The Last House on Sycamore Street

by Paige Roberts

  They wandered through the house, into the bright and airy renovated kitchen and upstairs to the cozy bedrooms. Amy stopped in the doorway to the bedroom that obviously belonged to Grace’s son. The letters E-T-H-A-N hung above his bed, surrounded by bright and sporty decals—soccer balls, basketballs, footballs. A tent shaped like a rocket ship sat in the corner, surrounded by toy rockets and cars and a light-up globe. Amy looked up and noticed glow-in-the-dark stars and planets affixed to his ceiling. Her heart swelled.

  Noah would LOVE this, she thought. Again she knew the space paraphernalia wouldn’t come with the house, but Noah had been obsessed with the planets since he was three, which made visualizing him in this room a no-brainer. She noticed framed photos of Ethan with other kids (Friends? Cousins?), and a part of her clung to the idea that if they lived here, Noah would make friends that he could pose with in photos, too. Maybe he would have the social childhood he hadn’t so far and that she never did.

  “What do you think?”

  Rob had snuck up behind her and rested his hand on her shoulder.

  “I like it,” she said. “It feels . . .”

  “Like home?”

  She turned around to face him. “Yeah, or at least as if it could.”

  “I know.”

  Amy peered over his shoulder. Neither Cynthia nor Grace was in site. “It’s kind of awkward with the owner here, isn’t it?”

  “A little. She seems nice, though. Cool taste. Did you see the painting hanging in the family room?”

  “The abstract sunset?”

  “Yeah, pretty rad.”

  Amy sniggered. “Rad? Since when do you call anything rad?”

  “I don’t know. Since now? See, this house is making me hipper already.”

  “I’m not sure I’d go that far. . . .”

  Rob nudged her in the side. “So what do you think? Do you want to make an offer?”

  Amy looked back into Ethan’s room. It felt so . . . right. She hadn’t had this feeling in the three months they’d been looking at houses. “I do. Do you?”

  “Yeah, let’s talk to Cynthia.”

  Rob headed downstairs, and Amy trailed behind but stopped when she reached a closed door she hadn’t noticed before. “I’m guessing this is a linen closet?”

  She looked for Rob, but he was already downstairs trying to find Cynthia. Amy attempted to open the door, but it fit snugly against the frame and wouldn’t budge. She pulled harder, but the door remained shut, until—pop!—it swung open, catching her by surprise. A pile of sheets that had been stacked on the top shelf tumbled to the floor with a loud thump, followed by the crash of an orange prescription pill bottle hitting the hardwood floor. Amy was still scrambling to pick everything up when she heard a voice coming up the stairs.

  “Sorry about the closet—it’s a mess,” Grace said.

  Amy turned around. “It’s not—I was just—”

  Her cheeks flushed as she stammered through a response. She felt as if she’d been snooping, which she supposed technically she had been, but then wasn’t that what looking at any house was, in effect? Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Grace had caught her doing something wrong.

  She clumsily attempted to refold the sheets and slide them back on the shelf, then picked up the pill bottle and handed it to Grace. “Sorry, I’m not really sure where this went.”

  Grace took the bottle and quickly glanced at it. Amy thought she noticed Grace’s expression harden, if only for a moment.

  Amy flashed an embarrassed smile. “I was just looking for—”

  “Ah, there you are!” Cynthia appeared right on cue. “Rob says you’d like to talk?”

  Amy looked back at Grace, whose gaze had returned to the pills. “I’d like to see the backyard first,” Amy said. She didn’t want to discuss the potential for an offer in front of Grace, but mostly she wanted to get away from the linen closet. Something about it had laced the air with tension, and Amy wanted to diffuse the situation as quickly as possible.

  “Of course,” Cynthia said. “I think you’ll absolutely adore it—let’s have a look.”

  Amy followed Cynthia down the stairs, and as they walked down the hallway and toward the back door, Amy pretended she didn’t hear Grace slam the linen closet door shut, a little louder than she thought was necessary.

