“Are we going to eat when we get there?” David asked.
“I don’t know,” Mom said. “I’m glad you feel like eating again. We’ll make sure you get some food as soon as we can, David.”
Dad drove nearly an hour before arriving in the small community where Christy’s grandparents had lived all their married lives, which, by tomorrow, would be fifty years. Half a century. The thought sobered Christy. What a long time to live in the same place with the same person.
Her parents’ old farm was only a ten-minute drive from her grandparents’ home in Brightwater. She watched David look at the turnoff as they passed it and kept heading straight on the country road for town.
“Our old house is down that road,” David said.
“That’s right,” Dad agreed, but that’s all he said.
They were only a few blocks inside the city limits when Christy saw the flagpoles and then the front of George Washington Elementary School.
“That’s my old school!” David announced.
“Mine too,” Christy said softly. So many memories collided at once. First days of school and Mom taking Christy’s picture every year in her back-to-school clothes. Fire drills with the students lined up on the grass. The harvest festivals with the school transformed into a wondrous carnival of clowns, ringtoss booths, and cakewalks. She even remembered the cafeteria’s aroma on pizza day and the table where she and Paula met every day for lunch.
And Christy remembered her first crush. Her heart skipped a happy beat when she silently mouthed his name: Matthew Kingsley. From third grade all the way through junior high, Christy was hopelessly gone over Matthew Kingsley.
George Washington Elementary School and Matthew Kingsley. What a rush of childhood memories were connected with those two names.
Ever since her family had moved to California, the Kingsleys had sent a family photo with their Christmas card. Every year Christy looked closely at Matthew in the photo. He was a high school graduate now, just like Christy. And he still lived in Brightwater.
Before they drove another block, Christy had to ask, “Mom, do you think we’ll see any of our old friends while we’re here?”
“Yes. Who did you have in mind?”
“Oh, no one in particular.” Christy couldn’t bring herself to ask about Matthew Kingsley. The last thing she needed was to arm her brother with ammunition he could use all weekend to tease her. The Todd un-look-alike incident was bad enough.
No, if Christy was going to see Matthew Kingsley this weekend, it would just have to be a nice surprise. Or as Katie always said, “a God thing.” And what was it that Katie had said about mystery, romance, and adventure finding Christy when she least expected it?
Christy leaned back and smiled. She was ready for anything.
3
ad pulled into Christy’s grandparents’ driveway. After climbing out of the car and looping her backpack over her shoulder, Christy stood for a moment, drinking in the sight of her grandparents’ two-story house. It was yellow. It had always been yellow. Yellow with white trim. The second story had two dormer windows that Christy had always imagined were the house’s eyes. Those two upstairs bedrooms had belonged to Christy’s mom and aunt Marti while they were growing up. Mom’s room had been the one on the left.
Grandma’s bright red geranium bushes were in full bloom along the front of the house. A handmade wooden birdhouse hung from the apple tree, which spread its welcoming shade over the right side of the small front yard. A modest porch fronted the house. Christy had eaten many a summer meal with her grandparents on the enclosed porch, which her grandpa always boasted was the “coolest and most bug-free spot in the house on a summer’s eve’n.”
Grandpa had worked at the hardware store in town for more than forty years, which was a good thing because his hobby was fixing things. Or, more accurately, improving things. Christy noticed the strips of safety tape on the three steps that led up to the front porch, obviously one of Grandpa’s touches intended to prevent falls.
As Christy watched, her mom rang the front doorbell. Christy thought that was kind of strange. When her family had lived nearby, they used to just knock and walk right in. Will I ring the doorbell when I come home to visit my parents in the future?
Grandma, wearing a flowered apron over her skirt and white blouse, flung open the door. She spoke in a voice made high with delight when she saw them. Welcoming them inside with hugs and kisses, she tried to take one of the suitcases from Christy’s dad.
Christy drew in a deep breath. What was that familiar scent? Grandma’s house always smelled the same. It wasn’t a sweet smell like cinnamon, and it wasn’t yucky like mothballs. It smelled old. Like a cedar chest filled with old books and yellowing papers. The smell comforted Christy. Even if she had changed, Grandma’s house hadn’t changed a bit.
“Look at you two kids!” Grandma kissed Christy soundly on the cheek. “You’ve grown so much!”
Christy was amazed by how much her mom and grandma looked alike. She hadn’t noticed the resemblance so clearly before. They were both short, with round faces and wavy hair. Grandma’s hair was all white now, whereas Christy’s mom’s hair was turning gray around her face. Christy was taller than both of them were.
