Heart and Home

by Jennifer Melzer

  “Oh, I have your mom’s scrapbook projects here, before I forget.” She hopped up and gathered two scrapbooks from the edge of the hutch. She plunked them down in front of me, and while I was sure she had already seen everything inside of them, I resisted opening them up to have a peek.

  “Thanks,” I laid my hand over the cover, briefly glancing down at the picture of me she’d used to fill in the cover frame. “I’m going to have a look when I get home, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.” Understanding flooded her features as she nodded. “They’re yours now.”

  Like so many of the things my mother left behind, I realized. As much as I knew my dad would miss her, he was practical about material things. He wouldn’t want her clothing hanging around feeding moths, and I certainly couldn’t see him getting nostalgic over any of her hobbies. It would be up to me during the rest of my visit to find a place for as much of her stuff as I could, and like a divine nudge, an idea sparked.

  “Becky, you do a lot of scrapbooking,” I started. “And I know I came over here to pick up her order, but I think she’d probably like you to have her stuff. Her supplies and everything.” I watched as her face grew thin in attempted protest. “There’s a ton of it at the house, and if I don’t find someone who can use it I’m telling you, my dad will just chuck it.”

  “No, Janice, I couldn’t. She’d probably want you to have those things.”

  A short chuckle escaped me. “Becky, my mom knew I was probably the last person on earth who’d want any of that stuff. I am probably the least crafty girl in the world.”

  “But don’t you think you might like to try it someday?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I shook my head quickly. I’d never been into crafts, not like my mother was. The real truth was I didn’t really even know if I was crafty because on several occasions when she offered to teach me to crochet or stitch needlepoint with her, I hid my face in a book. “I really don’t think I’ll have time, and besides, I really have a strong feeling that she would want you to have those things.”

  Her face was a mixture of confusion and gratitude, and for a moment I thought for sure she was going to start crying. “You really think so?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, I guess I could. I mean, what if I just hold onto it, you know, and if you ever changed your mind…”

  I could tell I wasn’t going to get away as easily, so I agreed. “You could do that, and if I ever get a hankering to do some creative memory keeping you’ll be the first person I call.”

  It felt good when we both started to laugh again, and I understood why my mother spent time with Becky. Becky was a good person, the type of person you’d want to laugh with, and though spending an hour with her having coffee didn’t exactly make me an expert on her, she definitely had a knack for getting me to open up in ways I hadn’t done in years. When she rose and went to the stovetop to cut a pan of brownies, I worked up the courage to ask her a couple of the things gnawing away at me.

  “Becky, I do have one question, but you have to swear the fact that I even asked doesn’t leave this kitchen.”

  Her face became serious when she turned toward me, and if she hadn’t been carrying that plate of brownies she probably would have crossed her heart and hoped to die. “Sure, anything.”

  I chewed the corner of my mouth for a minute, and tried to figure out why I even wanted to know. I felt her prodding gaze on me, but didn’t look up when I asked, “What’s the deal with Troy Kepner these days?”

  She placed the brownies in between us and said, “Help yourself.” As I reached for the plate I noticed her expression shifted from serious to playful, eyes shining with excitement as she asked, “What do you want to know about him?”

  “Well, for starters, did he ever marry old Sonya Whatsherface?”

  Becky took a brownie and sat back with wide, smiling eyes. When she shook her head the loose tendrils of hair jostled around her face. “Sonya Hardy went off to college in California. Last I heard she hasn’t been back since, not even to visit. She and Troy broke up long before graduation. In fact, I think she went out to California with Lance Lyons, but he came back before the end of that summer.”

  “Did he marry at all?”

  “Troy? Nah,” she shook her head. “He pretty much keeps to himself. Don’t get me wrong, he shows up at all the carnivals and festivals with his mom, and he helps out around town quite a bit, always lending a hand with big volunteer projects and stuff.” She pinched off a piece of brownie and tossed it into her mouth. “He’s always got a smile for everyone, and all that, but I haven’t seen him with anyone for years.”

  “Oh,” I nodded. “That’s too bad.” I thought of him standing above me and tending to me with such gentleness after I fainted, and for a moment I felt incredibly sad knowing someone so gentle was alone. On the other hand there was a sense of excitement inside of me when I realized if I ever considered sticking around, I might actually take a chance on someone like Troy.

  “Yeah,” she agreed. “He’s been a bit of a loner, I guess.”

  “You mean since his father died?”

  “Yeah, and no,” she shook her head. “He did come home for the funeral, and he helped get some things in order. He actually hired some guys from out of town to take care of the farm, but his mom had an accident and all I know is she nearly died. That was when he came back permanently, and I think that was when he really just sort of took to himself.”

  Guilt tingled inside as I revisited earlier thoughts I’d entertained about my dad. He was still young, yes, but the work he did was painstaking, and my mother took good care of him for over thirty years. What if something happened to him? Sure, he could tell me things would be all right, he’d get on fine, but how could he know that for sure?

  “Janice?” Becky turned her head to look into my face. “Are you okay?”

  I shook my head, not sure if anything would ever be okay again. “I was just thinking about something my dad said yesterday.”

