what I looked like before Phyllis messed up my face. I didn’t used to look half bad.”
“You’re still beautiful. It’s just, your eyes were so bright, so full of life.” Carol stepped to the next photo over. Jen with her trademark half grin. Her hair was dark brown with a few highlights from the summer sun, her eyes a brilliant green. “This is Jennifer, isn’t it? For some reason I expected her to be blond.”
“Yep, that’s Jen.” Aren’s chest tightened, and her heart ached. She hadn’t looked at a photo of Jen since the day she died.
“She looks like a wild child there, but I can see how you’d be attracted to her. They let her get tattoos?”
Aren shook her head. “Henna. She used henna ink to do those designs. It washed off in six weeks or so.”
Carol moved farther down the row. The next photo was one of a young man posing with his football gear on, his helmet held in the crook of his arm.
“Is this Daniel?” she asked, backing away from the photo a step or two.
“Yes, that’s Daniel. Ron wanted the picture taken down, but Phyllis fought to keep it up there.” Aren followed Carol down to the final photograph on the wall.
“Wow, so this must be Ron and Phyllis. Am I right?” She looked at the photo of the two standing on the same porch they had climbed just moments ago.
“Yeah, that’s them. They were good people, well, Phyllis was good until she started drinking. They gave us some stability at a time in our lives when we needed it most. They were good parents for Jen and me. I miss that version of them. The house didn’t look like this when Phyllis was sober. It was always so clean and tidy. This,” Aren said, motioning to the living room, “is the result of the Phyllis she became after her world turned upside down.”
Aren stood next to Carol looking at the wall of photographs. It seemed like a lifetime ago. It was weird, seeing her face on the wall just as she saw it in her mind when she closed her eyes and pictured herself. Her memories of the house were much the same because what she pictured in her mind when she thought about it was what it had looked like when she was in high school and not the neglected mess she saw today. She looked at each of the photographs again and it dawned on her that she was the only one on that wall still alive. She looked at the faces of the family she remembered and silently said good-bye. It was time to move on. It was time to stop punishing herself for everyone’s decisions, everyone’s actions. Even if Carol left tomorrow and her life became empty again, it was time for something different.
Chapter Twenty-nine
They continued their tour of the home downstairs. The dining room was decorated in the same fashion as the living room. The kitchen was Carol’s favorite room in the home. It was a large country-style kitchen with tons of counter space, a big breakfast nook that opened out to the back deck, and an island in the center with power and room for stools on one side. The floor was covered with low pile carpeting that was light beige.
“There’s a laundry room and large pantry over there,” Aren said, pointing through a door to the right. “And that door in the nook goes out to the back deck that has a view of the barn. I used to spend a lot of time on that back deck studying.” Aren’s shoulders were tight, her hands stuffed in her pockets.
“This is a weird color of carpeting for a kitchen. Look at how the stains show up,” Carol said, pointing to spots all over the floor in front of the large stove. She followed as the spots grew larger, and then she noticed the large area of dark stained carpet. She felt the blood drain from her face.
“Holy shit, that’s where Phyllis died isn’t it?” she whispered.
“I cleaned it up the best I could, but it had already set in by the time my hands healed up enough to scrub it. I couldn’t drive anywhere to get a shampoo machine, and to be honest, I didn’t want to come back in here,” Aren replied, staring at the spot.
“Then the spots beyond the big spot were from you, from your face and hands?” Carol asked. “That’s where you were standing that night in the dark. I can see the archway leading into the living room and the front door from here. I can see where the light was glowing behind you down the hallway,” Carol said, re-creating the scene Aren had described.
Aren nodded. She took Carol’s hand and pulled her out of the kitchen, away from the visions of that dark night. They entered the hall that led back to the front door. Carol tugged at Aren’s hand, forcing her to stop and turn around.
“Aren, stop. I’m sorry I brought that up. Please, look at me. I need to see your eyes.”
Aren’s eyes finally lowered enough to meet Carol’s gaze, but her jaw was clenched tight. Carol tugged again, pulling her closer. She wrapped her arms around Aren’s waist and held her for a moment. After a few seconds, Aren hugged her back and exhaled.
“Do you want to go? Is it too much?” Carol asked.
“No, I’ll be okay, but that’s enough time in the kitchen for today. Let’s keep going.”
They turned back toward the front door. About midway up the hall, there were doors, two on the left and one to the right. Farther down the hall, to the right, was the stairway leading upstairs. Aren led them down the hall explaining that to the left was a small half bath and then the stairway to the basement. She stopped in front of the door on the right, placing her hand on the doorknob.
