The Last House on Sycamore Street

by Paige Roberts

  “She mentioned it,” Grace said.

  Emily shook her head, as if she were reliving the episode all over again. “I was furious. Furious. I’m so sorry, Amy—we must have ruined your weekend.”

  “Hardly. Noah was happy to have someone to play with.”

  “I told her not to take it personally—remember when Jake pulled that kind of stuff with Ethan back in the day?”

  Emily nodded, then a look of realization washed over her face, as if she suddenly realized, Wait, you two were talking about me? What else did you discuss?

  “He’s gotten better about it, at least most of the time,” she said. “I think it freaked him out seeing 120 Sycamore under new ownership. Has Ethan been back?”

  “No,” Grace and Amy said in unison.

  “Though you’re obviously welcome,” Amy added quickly. “I just figured . . . given his age . . . it might be too soon.”

  “Probably. To be honest, the only one of us who’s seen it since the move is Julian.”

  Emily looked surprised. “Was there a problem or something?”

  “No, he just forgot to forward our mail, so he picked it up a few times.”

  “How could he forget to forward the mail?” Emily looked incredulous.

  “I know. Don’t get me started. Thankfully that chapter seems to be coming to a close.”

  Amy decided not to mention that she actually had three letters for Julian in her purse that very moment. She’d get them to Grace soon, maybe even at pickup, but handing them over now, in front of a curious but wounded Emily, would serve no purpose other than to pique Emily’s interest in a subject Grace obviously didn’t want her knowing anything about.

  * * *

  That afternoon, while Amy worked in a nearby coffee shop, she got a text from Jess.

  Flights booked. Childcare sorted. IT’S ON.

  She squealed and clapped her hands, only remembering she was in a public place when the middle-aged man to her right looked at her as if she’d just thrown confetti in his face. Whatever, she didn’t care. Her college roommate was coming to visit, and they were going to get dressed up and go to a party, and it would be fabulous. She opened up the calendar on her phone. Only seven and a half weeks to go. She could barely contain her excitement.

  She texted Jess back with a series of celebratory emojis and then texted Grace to let her know Jess and Dave’s RSVP was confirmed; they’d definitely be a party of four. Shortly after she sent the text, Grace called. Amy stared at the number. Why was Grace calling? Was there a problem? She tried not to let her overly active imagination get the best of her and answered the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey—sorry, is this a bad time?”

  “No, it’s fine. I’m wrapping up work on a project, but I have a few minutes,” she said.

  “Are you sure? I can call back.”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  “Okay. I’ll make it quick. I just saw your text, and it reminded me that I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the fund-raiser.”

  “What about it? Is there a problem?”

  “Sort of. Nothing major. It’s just . . .” She took a breath. Amy braced herself. Had she changed her mind about Jess and Dave being allowed to come?

  “If there isn’t room for my friends, it’s okay. Just let me know.”

  “What? Oh my gosh, no—of course they can come. That isn’t the problem.”

  Amy’s shoulders relaxed. “Oh. Then what’s wrong?”

  “Julian doesn’t have the support staff to do all the grunt work necessary to make this event happen. His assistant and a few others resigned when things got bad with him, so he’s really scrambling. I’m trying to pick up the slack until he hires some new people, but I can’t do it all myself. I know you have your own work going on, but I was wondering . . . is there any way you’d be able to lend a hand?”

  “Oh. I . . . sure. I guess.”

  “You don’t have to—no pressure. I know you’re busy.”

  “No, it isn’t that. I mean, I’m working on a few projects, but I’m about to wrap one up, and the rest are small. It’s more that . . . well, my background is in education policy. I am clueless when it comes to the kind of stuff Food Fight works on. I’m not sure how much help I’d be, unless it’s really menial stuff like stuffing envelopes or picking up stuff from the printer.”

  “Okay, first of all, some of it is menial stuff like that. I mean really, we need as much help as we can get. But also, don’t you write up and edit proposals all day?”