  She allowed me silence, and didn’t pry, but after a few moments curiosity seemed to get the best of her. “So, what made you ask about Troy?”

  “I don’t know,” I shrugged. “I’ve run into him a few times since I’ve been back. I was just a little curious.”

  “You’d be crazy not to be curious,” she grinned. “I mean, he was cute when we were in high school, but now…” She didn’t need to finish her sentence. I knew exactly what she meant. There was something incredibly sexy about Troy Kepner, and the more I thought about him, the harder it was to keep from wanting to get to bottom of that mysterious appeal.

  As the chewy fudge flavor of brownie melted in my mouth, I remembered having read somewhere about chocolate releasing the same kind of chemical into the brain that was released when a person experienced the sensations that came with falling in love. For a moment, the chocolate made thoughts of Troy even more exciting, but I kept that to myself.

  “Well, there is no denying it. He is attractive.” I admitted. “But I am not in a place right now where I could even allow myself to get close to anyone, especially someone who lived so far away from me.”

  She was quiet a moment, as if lamenting. “So when are you planning on going back to the city?”

  “Probably Sunday morning. My boss is already hammering the voodoo doll for me calling in my vacation time this week.”

  “Well, we should get together again before you go back,” she straightened up in her seat. “Maybe you could go out for drinks with us tomorrow night.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” the thought of a night out on the town with a bunch of people I hardly knew felt like lead in my stomach. “I have a lot to do.”

  “Come on, Janice. It’ll be fun. There are four of us from my scrapbooking group that meet up every Tuesday night for drinks over at the Classic Cat’s Café just outside of town.”

  I started to protest again, but I was learning firsthand what marriage and family had done to shy little Becky
Kaufman’s personality. “I don’t really know anyone around here anymore.”

  “What better way to reacquaint yourself than getting out?”

  “I’d feel weird.”

  “No, you won’t! I promise you will have a great time. Come on.” There was a touch of hope in her insistent plea, and I could tell that no amount of argument would deter her. I envisioned her showing up at the house anyway and insisting I tag along in front of my dad, who would immediately tack himself onto her campaign and shove me out the door.

  I hesitated for a moment, and then decided I could always cancel at the last minute if I felt too weird. “All right, I’ll tag along.”

  Becky clapped her hands together, which made me laugh as she said, “Yay! You won’t regret it, I promise. We always have a great time.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  “Girl, we’re going to have so much fun that you’ll never want to go back to that lonely old city again!”

  On top of my reservations about leaving my father alone, Becky’s promise to make Sonesville appealing should have scared the hell out of me, and maybe it did just a little bit. I knew though that my job was my life. It had been that way for over three years. It would only be a matter of time before the journalist within started to draw me back to the action of the city.

  Chapter Nine

  It was just going on three o’clock when I finally left Becky’s house and headed for home. I don’t know why I was so shocked by the good time we had getting to know each other again, and while I was skeptical when she first invited me out with her friends Tuesday night, I knew it was going to be a great time. I hadn’t laughed or enjoyed myself that openly since college, and even then it had been the moment more than the company I’d kept.

  From inside my purse I heard the chirp of my phone, and I reached in to bring it out. I was just nearing the Sonesville Standard building, and so I slowed down and pulled up alongside the curb. The screen didn’t reveal the phone number, but I flipped it open anyway and lifted it to my ear. “Janice McCarty?”

  I waited for a response as static crackled through the speaker. Rolling my eyes, I repeated my hello and glanced up at the opposite end of the marquis in front of the old building. It once read the same on both sides, but someone clever had gotten to the other side. They even brought in letters from another sign that were smaller than the originals. The end result read: LOOC INTO UR SOLE, and the mediocre spelling made me roll my eyes.

  “Hello? Look, the static is making it impossible to hear you, I’m hanging up.” I snapped the phone shut and leaned back to stare at the sign for a moment. I was surprised when I felt the same numbing dizziness that knocked me for a loop at my mother’s funeral start to creep across the top of my skull. I blinked a few times to try and shake it off, but it only increased until the letters on the sign seemed to dance around on the marquis in front of me.

  My face started to tingle, and I was glad that I already pulled over before the strange sensation started to overtake me. The last thing I needed was to faint again, especially while I was driving. Reaching up to touch my face, I pressed fingertips into my temples and willed myself to stay focused as I dropped my head back against the headrest and closed my eyes.

  Maybe I was coming down with something, or maybe it was an allergy of some kind, I reasoned. I clenched my back teeth tightly together and ignored the feeling of being watched as a car passed by on the street. It was worse than fainting, I realized, because it just felt like I was going to, but nothing else seemed to happen. It was like all my senses spun on some strange axis inside of me, out of control until I felt like I was going to be sick. Blinking my eyes opened, I glanced sidelong as another curious passerby strained their neck to see who pulled over in front of the Standard building

  I won’t lie. There was a huge part of me that wanted to start them all talking with a flip of the bird. In the city, I could have died in my car and not a single person would have dared to bother me. In Sonesville, it was like some chivalric code was embedded into the DNA of every citizen that prompted them all to stop and make sure you didn’t need help if you were pulled over alongside the road.