  Chapter 2

  “The Durants want to discuss a settlement date.”

  Cynthia’s voice boomed through Amy’s phone, which she held between her ear and her shoulder as she scooped a helping of macaroni and cheese into Noah’s bowl. They’d been back in DC for less than a day, and yet Amy felt as if she had lived a year in that amount of time. She and Rob had made an offer on 120 Sycamore the evening after they saw it, and by the next morning, the Durants had accepted. The house was going to cost them more than they’d wanted to spend, but they had crunched the numbers, and they could afford it.

  “It’s perfect for you,” Cynthia had said when she was trying to convince them. “And perfect doesn’t come around every day.”

  Amy gestured at Noah to put away his activity book. “Rob and I need to discuss our timeline.”

  “They’d like to settle as quickly as possible,” Cynthia said. “It’s mid-May now, so what about Memorial Day?”

  “I was thinking more like July.”

  Cynthia took a deep breath. “I’ll ask. But between you and me, I don’t think that will fly. I’m not sure what the story is, but Connie tells me they want to close within the next few weeks.”

  “We haven’t even done our inspections, and our bank still needs to send out an appraiser.”

  “Yes, but those things take days, not weeks.”

  “Unless we find out the house is infested with termites.”

  “Well, obviously, but I don’t think you’ll run into any problems there.”

  “Mommy?”

  Amy gestured at Noah to eat his macaroni. “Let’s hope not.”

  “Mommy, what are termites?”

  Amy covered the receiver. “Bugs.”

  “What kind of bugs?”

  “They eat wood.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s what they like.”

  “So what do you want me to tell them?” Cynthia asked. “July first?”

  “Can I get back to you? I need to talk to Rob.”

  “Our new house has bugs that eat wood?”

  Amy shook her head and covered the receiver again. “No. At least we hope not. Eat your dinner.”

  “If they eat wood, then what if they eat my bed?”

  “They’re not going to eat your bed.”

  “It’s wood.”

  “I know, but—”

  “And you said they like to eat wood.”

  “Yes, but—”

  Noah began to tear up. “I don’t want them to eat my bed! I don’t want this house!”

  “They aren’t going to eat your bed! Eat your dinner!” Amy realized she was yelling.

  “Is this a bad time?” Cynthia asked.

  “No, it’s fine.”

  In truth, it wasn’t a great time, but these days, it was no worse than any other. If it wasn’t dinnertime it would be time to pick Noah up from the preschool he attended three days a week, or she’d be working on a freelance project, or she’d be lugging four too-heavy bags of groceries into the elevator to their apartment. One of the first houses Cynthia had shown them had a hammock hanging between two old oak trees. Amy tried to envision herself lounging in it while reading a book, but she couldn’t because even in a fantasy she had trouble imagining that kind of downtime. It would come, or so people told her, but some days she had trouble believing them. How on Earth had her mother done it with two? And on her own, working a full-time job? As she got older, Amy began to understand why her mom had been gruff and unsentimental. Who had time for sentimentality when you barely had enough time to shower?

  “So you’ll talk to Rob and let me know,” Cynthia said.

  “Yes,
” Amy said. “Tonight.”

  “Good. I’ll wait to hear from you.”

  Amy hung up and looked at Noah, who sat sullenly in front of his bowl of macaroni. Amy tried to conceal her irritation. She loved her son more than she thought it was possible to love anything, but he had a tendency to get weepy over the most trivial things, and tonight she wasn’t in the mood.

  “Noah, sweetie, what’s wrong?”

  His lip began to quiver. “You yelled at me.”

  “Because you interrupted me when I was on the phone. We’ve talked about that.”

  “But you said the house might have bugs.”

  “No, I was just trying to negotiate with our realtor.”

  “What’s negotiate?”

  Amy took a deep breath. She loved Noah’s innate curiosity, but on nights like tonight she wished he’d show no interest in language or semantics and just eat his mac and cheese. “When you talk back and forth with somebody until you come to an agreement.”

  “Like when I ask for another story and you say no, but I ask again and then you say okay?”