“This was Phyllis and Ron’s room. I warn you that I haven’t done anything to the room. I didn’t clean up at all in here or even open the door while Jen was sick. It was completely Phyllis’s space after Ron died, and I was too angry to ca
re after that night.” Aren pushed the door open. The stench of a closed-up bar mixed with dirty clothes and mold was almost overwhelming. The room was dark with very little light filtering in from behind blackout curtains. Carol stayed back while Aren made her way into the darkness. She heard Aren trip over something, mumble and curse under her breath, and then suddenly the room filled with light and the reality of the mess became apparent. Aren seemed to wrestle with the lock on the window before she managed to free it and lift it open. Once that window was open, she worked her way to the other two windows, stepping over a dead mouse and more empty bottles before she made her way back to Carol’s side. Aren explained that there was a full bathroom off to the left and a walk-in closet, but she wasn’t interested in exploring the rooms. They looked at one another and silently agreed to simply pull the door closed and let the room air out some.
“Jen and I each had rooms upstairs. All that’s in my old room is a dresser and a bed. I think some of my clothes are still in the closet, just old work clothes. I didn’t have any use for them after that night, so I just left them hanging up there.”
Carol followed Aren up the steps, taking them one at a time and carefully, in case any had come loose over the last four years.
The upstairs was expansive. It matched the size of the lower level but with far fewer rooms. There were four bedrooms in all and two bathrooms, one between the bedrooms on each side. The center of the upstairs was open with a much nicer couch, two recliners and various end tables facing an old television. Above the couch was a wall hanging bookcase filled with VHS tapes. To the right and left of the recreation room were three doors, one with a Do Not Enter sign.
“I’m taking a guess that that’s Daniel’s old room,” Carol said, pointing to the door on the right with the sign.
“Good guess. Jen and I tried to sneak in there once but both that door and the one from the bathroom were always kept locked. Phyllis probably has the key in her room somewhere. We heard her in there often singing songs she probably sang to Daniel to get him to sleep. We even tried picking the locks, but we just couldn’t get in. I have no idea what the room looks like. I hope it doesn’t look like Phyllis’s room downstairs.” Aren grimaced. “The other room on that same wall was Phyllis’s sewing room and there is a full bath between the two rooms. Jen and I had bedrooms over here on the left. We shared the bathroom between the two rooms.”
Aren walked to the farthest room on the left and opened the door. Carol stepped in behind her and looked around. It was a plain room with beige walls and dark green carpeting. There was a double bed between two windows on the far wall and a long six-drawer dresser centered on the wall on the far side of the bed. To the left was a door leading into the bathroom. A closet with bifold doors lined the fourth wall.
They walked through the bathroom, which was surprisingly clean, and into what used to be Jennifer’s room. The bed was neatly made with fluffy pillows across the headboard. Bailey was curled up in the center of the bed. There was a lamp on a nightstand off to the right of the bed with a few prescription bottles lining the top. The floor was covered in a dark purple carpet. The closet doors were neatly closed and what looked like a night shirt hung on a peg on the back of the door that led to the recreation room. Posters of various bands mixed with taped up photographs covered the beige walls from the ceiling nearly to the floor. The dresser held perfume bottles and various knickknacks that Carol thought must have had special meaning. It looked eerily like a room someone had just left for a moment, frozen in time.
“What’s that smell? It’s an earthy fragrance, but it doesn’t smell musty like downstairs.” Carol continued to take deep breaths trying to identify the scent.
“That’s patchouli oil, I’d recognize that scent anywhere. Jen wore it as a perfume for as long as I’d known her. She loved the way it smelled.” Aren walked over to the dresser and held up a bottle of the essential oil.
Carol stepped into the room and looked at the multitude of photographs. She recognized Aren in many of the pictures. Some were taken on the front porch, others on horseback or driving a big old tractor. Both girls seemed happy in the pictures. Some were of Jennifer with groups of people. All the pictures gave Carol a bit of insight into what happier times looked like on this land and in this house. She started to understand why Aren could call this the best home she’d ever had, even after all that had happened. The smiles in the photographs reminded her of the smiles from her own childhood. Seeing this room, these pictures, added several missing pieces to the puzzle. Carol could have studied the photos for hours, but she pulled herself away and looked back at Aren. She looked lost and sad. Carol’s heart sank. Her eagerness to see inside this house seemed to cause Aren so much pain. She walked back over to Aren and tugged at her hand.
