unpacked evoked thoughts of Dan and her former life. The light blue cashmere sweater Dan chose for her at the Nordstrom sale last autumn, the white cotton panties he called her granny underwear, the cocktail dress she wore to their last business event. She stopped unpacking and stared at the pine floor boards.
Later that morning she sat on the steps off the kitchen. The yard was a grassy area and outside the fence was untouched forest, heavy with Douglas firs, pines, madronas, and low growing ferns. It was chilly and the air smelled of damp earth and the unique freshness of early spring. The crab apple and cherry trees hinted of their summer bounty with white and pink flowers, while the lilac and hydrangea bushes sprouted green buds. Only the daffodils and tulips opened to their full glory. There was the sound of a truck changing gears on the highway and birds chirping. She looked up into the tall trees outside the fence and beyond to the vast blue sky. As a child, in the summer months, the backyard was a place of solace. After her mother slept, she crept out to the yard, lay in the grass and listened to the deep croaks of the bullfrogs with the high-pitched song of the crickets. She would gaze at the stars until the night's vast sky enveloped her and she became a star herself and was at peace in that moment of connection to the largeness of the universe. But today it did not comfort her. Today, it amplified her feelings of isolation from the world, even from herself, as if mocking her with its beauty.
Chapter Eight
L ee was thirsty. She rummaged through the cupboards for a glass. They were bare except for a few cracked plates, a cereal bowl, and four faded salad plates, chipped on the edges, and one lone teacup, cracked but still intact. This was all that was left of the original set. Lee had given it to her mother for a Christmas gift when she was young.
This old kitchen was cold and full of memories, she thought.
The year she was seven Lee's mother lost her job at one of the grocery stores in town. Neither of them knew then it would be her last job. Lee shopped for the groceries each Saturday morning at the other store, the one on the other side of town. Eleanor sat in the car; a floating head amidst the smoke from her cigarettes, a hand flicking the ashes out of a small slit in the window. Lee filled their basket with the same items every week: coffee, milk, peanut-butter, cheese, bread and ground meat. She paid with the Food Stamps her mother picked up every Monday afternoon. The autumn Lee was eleven, the store put up a display of dishes you could purchase with Green Stamps. The first time she saw them, Lee stopped to look at the display, wanting more than anything to give them to her mother for Christmas. She touched the light brown ceramic plates and ran her fingers over the white flower pattern etched on the edges. She held one of dainty tea cups and pretended to drink from it, until she heard her mother beep the horn and motion for her to pay for the groceries and come to the car.
The entire dish set, which included four place-settings, cost one-thousand green stamps. Each week the ladies at the check stand gave her fifty stamps, more than she should have earned for the amount of food she bought, not to mention that technically you weren't eligible unless you paid with real money. But, at age eleven, Lee didn't know, and accepted the stamps, bliss in her heart each time. She couldn't help but notice that the checkers glanced out at the smoke filled car with a disapproving look when they put the stamps in her hand.
One week before Christmas she counted out one-thousand stamps to the lady with the blond beehive named Bridget. Bridget called the rest of the ladies over. “Lee's got enough, girls. She's got enough for the whole set.” They all cheered for her and the lady name Sue with the long brown hair and looked like Jacqueline Smith on the show “Charlie's Angels” offered to bring it to her house
Later that morning she sat on the steps off the kitchen. The yard was a grassy area and outside the fence was untouched forest, heavy with Douglas firs, pines, madronas, and low growing ferns. It was chilly and the air smelled of damp earth and the unique freshness of early spring. The crab apple and cherry trees hinted of their summer bounty with white and pink flowers, while the lilac and hydrangea bushes sprouted green buds. Only the daffodils and tulips opened to their full glory. There was the sound of a truck changing gears on the highway and birds chirping. She looked up into the tall trees outside the fence and beyond to the vast blue sky. As a child, in the summer months, the backyard was a place of solace. After her mother slept, she crept out to the yard, lay in the grass and listened to the deep croaks of the bullfrogs with the high-pitched song of the crickets. She would gaze at the stars until the night's vast sky enveloped her and she became a star herself and was at peace in that moment of connection to the largeness of the universe. But today it did not comfort her. Today, it amplified her feelings of isolation from the world, even from herself, as if mocking her with its beauty.
Chapter Eight
L ee was thirsty. She rummaged through the cupboards for a glass. They were bare except for a few cracked plates, a cereal bowl, and four faded salad plates, chipped on the edges, and one lone teacup, cracked but still intact. This was all that was left of the original set. Lee had given it to her mother for a Christmas gift when she was young.
This old kitchen was cold and full of memories, she thought.
The year she was seven Lee's mother lost her job at one of the grocery stores in town. Neither of them knew then it would be her last job. Lee shopped for the groceries each Saturday morning at the other store, the one on the other side of town. Eleanor sat in the car; a floating head amidst the smoke from her cigarettes, a hand flicking the ashes out of a small slit in the window. Lee filled their basket with the same items every week: coffee, milk, peanut-butter, cheese, bread and ground meat. She paid with the Food Stamps her mother picked up every Monday afternoon. The autumn Lee was eleven, the store put up a display of dishes you could purchase with Green Stamps. The first time she saw them, Lee stopped to look at the display, wanting more than anything to give them to her mother for Christmas. She touched the light brown ceramic plates and ran her fingers over the white flower pattern etched on the edges. She held one of dainty tea cups and pretended to drink from it, until she heard her mother beep the horn and motion for her to pay for the groceries and come to the car.
The entire dish set, which included four place-settings, cost one-thousand green stamps. Each week the ladies at the check stand gave her fifty stamps, more than she should have earned for the amount of food she bought, not to mention that technically you weren't eligible unless you paid with real money. But, at age eleven, Lee didn't know, and accepted the stamps, bliss in her heart each time. She couldn't help but notice that the checkers glanced out at the smoke filled car with a disapproving look when they put the stamps in her hand.
One week before Christmas she counted out one-thousand stamps to the lady with the blond beehive named Bridget. Bridget called the rest of the ladies over. “Lee's got enough, girls. She's got enough for the whole set.” They all cheered for her and the lady name Sue with the long brown hair and looked like Jacqueline Smith on the show “Charlie's Angels” offered to bring it to her house
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