The Last House on Sycamore Street

by Paige Roberts

  “Noah,” she said in a tense whisper. “We’re going to be late to story time.”

  Noah immediately stopped his ice blasting. He hated being late. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “It’s okay. You can play that game again later. Outside.”

  “Then maybe he really will melt!”

  They followed Grace through the archway into the children’s section, whose walls were decorated with famous characters from children’s books—the Cat in the Hat, Clifford, the Wild Things, Babar. The room was airy and bright, and at the back there was a colorful alphabet carpet with beanbag chairs and brightly painted step stools. It reminded Amy a little of one of the classrooms from Noah’s old preschool.

  A bunch of other children and their caregivers were already sitting in a circle, and Amy and Grace squeezed in with their boys, sitting next to the librarian.

  “Welcome, everyone! Who’s ready to have some fun today?”

  The children clapped excitedly. Noah looked up at Amy and smiled timidly.

  “So, in keeping with the weather we’re having, today’s theme is . . . the sun! Who here knows about the sun?”

  Several kids raised their hands. Amy noticed that Noah didn’t, despite the fact that he had recently talked to her about solar flares.

  “What can you tell me about it?” the librarian asked.

  “It’s hot!”

  “It’s yellow!”

  “It helps plants grow!”

  “It’s almost ten thousand degrees!”

  Everyone turned and stared at Noah.

  “I . . . well, I think it probably is almost that hot,” the librarian said.

  “Not probably. It is,” Noah said. “More like ninety-nine hundred.”

  Amy could feel her cheeks getting hot. She hoped the librarian wouldn’t push it. She knew how Noah was, and she didn’t want a scene, at least not this kind. She could deal with four-year-old silliness, like blasting a friend with an ice blaster, but she didn’t want a tantrum over scientific accuracy.

  “Okay,” the librarian said, moving swiftly along. She turned back to the group. “And how big do we think the sun is? Is it . . . the size of a beach ball?”

  Noah sighed wearily and looked up at the ceiling, but Amy nudged him and gave him a stern look. “Be nice,” she whispered in his ear.

  “No!” the other children screamed. “Bigger!”

  “As big as . . . the Earth!”

  There was a mix of yeses and nos.

  “Nope, it’s not the same size as the Earth,” the librarian said.

  “It’s the size of a million Earths!” Noah shouted. Again the group turned to look at him.

  The librarian smiled politely. “Sounds like someone knows a lot about the sun!”

  “And space,” Noah said.

  “Well, then you’re in for a treat because we have some super-exciting stories to read about our favorite ball of fire.”

  “It’s actually a star.”

  “Yes, well . . . Yes, that’s right. So let’s read about it!”

  She held up the first book and began reading. Amy sighed in relief as Noah looked on, elbows on knees, and listened to the story. She was glad she wasn’t one of those mothers who treated her bright child like a performing monkey and reveled in his precociousness, but she wished she could be a little more relaxed about it all. So her kid was smart. So what? That was a good thing—a great thing. She knew that. But she also knew that no one liked a know-it-all. She was something of an expert on that subject. She’d been a know-it-all herself in elementary school, and it wasn’t until she stopped getting invited to sleepovers and birthday parties that she realized maybe she should have toned it down. Noah was only four, so he still had plenty of time to tame his smart-aleck tendencies, but she couldn’t help but worry his intelligence would eat away at his social life.

  The librarian moved from story to story, asking the children questions in between, though Amy noticed she avoided any more specific queries about the sun or other celestial bodies. Noah seemed to be enjoying himself, which Amy knew was the entire point of the outing, but she was a little disappointed that the nature of the story time meant she and Grace couldn’t really chat. Occasionally one of them would whisper something to the other (“How’s Rob liking the job?” “Did you see the latest tweet from the president?”), but there wasn’t really an opportunity to have a conversation. They’d had several playdates at this point, but Amy wanted to get to know Grace better, and it was hard to do that when you were being shushed by a librarian.

