him.
Chapter 5
Eric pulled into the driveway of the house the next morning behind a late model pick-up truck with big magnets stuck to the doors advertising Collins Realty. He got out and looked around, at the Rices’ old house on the left, and the Carolls’ on the right. They both looked pretty much the same as he remembered, and the effect was eerie, that he’d not only come back to Lincoln Corners but had also gone back in time as well. Didn’t anything around here ever change, he wondered?
A woman came out of the house and through the porch, the storm windows installed over the screens, and walked down the front steps.
Oh yes. Some things did change.
The thin girl had morphed into a lovely woman. Not a knockout, but certainly not the girl that didn’t get asked to dance. Her straight black hair flowed to the middle of her back unimpeded, and she still wore glasses but ones that fit her face and heightened the intelligence in her eyes. She was a little on the plus side, a far cry from the stick figure girl of memory, but she carried it well, even in the simple jeans and t-shirt she wore. Very well, he thought. She was almost as tall as him, but in possession of a lot more curves. Eric realized he was checking her out, and he cleared his throat in embarrassment. He thought he detected the flicker of a smile in response, but it was drowned by her grin on approach. Any other time and place, he might have been smitten.
“Hello, Mary,” he said, not sure if they should shake hands or slap a high five like when they were kids.
“Eric, so good to see you,” she answered, and hugged him without hesitation. He tried not to feel the softness, tried to disregard how good her perfume smelled, but failed miserably and wondered how much longer he could keep his vow of celibacy. It wasn’t as if he had a good reason for it.
“It’s ready for inspection. That is if you are.”
“Yep, let’s go,” he said, with more confidence than he felt. Being here, actually going inside, brought a tightness to his chest and he hoped the faint tremor of his hands wasn't noticeable. If not for the cathartic experience of remembering Adam’s death before this, he doubted he could walk into the house without breaking down.
“We don’t have to do this now, Eric.”
He started at her words, heard the concern, wondered how she knew when he thought he was covering his real feelings respectably. Maybe it was a female thing but he suspected something more: perhaps childhood friends could always see through each other, that they’d gotten in on the ground floor before the custom installation of defense mechanisms, a poker face, and flat out bullshit necessary for admittance into adulthood. Because despite her confident smile and self-possession, obviously a woman with internal strength, he could catch glimpses of the small girl peeking out through the wire-rimmed frames. He could tell she was nervous, too. Whether it was because of him, or because of the house and its ghosts, he didn’t know.
“Now’s as good a time as any. Let’s do it.”
He followed her onto the porch, hearing the creak of the swing that had hung from two large eye bolts from which the ceiling still bore scars, past an old lawn mower to the right where the bikes used to be, and was struck with the stifling heat emanating from the door that opened into the living room. August again. It had been warm but tolerable outside, but the house was an oven in comparison.
“I’m sorry about the heat,” she said.“I got here a little early to open the windows, but it doesn’t seem to have helped.”
As he stepped into the room, he forgot about the temperature, was enveloped by remembered sights and smells and sounds that came in a rush, as though the house itself greeted him, saying, Eric! Remember this?And what about the time you...
There was sadness too, because so many of the memories came with
Chapter 5
Eric pulled into the driveway of the house the next morning behind a late model pick-up truck with big magnets stuck to the doors advertising Collins Realty. He got out and looked around, at the Rices’ old house on the left, and the Carolls’ on the right. They both looked pretty much the same as he remembered, and the effect was eerie, that he’d not only come back to Lincoln Corners but had also gone back in time as well. Didn’t anything around here ever change, he wondered?
A woman came out of the house and through the porch, the storm windows installed over the screens, and walked down the front steps.
Oh yes. Some things did change.
The thin girl had morphed into a lovely woman. Not a knockout, but certainly not the girl that didn’t get asked to dance. Her straight black hair flowed to the middle of her back unimpeded, and she still wore glasses but ones that fit her face and heightened the intelligence in her eyes. She was a little on the plus side, a far cry from the stick figure girl of memory, but she carried it well, even in the simple jeans and t-shirt she wore. Very well, he thought. She was almost as tall as him, but in possession of a lot more curves. Eric realized he was checking her out, and he cleared his throat in embarrassment. He thought he detected the flicker of a smile in response, but it was drowned by her grin on approach. Any other time and place, he might have been smitten.
“Hello, Mary,” he said, not sure if they should shake hands or slap a high five like when they were kids.
“Eric, so good to see you,” she answered, and hugged him without hesitation. He tried not to feel the softness, tried to disregard how good her perfume smelled, but failed miserably and wondered how much longer he could keep his vow of celibacy. It wasn’t as if he had a good reason for it.
“It’s ready for inspection. That is if you are.”
“Yep, let’s go,” he said, with more confidence than he felt. Being here, actually going inside, brought a tightness to his chest and he hoped the faint tremor of his hands wasn't noticeable. If not for the cathartic experience of remembering Adam’s death before this, he doubted he could walk into the house without breaking down.
“We don’t have to do this now, Eric.”
He started at her words, heard the concern, wondered how she knew when he thought he was covering his real feelings respectably. Maybe it was a female thing but he suspected something more: perhaps childhood friends could always see through each other, that they’d gotten in on the ground floor before the custom installation of defense mechanisms, a poker face, and flat out bullshit necessary for admittance into adulthood. Because despite her confident smile and self-possession, obviously a woman with internal strength, he could catch glimpses of the small girl peeking out through the wire-rimmed frames. He could tell she was nervous, too. Whether it was because of him, or because of the house and its ghosts, he didn’t know.
“Now’s as good a time as any. Let’s do it.”
He followed her onto the porch, hearing the creak of the swing that had hung from two large eye bolts from which the ceiling still bore scars, past an old lawn mower to the right where the bikes used to be, and was struck with the stifling heat emanating from the door that opened into the living room. August again. It had been warm but tolerable outside, but the house was an oven in comparison.
“I’m sorry about the heat,” she said.“I got here a little early to open the windows, but it doesn’t seem to have helped.”
As he stepped into the room, he forgot about the temperature, was enveloped by remembered sights and smells and sounds that came in a rush, as though the house itself greeted him, saying, Eric! Remember this?And what about the time you...
There was sadness too, because so many of the memories came with
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