  Amy smiled in spite of herself. “Yes, kind of like that.”

  He poked at a piece of macaroni. “Will our new house have the same stories?”

  “Sweetie, of course.” Amy sat down next to him and rubbed his shoulder. “Everything is coming with us—everything in this whole apartment.”

  “Even my markers?”

  “Even your markers.”

  “And my pillow?”

  “That too.” She pulled him in for a hug. “And you know who else is coming?”

  “Daddy?”

  “Well, of course Daddy is coming. But, did you know . . . the tickle monster is coming, too?”

  She wiggled her fingers under his armpits as Noah giggled wildly. He had the most wonderful laugh—a full belly laugh that seemed to fill the room with joy. It was like a drug. No matter how many times she heard him laugh, the effect never dulled.

  Amy stopped tickling him and kissed him on the head. “Now eat your dinner.”

  “But first let me tell you something.”

  “No, first eat your dinner.”

  “But, Mommy, I’m trying to negotiate.”

  Amy laughed and rolled her eyes. In moments like this, she never knew whether to be proud of him for mastering a concept, or exasperated because her precocious son was utterly exhausting. “Let’s leave the negotiating to the adults for now, okay?”

  “But, Mommy.”

  “Noah?”

  “Okay, fine.” He shoveled a forkful of mac and cheese in his mouth. “I just want to say—”

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

  He swallowed. “I just want to say I’m excited for our new house. But a little bit scared, too.”

  Amy wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him tight. “I know, sweetie. But it’s going to be great. I promise.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Okay.” He wiggled from her arms and scooped up another helping of his dinner. Amy watched as he proceeded to scarf down the rest of the meal, his worries over the new house seemingly gone. She always marveled at the way kids could generally move on from an emotional state so quickly. One second they were worried or angry or sad or elated, and the next they would flip to another emotion, like taking off one T-shirt and putting on another. She wished she had that ability, especially now, because the truth was, for all of the assurances she gave Noah about their move, she was a little scared, too.

  Chapter 3

  The Kravitzes and Durants came to a compromise: They would settle the second week of June. When the day came, they sat across from each other at a long conference table as a woman from the title company shuffled and copied papers they all needed to sign.

  “All right,” she said. “First, here is the settlement sheet for you to look over.”

  Everyone smiled politely at each other. It was all a little awkward. After today, they’d probably never see the Durants again, yet for the next hour or so, Amy and Rob would be sitting directly across from Grace and her husband, Julian, forced into an unnatural intimacy.

  “So you guys are moving from DC?” Julian asked. Like Grace, he was very attractive, with model good looks. His dark brown hair was held in place by just the right amount of product, giving it a handsome sheen without looking greasy. He had chiseled cheekbones and a slight cleft in his chin, and his teeth were bright white, perfectly straight, and completely symmetrical.

  Amy and Rob nodded in unison. “I grew up around here,” Rob said.

  “No way. So did Grace. Where did you live?”

  “Jenkintown,” Rob said.

  “Me too!” Grace chimed in. “Until I was ten. Wait, where in Jenkintown?”

  “Jenkintown Manor.”

  “Oh, okay. I grew up in the borough. Then my family got a place about two miles away in Meadowbrook. I can’t believe we never ran into each other! Where did you go to school?”

  “Abington.”

  “I think I knew a few people there. Adam Simpson? Leah Goldberg?”

  Rob shrugged. “Don’t think so. But it’s been a while.”

  “I went to Germantown Friends, so my friends were sort of all over. But you look my age . . . thirty-five?”

  “Close. Thirty-six.”

  She smiled. “Too funny. Such a coincidence.”

  Amy craned her neck to check on Noah, who was playing on the floor in the corner of the conference room. She’d brought some of his favorite activity books and puzzles, which he played with happily. The Durants had also brought their son, Ethan, who was also four and played on his iPad a few feet from Noah.