  Aside from wanting to develop a friendship with Grace, she also wanted to learn more about her life. She’d given Rob a hard time about being nosy, but she had to admit, she, too, was curious about the Durants’ living situation. Amy had gotten the distinct impression from Cynthia—and the Durants themselves—that there was some urgency to their moving. Amy assumed this was due to a contingency on the new house they were purchasing, but in all of their time together, Grace had never mentioned anything about her moving and unpacking travails, even when Amy had talked about hers. Maybe Grace was just very private, but it struck Amy as odd. Moving was such a chaotic and all-consuming experience. If you had a friend going through the same thing, wouldn’t you want to commiserate?

  The librarian finished the last story and clapped her hands together. “Now, who’s ready to make their very own sun?”

  The children squealed excitedly as she passed out tissue paper, glue, construction paper, and crayons. They began chatting merrily with one another, the room permeated by giggles and high-pitched babble. Amy and Grace hung back as Noah and Ethan started in on their projects.

  “So Noah’s a sharp one, huh?”

  Amy smiled and shrugged. “I take no credit, I take no responsibility.”

  Grace laughed. “Aw, come on. You guys are smarties. Where’d you say you went to college?”

  “Georgetown. Rob went to Yale.”

  “See? Smart parents, smart kid.”

  “Ethan seems bright, too.”

  “Meh. We’ll see. He’s smart enough, that’s for sure. But let’s just say he doesn’t have Noah’s genius.”

  “Yesterday he threw toilet paper with poop on it in the trash can, so let’s hold off on the ‘genius’ diagnosis for a while.”

  Grace laughed out loud. “That’s called being four and a boy. I’m telling you: that Y chromosome is a little fucked up.”

  She threw her hand over her mouth as another mother gave her the evil eye. Amy bit her lip but couldn’t stop smiling. She reached into her bag and pulled out Julian’s letters. “Speaking of Y chromosomes. . . these came for Julian.”

  Grace’s eyes landed on the bright red lettering. Her cheeks turned a little pink. “Oh. Thanks. Sorry you keep having to deal with that.”

  Amy cleared her throat as Grace took the mail. “Julian still hasn’t changed your address . . . ?”

  Grace sighed. “No, long story. He said we don’t have to because he’s manually changed the address for anything that matters. He says the only stuff coming to the old place is junk we don’t care about anyway.” She paused awkwardly as Amy’s eyes landed on the top envelope: FINAL NOTICE. It definitely didn’t look like junk. “I’ll talk to him,” Grace said.

  “It’s not a problem—I don’t mind collecting it for you. I just figured it would be easier to have it sent directly to your new address.” Amy tucked her hair behind her ear, trying to seem casual. “Where is your new place, by the way? I keep meaning to ask.”

  Grace looked away and stuffed the mail into her tote bag. “It’s . . . well, like I said, it’s a long story.” Something in her demeanor had changed. She seemed very uncomfortable.

  “Sorry. I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “No, it’s fine.” She looked up and met Amy’s eyes. “We’re sort of in transition at the moment. We’re staying with my parents.”

  “Oh. I didn’t realize. I thought . . . never mind.”

  “
We had an offer on another house, but the deal fell through,” she said, before Amy could feel too awkward. “So now we actually think we might build something. In the meantime, my parents have a guesthouse on their property, so that’s where we are for now.”

  “Sounds like everything sort of worked out then.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  Amy flushed. It did sound like rather a lucky break that her parents had a guesthouse. If the same had happened to Amy and Rob, they’d either be stuck at his parents’ house with their two Rhodesian ridgebacks or—a far less likely but more unpleasant option—crammed into her mother’s tiny ranch in Woonsocket. Having an entire guesthouse to oneself, or one’s family, seemed like a pretty sweet deal. No mortgage, no rent, someone else to do the gardening and pay the bills.... To Amy, it sounded kind of perfect.

  “Anyway,” Grace said, “it’s only temporary. We’re looking at a lot in Rydal this weekend, so we may have more news soon.”