  “Mostly. My latest is actually promotional materials.”

  “Even better! Julian has written up a bunch of stuff that I’m happy to format into brochures and booklets. My background is in graphic design, so that’s a low lift for me. But the wording . . . let’s just say Julian is an ideas man. There is a lot of good stuff in there, but I’m sure it could be organized in a better way. We’re trying to get people interested in Food Fight’s work, not put them to sleep.”

  Amy thought about it. She wasn’t necessarily the best person for the job. Or non-job, really, since she was just helping a friend and wouldn’t be getting paid. Food access wasn’t her area of expertise, and she should probably be spending her free time trying to drum up new business in the area she knew something about—a position that would pay and would possibly lead to something full time. But she also wanted the fund-raiser to be a success. On some level it had to be if Julian was to get the fresh start he and Grace needed. And Jess was flying all the way from Seattle. Amy didn’t want the event to be a dud.

  “So?” Grace said, after Amy had been quiet for what was probably a bit too long. “What do you think?”

  “Happy to help,” she said, even though she wasn’t entirely sure that she was.

  * * *

  Over dinner that night, Rob picked at his chicken while Noah went on and on about the bounce house at school.

  “And THEN, Ethan jumped up to the roof, and Jake jumped at the same time, and they CRASHED into each other.”

  “That sounds painful,” Amy said. She glanced at Rob, who seemed distracted.

  “It WAS. Ethan cried a lot, and Jake did, too, and Miss Karen had to get ice and Band-Aids. Jake wanted Spider-Man ones, but she only had plain, and he got really mad and wanted to go home.”

  “Sounds about right.” She raised an eyebrow at Rob, but he was busy pushing some rice to the side of his plate. “Is dinner okay?” she asked.

  Rob looked up. “What? Yeah, it’s great. Sorry. I’m just not super hungry. They had some event at work today, and whoever was in charge ordered too much food, so I ate an Italian hoagie at, like, four-thirty.”

  “Ah.”

  “What’s a hoagie?” Noah asked.

  Rob shook his head. “What kind of Philadelphian am I that my kid doesn’t know what a hoagie is? It’s basically a big sandwich on a long roll, with lots of meat and cheese and seasonings, and it’s very filling.”

  “Apparently,” Amy said. “Had I known, I wouldn’t have bothered cooking dinner.”

  “Sorry—I should have said something before I got on the train. My fault.”

  “It’s okay. I’m not annoyed.” Rob gave her a look, and she smiled. “Uranium?”

  Rob always joked that he’d never met someone who could express her irritation in as few words and gestures as Amy. She radiated annoyance like a hunk of uranium, he said. It was such a nerdy analogy that every time she thought about it, no matter how annoyed she was, she couldn’t help but smile. She wondered if that was his objective.

  “You can’t help yourself,” he said.

  “Anyway,” she said, still smiling, “I heard from Jess today. She and Dave booked their tickets for November. It’s full steam ahead.”

  “That’s great.”

  “I know. I’m super excited.”

  “So what’s the deal with the fund-raiser? What exactly will it entail?”

  “Funny you should ask. I’m not a hundred percent sure,
but I will know more soon because I volunteered to help with some of the final details and planning.”

  “Doing . . . what?”

  “I’m not exactly sure. It sounds like some menial stuff like picking up pamphlets from the printer and writing place cards, but she mentioned some writing and editing, too.”

  “Writing and editing what?”

  “Promotional materials, that kind of thing. Grace’s background is in graphic design, so she can mock all this stuff up, but she needs help with the words.”

  “And you said yes.”

  “Of course.”

  “What do you mean, ‘of course’? Are they paying you?”

  “No, I’m not working for them. I’m just . . . lending a hand.”

  Rob frowned. “Isn’t this stuff Julian’s employees should be doing?”

  “Yeah, but apparently his assistant and a few others quit back when . . .” Her eyes flitted toward Noah, who was chomping on a green bean. “Before,” she said.