Grandpa appeared in the entryway with a socket wrench in his hand. Christy had to smile. Seeing Grandpa as “Mr. Fix-It” was a common sight.
“Well, come here, now,” he said. “Let me have a look-see at you two.” His quick, dark eyes resembled Aunt Marti’s as he gave Christy and David a visual examination. As always, his evaluation was positive, with one suggestion for improvement. That was also a trait Aunt Marti seemed to have inherited from him—an eye for ways others could improve.
“Yes, sirree, you two are turning out just dandy. Of course, David, you might want to get a haircut before the reception tomorrow. And you won’t be wearing shorts, now, will you, Christina?”
“No, Grandpa,” Christy said warmly, “I brought a dress for tomorrow.”
“Good, good.” Grandpa motioned with his socket wrench for them to follow him into the kitchen. He never had been an especially affectionate man, so Christy wasn’t surprised he didn’t greet them with hugs and kisses the way Grandma had. She knew he was happy to see them, even though he acted as if he saw them every day.
Grandma suggested they leave the luggage in the living room.
Christy liked the kitchen best of all the house’s rooms. It hadn’t changed since Christy was a child. The kitchen table, covered with a red-checkered cloth, took up most of the space in the center of the room. Its chairs were silver chrome with vinyl cushioned seats. As a matter of fact, the ’50s table was so old it was back in style. Christy had nibbled many a homemade cookie at that table. Dozens of her grade-school works of art had covered the front of the white refrigerator. She knew where the glasses were in the cupboard and where the “secret” jar of M&M’s was kept in the pantry. But when Christy saw the chicken and rooster salt and pepper shakers on the stovetop, she knew for sure she was at Grandma’s house.
“What do you think?” Grandpa asked, looking at Dad and pointing to a new faucet on the kitchen sink. “The old one leaked like a bucket with a hole in it.”
“Looks nice,” Mom said.
The others nodded in agreement as Grandpa stood there, eyebrows raised, challenging one of them to try his new faucet. From experience, Christy had learned not to be the first one to try anything Grandpa had just “fixed.”
“Go ahead,” Grandpa said, his eyes still on Christy’s dad.
Dad stepped forward and lifted the faucet’s handle. The water came out effortlessly.
“Cold is to the right,” Grandpa instructed. “Hot, of course, is to your left.”
Dad obliged, turning the handle first to the right and then to the left before pushing it down to turn off the flow.
“How about that?” Grandpa said, pleased with his handiwork.
Christy praised him and thought to herself, I guess wh
en you’re seventy-three, you deserve to receive a little praise.
The group gravitated to the kitchen table, as it always did, and Grandma offered lemonade and cookies. It wasn’t very hot for a summer afternoon so they stayed in the kitchen. Otherwise, Christy was sure they would have been shooed out to the front porch.
David slurped his lemonade and gobbled up three cookies before he excused himself to go out in the backyard. The rest of them sat for an hour or so, chatting about relatives and neighbors.
“Oh, that reminds me,” Grandma said. “The Kingsley boy called here this morning and wanted to know when you would be coming.”
Christy felt her face turn warm. “Matthew?”
“Yes,” Grandma said.
“I called Jane last week,” Mom explained. “She said Matthew would definitely want to see you when we came.”
“She did? I mean, he does?” Christy felt funny with her parents and grandparents watching her every expression. “What did you tell him, Grandma?”
“I told him to call back this evening.” Grandma sounded pleased with herself, as if she had done Christy a favor. For all Christy knew, maybe she had.
After the conversation switched to the new warehouse hardware store that had gone in ten miles up the road and had taken all the business away from the Brightwater Hardware Store, Christy excused herself and wandered out to the front porch. A refreshing late-afternoon breeze wafted in from the right side of the porch, welcoming Christy to sit in the padded chaise lounge and enjoy the coolness. It was a good place to contemplate what would happen when Matthew Kingsley called.
He had never shown much interest in Christy, or in any girl, for that matter. Matthew’s first love was sports, especially baseball and soccer. In second grade he brought his sports equipment to class every time it was his turn for show and tell. Once he gave Andrew Preston a black eye when Matthew tried to throw Andrew out at third base during recess. Everyone felt sorry for Andrew except Christy. She saw how apologetic Matthew was and how his eyes teared up. That’s when Christy decided she was in puppy love with Matthew Kingsley.
