then continued. “I don’t mind. I mean, I’ll probably go into the office. I might work late. You know… having been gone a few days.”
“Yeah, okay. That would be great.” Wow. Did she just say I could stay overnight? Dad would have never offered that.
We rode for a few minutes in silence before Aunt Barb turned on the radio. A familiar beat filled the air and put me in a better mood. It was my favorite song. I wanted to turn it up, but I didn’t dare touch the control. Glancing over at my aunt, I noticed she was mouthing the words. When I started singing, she smiled. She turned up the volume, and we sang loudly. I had no idea Aunt Barb knew the words or liked my kind of music.
Maybe living with her wouldn’t be so bad.
The thought came and left quickly, leaving me with a layer of guilt. Was I betraying my dad? When Aunt Barb smiled again, I knew Dad would want it that way.
The ride to Westport went faster than I expected. Our conversation and singing off-key helped pass the time.
When we reached Aunt Barb’s house on Lake Bell, I let Chester out of the SUV. Back home, he knew the boundaries of our yard and didn’t venture outside of them. I wasn’t thinking when I let him loose in new surroundings.
Chester ran nose to the ground around the side of the house and out of sight before I could get his name off my lips. “Chester!” I took off in pursuit. He was never a bad dog, just adventurous. By the time I caught up with him on the lakeside of the house, he finished his job and ran to the patio door at the lower level. Aunt Barb must have heard me because she was already opening the door for both of us to come in.
Inside, Chester was just as nosy. He went from room to room, though Aunt Barb didn’t seem to mind. “He’ll settle down. He’s just curious,” she said when I tried calling him back. It wasn’t the first time he’d been at her house. We brought him every visit. I just never paid attention to what he did, before.
Aunt Barb’s house looked the same as it did the last time I was there. Except that this time, things were different. “Put your suitcase upstairs,” she said while she flipped through the mail on the granite kitchen counter.
“Okay.”
I put my bag on the floor between the side-by-side guest rooms. After Mom died, Aunt Barb painted both rooms and replaced the furniture in the one where Dad slept. She didn’t want him to be overwhelmed with memories of Mom was what she told me when I asked why. Dad’s room on the right was painted a textured denim shade that resembled the weaves in his favorite worn-out jeans. The wooden-framed bed was replaced with a black, wrought-iron headboard and dressed with fluffy, white bedding and sheer curtains that blew with the breeze.
By comparison, the room we called mine had lavender walls and bedding with delicate purple and blue flowers that Mom used to call Laura Ashley. It took me a long time to realize that was the name of the bedding, and not the room’s name. After Mom died, I wouldn’t let Aunt Barb replace the comforter. Mom liked it too much.
I sat on the floor between the doors and drew my knees up to my chest. The Laura Ashley room seemed suddenly juvenile or old lady-like. Add a lace doily and I’d be in a grandma’s house. I almost laughed aloud with the thought.
Dad’s room was crisp and clean. I used to climb in his bed before the sun came up on mornings we stayed here. He’d tell me to go to sleep, and then roll over, facing away from me. A few minutes later, I would hear his gentle snore and knew I could put the television on low. The massive, black armoire housed more than just a few drawers for his clothes. Aunt Barb placed a TV in it for nights Dad couldn’t sleep. I overheard her tell him. Sometimes, I would hear muffled laughter and guessed he was watching some talk show well after the house was dark and quiet. That was right after Mom died, and I figured he was lonely without her.
I walked into Dad’s
“Yeah, okay. That would be great.” Wow. Did she just say I could stay overnight? Dad would have never offered that.
We rode for a few minutes in silence before Aunt Barb turned on the radio. A familiar beat filled the air and put me in a better mood. It was my favorite song. I wanted to turn it up, but I didn’t dare touch the control. Glancing over at my aunt, I noticed she was mouthing the words. When I started singing, she smiled. She turned up the volume, and we sang loudly. I had no idea Aunt Barb knew the words or liked my kind of music.
Maybe living with her wouldn’t be so bad.
The thought came and left quickly, leaving me with a layer of guilt. Was I betraying my dad? When Aunt Barb smiled again, I knew Dad would want it that way.
The ride to Westport went faster than I expected. Our conversation and singing off-key helped pass the time.
When we reached Aunt Barb’s house on Lake Bell, I let Chester out of the SUV. Back home, he knew the boundaries of our yard and didn’t venture outside of them. I wasn’t thinking when I let him loose in new surroundings.
Chester ran nose to the ground around the side of the house and out of sight before I could get his name off my lips. “Chester!” I took off in pursuit. He was never a bad dog, just adventurous. By the time I caught up with him on the lakeside of the house, he finished his job and ran to the patio door at the lower level. Aunt Barb must have heard me because she was already opening the door for both of us to come in.
Inside, Chester was just as nosy. He went from room to room, though Aunt Barb didn’t seem to mind. “He’ll settle down. He’s just curious,” she said when I tried calling him back. It wasn’t the first time he’d been at her house. We brought him every visit. I just never paid attention to what he did, before.
Aunt Barb’s house looked the same as it did the last time I was there. Except that this time, things were different. “Put your suitcase upstairs,” she said while she flipped through the mail on the granite kitchen counter.
“Okay.”
I put my bag on the floor between the side-by-side guest rooms. After Mom died, Aunt Barb painted both rooms and replaced the furniture in the one where Dad slept. She didn’t want him to be overwhelmed with memories of Mom was what she told me when I asked why. Dad’s room on the right was painted a textured denim shade that resembled the weaves in his favorite worn-out jeans. The wooden-framed bed was replaced with a black, wrought-iron headboard and dressed with fluffy, white bedding and sheer curtains that blew with the breeze.
By comparison, the room we called mine had lavender walls and bedding with delicate purple and blue flowers that Mom used to call Laura Ashley. It took me a long time to realize that was the name of the bedding, and not the room’s name. After Mom died, I wouldn’t let Aunt Barb replace the comforter. Mom liked it too much.
I sat on the floor between the doors and drew my knees up to my chest. The Laura Ashley room seemed suddenly juvenile or old lady-like. Add a lace doily and I’d be in a grandma’s house. I almost laughed aloud with the thought.
Dad’s room was crisp and clean. I used to climb in his bed before the sun came up on mornings we stayed here. He’d tell me to go to sleep, and then roll over, facing away from me. A few minutes later, I would hear his gentle snore and knew I could put the television on low. The massive, black armoire housed more than just a few drawers for his clothes. Aunt Barb placed a TV in it for nights Dad couldn’t sleep. I overheard her tell him. Sometimes, I would hear muffled laughter and guessed he was watching some talk show well after the house was dark and quiet. That was right after Mom died, and I figured he was lonely without her.
I walked into Dad’s
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