  “Nice. You’ll have to keep me posted. I’m happy to pass along your mail until you sort everything out. Unless you’d rather I just drop it at your parents’?”

  “No,” Grace said, a little too quickly. She collected herself. “You can just give it to me when we get the kids together. Julian has been changing our contact info site by site, so hopefully there won’t be much more.”

  “Okay, no problem,” Amy said. She didn’t mind. It was the lowest of low lifts to pass along their mail when she would be seeing Grace and Ethan anyway. But the more she talked to Grace, the more she got the impression that something with the Durants definitely wasn’t quite right, and though it was none of her business, she couldn’t help but wonder what it was.

  Chapter 5

  The Durants’ mail continued to arrive. Contrary to what Grace had said, the amount wasn’t lessening, and the senders were the usual suspects: state and local tax departments, utility companies, credit card companies. Amy continued to collect the letters and pass them on to Grace, pretending she didn’t find it odd that aside from a few catalogs and promotional coupons, the bulk of the mail came from organizations demanding some sort of payment. How could Julian not mind that Amy and Rob saw all of these notices? It seemed so . . . personal. Maybe he had changed his address, and the organizations just needed time to process the information. Or maybe he’d rather Amy and Rob know about his financial problems than his in-laws—though if he was living with them, wouldn’t they already know? Amy couldn’t figure it out.

  She also couldn’t figure out how to make her professional life work in the outskirts of Philadelphia, and she was beginning to worry. The freelance work had always come in dribs and drabs, and historically, just when one line of work seemed to peter out, another would pop up and fill its place. But now everything seemed to be tapering off at once, and nothing new had materialized. Was it because she had spent so many weeks unpacking? She knew that might be part of it. The move had been a major distraction. And the change of city definitely put her at a disadvantage.

  But truthfully, work had been a bit precarious even before they moved. Working freelance and part-time provided great flexibility—she could spend time with Noah and take him to and from preschool without a problem—but over time, it also made her feel out of touch. She wasn’t going to conferences or workshops on the latest research in the education field. She was writing grant proposals and editing policy papers, and the truth was, a lot of people could do that. She felt herself drifting further and further from the circle of policy experts she’d known in DC, and she wasn’t sure how to make herself relevant again. She didn’t want the long hours and intensity of her pre-Noah career, but in a year he’d be starting kindergarten, and she wanted something more for herself—and their bank account. Rob’s job paid well, but they both still had a few student loans to pay off, and they wanted to give Noah the option of private school someday, if he truly needed it. She knew she still had time to come up with a plan, but the worries niggled her beneath the surface, even when she tried to ignore them.

  She had just sent off another batch of anxiety-induced freelance pitches when she looked at the clock on her laptop and gasped. It was 3:05. She should have picked Noah up five minutes ago.

  She grabbed her purse and rushed out the door. The camp was only ten minutes away, so she would be there by 3:15—sooner if she drove quickly. Noah wouldn’t be happy, but... Oh, who was she kidding? Noah would be borderline hysterical. As much as he hated being late himself, he especially hated it when other people were late, especially when it came to picking him up. She once got tied up on a call in DC and was fifteen minutes late picking up Noah from Bright Futures, and when she arrived his eyes were swollen and his face was streaked with tears. “You forgot me!” he shouted accusingly at her. It took a full hour to bring him back from the edge.

  Amy flew down the driveway and down their street, but—as if the universe were trying to teach her a lesson—she encountered road construction or traffic at every turn. Traffic in the suburbs? What was this?

  When she finally tore into the camp parking lot, it was 3:20. Noah would be furious.

  She parked the car, jumped out, and ran for the pavilion. By the time she got there, she was out of breath.

  “Ah, there you are,” said Donna, the director.

  “So sorry,” Amy said, panting. “Traffic was terrible.”

  “This summer has been the worst. I’ve never seen so much road work in my life. Our tax dollars at work, I guess.”

  Amy scanned the pavilion. It was filled with kids hanging around, playing cards, weaving lanyard, and trading fidget spinners. “I hope Noah didn’t freak out too much. . . .”