  It was only a matter of time before there was a knock on my window. I needed a moment to pull myself together, so I drew in a deep breath and held it for a moment. I released the breath and repeated the whole process again, but total relaxation was impossible against all the thoughts scurrying through my mind. I couldn’t stop thinking about what everyone was going to say, what they were all thinking as they drove by and saw me sitting on the roadside like that. If it kept up, I’d wind up at the doctor, and the last thing I needed was to visit a doctor while still in Sonesville. My entire medical record would be a matter of public chatter before I ever got a diagnosis.

  I could just make out the shape of another car coming down the street and I got the feeling that this was the one curious do-gooder who would pull over to check on me. It was a dangerous move and under the circumstances I probably shouldn’t have driven, but I put my signal on and willed myself to stay conscious at least until I got home. The turn signal was enough to deter the couple in the Subaru Outback from stopping, and though against my better judgment, I pulled out behind them and tried to ignore the eerie numbness that crawled along my face.

  It took all of my concentration to stay on the road, and I hadn’t even noticed that the more time I spent driving, the better I started to feel. By the time I turned onto Maple Drive, there was nothing left but a subtle tingling sensation in my face. My family’s house loomed in the distance, and I crawled toward my parking space at the edge of the curb. I steadied myself, and then got out of the car. Fresh air filled my lungs, and as I started walking toward the front porch, the dizziness ebbed completely. I paused to grab the mail from the box, and with one hand turned the key in front door to let myself inside.

  “Dad, are you home?” He was probably in the kitchen fixing himself a sandwich, as he often did after work, only there was no trace of him at all as I ducked in to check. I scanned the room for his lunchbox, but before I noticed whether it was there or not a heavy thud sounded upstairs above where I stood.

  I darted toward the staircase and called out, “Dad? Are you all right?”

  Panic spread through me as I took the stairs two at a time. I began checking each room, starting at my bedroom first, moving on to the bathroom, then my parents’ bedroom and finally pausing outside the door to my mother’s sewing room. I didn’t know if my dad cleaned up the glass from Saturday night, so I opened slowly and scanned the floor for shards. The floor was spotless save for the piles of totes she kept her materials and crafts in. In fact, I stepped into the room, and quickly discovered that was what toppled over. A stack of totes were uneasily balanced and the top one, filled with swatches of fabric, tumbled down and spilled out onto the floor.

  As I walked in to start picking up the pieces of fabric, I noticed an eerie, electrical hum, and scanned the room for its source. Her sewing machine was covered in its case, but as I neared the sewing table I knew the sound was coming from within. Unlatching the cover, I lifted it slowly, a gasp catching in the back of my throat when the lights on the dial revealed themselves. The needle arm moved slowly downward, only a fraction of movement, but both the humming and the movement stopped when I pulled the chair out from the table. My only thought, as I turned off the power and unplugged the pedal, was that Dad must have moved the chair onto the floor pedal when he was cleaning up the glass, but how could he have not heard the motor start to hum?

  “Mother, if you’re trying to tell me something,” I muttered under my breath, “you’re going about it the wrong way.”

  As if in answer, another tote tumbled from the top of the stack, spilling out pre-cut quilt squares in a fan of twisted diamonds. All of the hair on the back of my neck rose as chills shot through me. I began backing toward the door, and let out a shriek when my body came in contact with the form of my father, who managed to sneak up the stairs wi
thout making a sound. We both tumbled backward into the wall in the hallway.

  “My god!” I clutched at my chest. “What is wrong with you, sneaking up on people like that? Are you crazy? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

  “Who the hell’s sneaking?” He shook his head, a mischievous grin apparent at the corners of his mouth. “I clomped up those stairs just like I do every day, and in these boots, who can be quiet?”

  “Well, I was already on edge,” I explained. “When I came in, I thought you were already up here because there was all kinds of racket up here. So I came up to check it out and found Mom’s sewing machine running.”

  “Huh,” he glanced over my shoulder toward the sewing room, his curious eyes narrowed over the side of the room where her machine was. “That’s odd.”

  “My guess is, she must have left it on the last time she used it, and when you cleaned up the glass yesterday, you pushed the chair in on top of the pedal or something.”

  “Hm.” He started to move into the room. “Yeah, that’s strange,” he noted. “It was making a weird noise yesterday, so I unplugged it.”

  Once more, the hair on the back of my neck rose in answer to the chills racing down my spine. “Don’t mess with me, Dad.”

  He turned a serious gaze over his shoulder at me, “I’m not messing with you. I unplugged it.”

  “Oh that’s too weird.” I backed away from the doorway, holding my hands up in surrender. “That’s freaky, Dad. The lights were on, the needle was moving.” I assured him. “I just unplugged it myself.”

  “Well,” he looked around the room and swallowed unnecessarily. I don’t know which bothered me worse, his uncertainty, or all of the conclusions my own mind was jumping to. “It could be anything,” he finally decided. “Maybe I thought I was unplugging it and really I plugged it in.” But the look on his face read differently, like he was only saying whatever he thought I needed to hear to feel better about things. “It’s been a long week. We’ve both been through so much.”