  “Now if you’ll just sign at the bottom.” Cynthia placed another set of papers in front of Amy and Rob. She and Connie had been chatting across the table in hushed tones ever since settlement began. Amy hadn’t caught much of what they were talking about, but she knew it had nothing to do with housing. At one point she thought she heard them discussing the billing system at a local salon.

  Amy signed and passed the paper to Rob. She heard some giggling from the corner of the room and, a moment later, one of Noah’s joyful belly laughs.

  “What are you two up to over there?” Grace grinned as she peered over her shoulder.

  Amy’s and Rob’s eyes met. Was Noah really . . . laughing? With another kid his age?

  “Nothing, Mommy,” Ethan replied, stifling another giggle.

  Amy raised herself from her seat and looked toward the boys. Her heart swelled. The two boys were lying next to each other on their stomachs, watching something on Ethan’s iPad. Noah’s mop of strawberry-blond hair nearly covered his big blue eyes—he desperately needed a haircut—but even still, Amy could see them dancing. He let out another belly laugh.

  “What are you watching?” Amy asked.

  “Minions,” Noah said. He snorted as some sort of explosion detonated on the screen.

  Grace caught Amy’s eye. She looked skeptical. “You don’t have Minions on your iPad,” she called back.

  “It’s on YouTube,” Ethan said, rolling his eyes dramatically.

  “Ah. Of course.” Grace shook her head as Amy settled back in her chair. “I swear,” she said in a lowered voice, “these kids are going to be running circles around all of us in, like, two years.”

  Rob chuckled. “Two years? I already feel behind.”

  So did Amy—not least of all because all of these four-year-olds seemed to have a device she hadn’t yet bought for herself. All of Noah’s preschool friends in Washington had their own iPads, and Noah had begged for one for ages, but Amy couldn’t bring herself to buy one for him yet. It seemed like so much money to spend on a present for a four-year-old. The problem was, Noah had all but appropriated Rob’s device, loading it up with so many math and spelling games that Rob had no storage left. Rob’s phone was due for an upgrade, and as part of that they’d offered him an iPad mini for only (only!) $99, so Amy knew it was only a matt
er of time before Noah joined the ranks of the spoiled.

  “So are you guys staying in the area?” Rob asked.

  Grace caught Julian’s eye, then looked away. “Not too far. Only ten or fifteen minutes away.”

  “Will you keep Ethan in the same preschool?” Amy asked.

  “Oh, definitely. He would lose his mind if we moved him. He loves his school.”

  “Where does he go, if you don’t mind my asking? We’re looking for someplace to send Noah.”

  “Beth Israel. It’s Jewish, but you don’t have to be Jewish to go there.”

  “Rob is Jewish, so that could actually be a good fit,” Amy said. “Are they still enrolling for the fall?”

  “Oh, sure. I mean, I know people who’ve registered the week before. It’s super low-key. The director is—well, she is just the best. Like a super-energetic and organized grandmother who also plays guitar. Like I said, Ethan adores it. I can’t imagine sending him anywhere else.”

  Amy smiled at Rob. Tedium aside, the closing was getting Amy very excited about settling into 120 Sycamore. Already she felt more relaxed about life. She knew it wouldn’t be all giggles and guitar songs, but that was the vibe she was picking up from Grace and Julian. She barely knew them, but somehow she wanted to be like them—effortlessly cool and unquestionably attractive, the kind of people who instantly make friends with anyone and everyone. She’d always been attracted to those sorts of people, perhaps because she’d always wished she could be one of them.

  “And here is the last paper.”

  Cynthia placed the last document in front of Amy and Rob, and they signed and returned it to the title company. There was more shuffling of papers and chitchat, and finally, the woman from the title company clapped her hands together. “Looks like we’re good. Congratulations on your new home.”

  Amy and Rob smiled as Grace passed the keys across the table. “Enjoy,” she said. She was smiling, but her eyes also looked wet. Amy thought it sounded as if there were a lump in her throat. “Let us know if you need any recommendations on plumbers or electricians or anything like that. We have a great tree guy, too, if you ever need it.”