  “Noah? Oh, he’s fine. Right over there playing Go Fish with a friend.”

  Amy followed Donna’s gaze and saw Noah sitting cross-legged on the ground, across from a boy who—to Amy’s surprise—wasn’t Ethan.

  “Who’s that?” Amy asked.

  Donna craned her neck. “Jake. Sweet boy. Just started this week.”

  “And here I thought Noah only had eyes for Ethan.” Amy laughed.

  “Well, Ethan is his number one. But the three of them were playing nicely together today.”

  She looked on as he and Jake played cards, when he looked up and saw her.

  “Mommy!”

  He leapt up and ran toward her. She loved how excited he always was to see her. She dreaded the day—probably not too far off now—when he’d roll his eyes upon seeing her and harrumph his way past her to the car.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late,” Amy said, giving him a hug.

  He shrugged. “It’s okay. I got to play Go Fish with Jake. I beated him two times.”

  “We’ll see you tomorrow, okay, Noah?” Donna said.

  “Not tomorrow—Tuesday,” Noah said. “I don’t come Fridays.”

  “Sorry, of course.” Donna shook her head. “Can’t get anything past this guy, can you?”

  “Not much . . .” Amy said, she hoped not too wearily.

  She and Noah walked toward the car, holding hands as they walked along the crushed gravel path.

  “So you had fun playing with Jake today, huh?”

  “And Ethan,” Noah added quickly.

  “Well, of course Ethan.”

  “Is Ethan coming over tomorrow?”

  “Not to our place. We’re getting together, but I’m not a hundred percent sure where yet.”

  “Are you sixty-eight percent sure?”

  Amy smiled. With Noah, everything was quantified, even if he didn’t really have a concept of what sixty-eight percent was. “I’d say I’m like fifty percent sure. Either the park near us or another one near Chestnut Hill.”

  “Why can’t Ethan come to our house to play?”

  “It’s not that he can’t. It’s just . . .” Amy chose her words carefully. “I don’t want to make Ethan feel funny.”

  “Why would he feel funny at our house?”

  “Well . . . because it used to be his house. But we b
ought it from his mommy and daddy, so now it’s our house, and I don’t want him to feel sad that he doesn’t live there anymore.”

  “He could come live with me in my room if he wants.”

  Amy kissed Noah’s hand. She loved his generosity. “He has to live with his mommy and daddy. But don’t worry—soon he will barely remember he ever lived there, and then we can have him over anytime you want.”

  “Like next week?”

  “I think he’ll need a little more time than that.”

  “Then when?”

  “I don’t know. Soon. A few months.”

  Noah smiled. The answer satisfied him. The truth was, Amy knew the awkwardness of having the Durants over would persist for months, maybe even years. Ethan might forget he ever lived at 120 Sycamore, but Grace never would. She’d decorated the house with such care. It’s where her baby was born! That wouldn’t stop Amy from inviting them over. She would. She knew that. But for now, she hoped to delay that eventuality for as long as she possibly could.

  * * *

  Just as Amy pulled into their driveway, her phone rang. It was her mom. They hadn’t spoken since she’d called about money for Tim’s rehab costs.

  “Mom, hi—sorry, I still haven’t had a chance to talk to Rob,” Amy said as she parked the car. She got out and held the phone between her ear and shoulder as she helped Noah out of his car seat.

  “Oh. Okay. I just figured . . . it’s been more than a week.”

  “I know. Stuff has just been crazy with the house and his new job and everything.”

  In truth, she and Rob had discussed the issue, but he wanted more time to think about it. He’d been so generous with her family over the years, having helped with Tim’s previous stints at rehab and a few of her mom’s bills, but they’d just moved and had so many expenses at the moment that he wanted to sleep on it. Amy assumed he’d meant for a night, but it had been more than a week and he was still mulling it over. She didn’t blame him. Two grand was a lot of money.

  “Could you try to bring it up with him tonight? I’m kind of running out of time.”