  Rob’s eyebrows rose in unison. “And now you are going to jump in to bail him out.”

  “I’m doing a favor for a friend. It benefits no one if this event is a disaster—not the people who need better food access, and frankly not us either, considering you greased the wheels for MediaCom to sponsor the event.”

  “I was only the messenger.”

  “Still.”

  He sighed. “Man, these people really have a grip on us, don’t they?”

  “Who?” Noah asked.

  Amy looked at Rob. They shouldn’t be discussing this in front of Noah, and they knew it. The time had long since passed that they could talk about anything and everything in his presence, and they needed to be more careful, especially when discussing his best friend’s parents. Who knew what he might hear or misinterpret or relay to Ethan in a moment of misunderstanding? The fact that they’d mentioned any of this in front of him was a mistake, and Amy only hoped he had been too preoccupied with his memories of “bounce day” to have heard anything.

  “No one, sweetie,” Amy said. She kissed him on the head. “Now finish your green beans.”

  Chapter 16

  The virus that took down the Kravitz family arrived the last week of September, and it was a doozy. First, Noah came home early from school with a fever, which developed into a fever and upper respiratory infection and, eventually, an ear infection as well. Rob caught it next and was out of work for three days. And then Amy caught it, by which point the virus had morphed into a heinous beast the likes of which she’d never experienced, at least not in recent history.

  She couldn’t get out of bed. That was the problem. She tried, but when she got to the bottom of the stairs, she was sweaty and delirious and had to lie down for a minute to catch her breath, by which point she forgot why she came downstairs in the first place. Was it for food? Unlikely. She had no appetite at all. Did she want to watch TV in the family room? Maybe. What she really wanted to do was sleep, but that’s all she’d been doing for six days—six days, and she still had a fever and felt like death.

  “You should go to the doctor,” Rob said when he called to check in on her.

  “I don’t have a doctor here yet.” Her throat was so sore it hurt to speak.

  “Then go to the ER.”

  “I’m not going to the ER. This isn’t an emergency. Anyway, that’ll cost a fortune.”

  “Okay, so go to urgent care.”

  She pressed her cheek against her pillow. Thank God she couldn’t smell. She hadn’t washed her hair in days. It probably smelled horrible. “Which one?”

  “I don’t know. There are, like, seven of them within a ten-minute drive. If you want, I can text you a recommendation.”

  “No, that’s fine. I’ll Google it.”

  “Do you want me to come home and take you?”

  “I can drive. It’s fine.” She wasn’t entirely sure this was true, but she didn’t want to make her husband come home all the way from Center City just to take her to urgent care. As it was, his mother was shuttling Noah to and from school. She’d imposed on people enough already.

  “I’m worried about you. I’ve never seen you like this.”

  It was true. Throughout their marriage, she had always been the “tough one.” A virus would take her down for a day or two, but she rarely complained and was back on her feet as soon as she sensed she was on the mend. Rob, on the other hand . . . well, he didn’t exactly suffer in silence. Every cold was the worst cold anyone had ever had. Every pulled muscle was tantamount to being crippled. He would cough and hack and limp his way around the house, like an invalid nearing the end of his days. Amy had once said something along the lines of, “Oh, cut me a break.” To which Rob replied, “How can you have so little sympathy for the infirm?” She burst out laughing, assuming he was joking, but he wasn’t, and she quickly apologized. For such a self-aware, intelligent person, he clearly had no idea how ridiculous he seemed, acting like a runny nose was tantamount to the Black Plague. So now Amy just bit her tongue and bought plenty of Tylenol and NyQuil.

  “It’s just a cold,” she said, then burst into a coughing fit that seemed to have no end.

  “Ame . . .”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. You’re sick. You should probably be on antibiotics or something.”

  “Maybe then I can get back to helping Grace. I’ve really dropped the ball.”

  “Don’t worry about Grace. She’ll be fine.”

  “There’s just so much to do . . .”

  “You’ve done way too much already.”