“Is it hard, seeing all of this?”
“I think it was needed. It was time to see it again. Maybe time to finally say good-bye.”
“You cleaned up this room after she passed away. That had to have been a difficult thing to do.”
“Yeah, before the power was cut off that day. They took her body away and it just felt wrong leaving everything messy. I washed all the linens, remade the bed and cleaned things up a bit. A few hours later, they shut off the power. It’s never been back on since.”
Carol walked over to the bed and scratched Bailey’s neck. “Bailey was Jennifer’s dog?”
“Yep, they were inseparable. Where you’d see one, you’d surely see the other. She’d only had her for a little over a year when she passed away, but Bailey remembers her. When Jen was having a tough time those last few weeks, I could barely get Bailey out to pee, she wouldn’t leave Jen’s side. Hell, it’s been four years, and this is where she wanted to get to from the moment I opened the front door.” Aren shrugged and rolled her neck. “Well, that’s the house, except the basement which is just a storage facility really. Do you mind if we get headed back? I can hear the cows bellowing from here.”
Carol followed Aren down the stairs. Seeing Jennifer’s room, seeing the kitchen, the photographs, drove home the point that everything she’d heard from Aren weren’t just stories, they were her life, her memories, her experiences. She finally felt like she understood the need for the safety of the loft so much better. She had no idea how Aren could ever walk into this house and not feel pain, not feel loss, not feel anger. She couldn’t imagine that there were enough good memories to overcome the pain. Carol decided at that moment to never push about the house again. It wasn’t her place, and as Aren’s friend, it wasn’t right. Whatever might develop between them, she understood Aren’s pain now, and she’d do all she could to keep bringing light into her life to chase away that old darkness.
Chapter Thirty
Early the next morning after all the chores were finished, Aren borrowed Carol’s cell phone from the table in the loft and walked back over to the house while Carol slept. Bailey girl was right on her heels, not wanting to be left behind. She knew from all the books she’d read that she had been avoiding the memories in the house by moving into the loft. But the walk-through with Carol the day before helped her realize that not only had it been long enough, but maybe it had gone on for far too long. She’d lain there thinking about it all night, trying to put words to what she was feeling. Thinking about the events, thinking about her life and the town, thinking about her perceptions. Somewhere in there, she’d given up on everything. She’d stopped living, stopped dreaming, and had become satisfied with merely existing. She’d grown accustomed to the same routine day in and day out, maybe even depended on it. Nothing new, nothing exciting, nothing to chance. The more she thought about it the more she realized that life was passing her by, and she was the only one to blame.
No more. Whether Carol stayed or not, it was time for her to start living life again, time to start dreaming again. Definitely time to stop hiding from the world. She still had money stashed away and now seemed like the perfect time to use a bit of it. Aren unlocked the door, the key
much steadier in her hand today. She walked into the house and headed directly for the kitchen. In the drawer between the stove and the refrigerator, she found what she knew would be there, a dusty old phone book. She chuckled out loud, realizing that so much had changed around town in those years that half the phone numbers may be no good. Aren flipped through the pages and found an advertisement for a waste management company and dialed the number.
Aren breathed a sigh of relief when the person answering rattled off the company greeting. She shared her need with the lady and gave her address.
“Now, I just need a credit card number,” the nice gal said.
“I don’t have one. Couldn’t I put a cash deposit down or something?” Aren asked. She felt so out of touch with society since Carol had come into her life.
“Well, I’ll have to talk to a supervisor. We typically only take credit cards as deposit. Please hold.”
Aren tapped her fingers on the counter listening to a bad classical remake of Billy Joel’s ‘Piano Man.’ While she waited, she also looked up the number to the electric company. She had a feeling they’d want a credit card too. A wave of anxiety hit at such a scary first step. Time to rip the Band-Aid off.
“Are you still on the line?” a new voice said, interrupting her thoughts.
“Yes, I’m still here,” Aren quickly answered.
“Are you the same lady out at the ol’ Harris place that paid off all of Phyllis’s debt back when she passed on?” he asked.
“Yes, I am. This is Aren Jacobs. I was one of the Harrises’ foster kids,” Aren said, swallowing hard. Would he hold it against her?
“I remember you. I’m the one who helped you that day. I’m the office manager now. You don’t need to worry about a deposit. Just call us when you need it picked up. We’ll weigh it and send you the bill. I trust you’ll take care of it. Do you get mail at the physical address?” he asked.