to bed. He told her it was work, and got irritated when she pressed. Then one day he packed his things and left. Said he wasn’t sure anymore. He needed time to think.
At first, she argued, then railed, then bargained. It didn’t matter. Steve left with a trunk full of suitcases. Said he’d be back to get the rest of his things, and that Karen could have the house.
She raged through the house, dragging his things out to the garage and the trash. When she wore herself out, she drank prodigious amounts of wine and missed work for the first time in years. Peggy covered for her until she was able to function normally again, and as weeks and then months passed, Karen accepted Steve wasn’t coming back. What she hadn’t figured out was what was supposed to happen next, so she worked long hours and deferred the question. They hadn’t spoken since her birthday, when he called to ask if she still had his golf clubs.
.
Chapter Eight
O n Monday morning, Karen stood in front of her mother’s closet, sifting through for something to wear. Lena had been about the same size but a foot shorter. Luckily it was summer, so the length wouldn’t matter. Karen set out a pair of Capri’s and a tee shirt and went to start a bath.
Marie tapped on the bathroom door.
“I help at the food bank on Mondays. You want to come with me? We can use another hand.”
“I’m going with Lorraine out to the country today.” Karen opened the door. “Some kind of historical field trip with Denise. And a picnic.”
Aunt Marie nodded. “Say hello to the farm for me.”
“Here you can see what’s left of the house.” Denise pointed at the bare remains of a stone foundation. “Down the slope over there, that little bit of rock marks the footprint of the barn. Let’s go look.” Karen lagged behind as her new friends tromped down the slope, flushing pheasant from cover. The birds’ metallic-green and copper necks flashed in the sun as they angled low toward a patch of wetland, intent on the reeds that thrived in runoff from the farms.
Lorraine slipped past her. “You okay?”
“I’ll be fine.” Karen listened to the women’s voices fade. Behind her, a meadowlark trilled and the grasses waved across dormant fields. She’d seen the same wind patterns moving across the waters at Newport Bay, and the comparison between ocean and prairie didn’t escape her. Both were endless and, in the wrong season, unforgiving. To think her mother had lived here as a child, played and worked and suffered the winters here in a barely-insulated farmhouse, almost defied imagination. It was a side of her mother Karen almost couldn’t imagine.
The warming air carried the essence of clover and bog. She inhaled deeply, drunk on the fragrance of the land and the absence of sound. All around her, the remnants of her family’s history spoke in whispers, calling to her, but the landscape had changed.
In the decades since Karen last saw them, the ramshackle buildings had fallen or been knocked down, the materials salvaged or trashed, and farmland restored. The breeze picked up and she closed her eyes, turning her head one way and another to adjust the degree of quiet, until she heard distant voices shouting at her to catch up.
“Watch where you walk,” said Glenda. “Somewhere around here is the pit for the outhouse, and you can still fall into one of those holes and get seriously hurt.”
“On the plus side,” said Denise, aiming her lens at them, “if you look carefully once you’re in there, you might find an artifact or two. People tended to drop things.”
The women picked their way through the grass, watching for snakes and alert for treasure. “I like to think of Lena’s family living here,” Marlene said. “I can see kids playing under the trees, and chickens scratching around by the house, and laundry flapping on the line, and maybe even a team of horses plowing up and down that field over there.”
“That’s how she described it to
At first, she argued, then railed, then bargained. It didn’t matter. Steve left with a trunk full of suitcases. Said he’d be back to get the rest of his things, and that Karen could have the house.
She raged through the house, dragging his things out to the garage and the trash. When she wore herself out, she drank prodigious amounts of wine and missed work for the first time in years. Peggy covered for her until she was able to function normally again, and as weeks and then months passed, Karen accepted Steve wasn’t coming back. What she hadn’t figured out was what was supposed to happen next, so she worked long hours and deferred the question. They hadn’t spoken since her birthday, when he called to ask if she still had his golf clubs.
.
Chapter Eight
O n Monday morning, Karen stood in front of her mother’s closet, sifting through for something to wear. Lena had been about the same size but a foot shorter. Luckily it was summer, so the length wouldn’t matter. Karen set out a pair of Capri’s and a tee shirt and went to start a bath.
Marie tapped on the bathroom door.
“I help at the food bank on Mondays. You want to come with me? We can use another hand.”
“I’m going with Lorraine out to the country today.” Karen opened the door. “Some kind of historical field trip with Denise. And a picnic.”
Aunt Marie nodded. “Say hello to the farm for me.”
“Here you can see what’s left of the house.” Denise pointed at the bare remains of a stone foundation. “Down the slope over there, that little bit of rock marks the footprint of the barn. Let’s go look.” Karen lagged behind as her new friends tromped down the slope, flushing pheasant from cover. The birds’ metallic-green and copper necks flashed in the sun as they angled low toward a patch of wetland, intent on the reeds that thrived in runoff from the farms.
Lorraine slipped past her. “You okay?”
“I’ll be fine.” Karen listened to the women’s voices fade. Behind her, a meadowlark trilled and the grasses waved across dormant fields. She’d seen the same wind patterns moving across the waters at Newport Bay, and the comparison between ocean and prairie didn’t escape her. Both were endless and, in the wrong season, unforgiving. To think her mother had lived here as a child, played and worked and suffered the winters here in a barely-insulated farmhouse, almost defied imagination. It was a side of her mother Karen almost couldn’t imagine.
The warming air carried the essence of clover and bog. She inhaled deeply, drunk on the fragrance of the land and the absence of sound. All around her, the remnants of her family’s history spoke in whispers, calling to her, but the landscape had changed.
In the decades since Karen last saw them, the ramshackle buildings had fallen or been knocked down, the materials salvaged or trashed, and farmland restored. The breeze picked up and she closed her eyes, turning her head one way and another to adjust the degree of quiet, until she heard distant voices shouting at her to catch up.
“Watch where you walk,” said Glenda. “Somewhere around here is the pit for the outhouse, and you can still fall into one of those holes and get seriously hurt.”
“On the plus side,” said Denise, aiming her lens at them, “if you look carefully once you’re in there, you might find an artifact or two. People tended to drop things.”
The women picked their way through the grass, watching for snakes and alert for treasure. “I like to think of Lena’s family living here,” Marlene said. “I can see kids playing under the trees, and chickens scratching around by the house, and laundry flapping on the line, and maybe even a team of horses plowing up and down that field over there.”
“That’s how she described it to
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