  She wasn’t sure she’d done “way too much,” but she had certainly done a lot. It all sort of snuck up on her. At first, she only had to proofread the dinner menu. Then she needed to pick up the menu from the local printer and follow up with the caterer. Before she knew it, she was the caterer’s primary contact, and she was copyediting the pamphlets, confirming silent auction participants, and ordering balloons. Some days it felt like a second job. Or, really, like her primary job, and the grant proposals were just a side gig she occasionally dipped into.

  Rob kept saying, “I can’t believe you’re doing all of this for free,” which at first made Amy roll her eyes, but after a while, she couldn’t believe it either. She didn’t mind helping, especially when it was for such a good cause, but at some point between the table arrangements and the balloons, it became a bit much. Did Julian really not have anyone else who could help? She knew budgets were tight and staff members had left, but now she was wondering. . . had everyone left? Couldn’t he hire an intern? Surely there were hundreds of ambitious college students looking for experience who’d be willing to work for free. Amy tried to tell herself she was making useful connections for when she was ready to reenter the workforce, but at this point, the only real contacts she’d made were with the catering staff and a local printing company.

  “I’m trying to be a good friend,” she said.

  “You’re an amazing friend. Frankly, I’m not sure Grace deserves you.”

  Amy coughed into the phone, then sniffled loudly. “Yeah, it isn’t just anybody who’s worthy of a gal like this.”

  “Stop. You are super sick, and the Durants will just have to deal. You’ve gone above and beyond already, and you know it.”

  She rolled over and stared at the ceiling. “I really do feel like a shit sandwich.”

  Rob paused. “A shit sandwich? Is that like . . . two pieces of bread with shit in the middle? Or is everything made of shit, like a shit patty inside a shit bun?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know what I’m saying at this point. Earlier I almost put my phone in the toaster. It’s bad.”

  “Which is why you need to go to the doctor. Okay?”

  She sighed. “Okay. I’m going. I just . . . need to summon the energy to actually get out of bed. But I’ll do it.”

  “Good. Call me after you see someone and let me know what they say. I’ll call my mom and tell her to take Noah back to h
er place after school. That’ll buy you a little time.”

  “Thank you. You’re the best.”

  “Nah, you are. Haven’t you noticed how crazy everything has been since you got sick? You’re the glue that keeps this house together. We need you back.”

  “I’ll get there, don’t worry,” she said, even though at the moment, she couldn’t imagine feeling anything other than awful ever again.

  * * *

  Amy somehow managed to clothe herself. She wasn’t sure how. One moment she was in bed clutching her phone, and the next she was in her bathroom wearing clothes, and she wasn’t entirely sure how any of it had happened. The mirror reflected an image back at her that was . . . well, there was no way to be gentle about it. She looked horrible. Her greasy hair slithered down her neck, and her skin was so pale it was nearly translucent. Under normal circumstances she would either hop in the shower or throw on enough makeup to make herself look human, but today she couldn’t be bothered. She needed to conserve all her energy to drive to urgent care.

  Her purse and jacket were still situated on a kitchen chair, where she’d left them nearly a week ago when she’d told Rob and Noah she didn’t feel so great and needed to lie down. Did she need a jacket? She had no idea what it was like outside. She hadn’t actually been outside since this ordeal began. She checked the weather: sixty-two degrees. Screw the jacket. It was just one more thing to do.

  Clutching her keys and purse, she dragged herself to the car. The air felt chillier than she’d expected, but she wasn’t going back for the jacket. The only direction was forward.

  When she went to start the car, though, nothing happened. Had she forgotten the key? Their Jeep was the kind that used an automatic fob that didn’t require an actual key. All she needed was to have it on her person, and the car would start when she pressed the ignition. She rifled through her purse, and sure enough, there it was. But if she had it on her, why wasn’t the car starting?

  She called Rob.

  “Hey, where are you? Have you seen the doctor?”

  “No, I’m in the driveway. The car won’t start.”