Unfortunately, Matthew had apparently never experienced such a deciding moment with Christy. He always acted as if she was just one of the girls. And not a very interesting one because Christy wasn’t athletically inclined. Jennifer Morrisey was the sports queen, and all the guys chose Jennifer to be on their team. Christy was never the first pick for any sporting event.
So why in the world would Matthew Kingsley have called her grandmother and asked about Christy? Before she could come up with possible reasons, she heard a car pull into the driveway. Leaning forward, Christy saw a white pickup truck stop behind their rental car. She knew her wealthy uncle Bob and aunt Marti wouldn’t be arriving in a pickup truck. Besides, they were staying at a motel in town.
Stretching her neck to see through the screen door’s mesh, Christy caught sight of the visitor making his way toward her with long strides. What she saw made her hold her breath.
4
atthew Kingsley,” Christy whispered. The timid side of her personality urged her to jump up and run into the house to hide. Another part of her felt flattered that Matthew had come to see her.
She hadn’t looked in a mirror since early this morning, so she had no idea how she looked, but she knew it couldn’t be her best. On impulse she stood up before Matthew reached the screen door and quickly ran her fingers through her hair, flipping it back over her shoulder. Her heart pounded as she swallowed and reached for the handle before Matthew had a chance to knock. With a cautious pull, she opened the door to greet Matthew with an embarrassed smile.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi, yourself,” Matthew said, obviously startled. His light brown hair was short and much thicker than it had been in grade school. He probably shaved every day now. For the first time in their lives, he was now taller than she was. In every way, little Matthew Kingsley had grown up.
Matthew seemed to be taking a casual visual survey of Christy. They both looked each other in the eye, and Christy laughed nervously.
“Hi,” she said again.
“Hi, yourself,” Matthew said again. His eyebrows were thicker than they had been when he was a kid. But his warm brown eyes were as tender as they had been the day he gave Andrew Preston the black eye.
“I heard you were coming,” he said.
“Yes,” Christy said awkwardly. “I’m here.”
“You’re here,” Matthew said, nodding. He was still standing on the top step, and Christy was holding open the screen door.
“Do you want to come in?” Christy asked. “I’m probably letting in all the mosquitoes.”
“They haven’t been bad yet this year,” Matthew said. “It hasn’t been real hot.”
“Oh,” Christy said, nodding. She thought it comical that they were discussing the weather. She repeated her question. “Would you like to come in?”
“Oh, sure. Okay.” Matthew stepped into the porch and stood there, just inside the door.
Christy smiled and tried to remind herself that she was nearly eighteen years old. She had experienced a few dating relationships. She should know how to act around a guy without being so self-conscious. But this wasn’t any guy. This was Matthew Kingsley.
“How’s California?” Matthew asked after a pause.
“Good. I like it there.”
“It’s probably a lot better than here,” Matthew said.
“No, it’s nice, but it’s nice here too. I mean, every place has good points and bad points. Sometimes I wish I still lived here so I could see my grandparents more and just be around all this familiar stuff. It’s comforting, you know?”
Matthew gave her a look of disbelief. “Comforting?”
Christy felt her cheeks turn red. “I’m just saying I like it here too, and I’m glad we could come visit.”
“Do you want to go do something with me?” Matthew asked.
Christy waited for a little more information, expressing with her eyes that she wanted Matthew to expand his question before she answered.
“I thought we could drive around and get something to eat,” Matthew said.
“I’ll have to ask my parents.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” Christy said. This was all too bizarre. For seven long years—from third grade to ninth grade—she had waited for Matthew Kingsley to even look in her direction, let alone speak to her privately. Now he was standing a few feet away, ever so casually asking her if she wanted to “go do something.” Catching herself staring at Matthew, Christy looked away and said, “Okay, I’ll go ask them.” She turned to open the door to the house and then stopped to say, “Would you like to come in?”
“Okay. Sure.” Matthew casually stepped forward and followed Christy into the kitchen.
“Mom, Dad, do you remember Matthew Kingsley?” Christy said.
Dad rose from his chair and held out his hand to shake with Matthew. “How are your parents doing?”
“Fine, sir,” Matthew said. “They’re the same as always. I guess my mom has been making plans with you, Mrs. Miller, about the Fourth of July at the Dells.”
“Yes, we thought we would meet there for a picnic like we used to when you kids were young.”
This was the first time Christy had heard about the picnic plans. Why didn’t anyone ever tell her anything? She could have at least had a little more time to prepare herself for all these encounters with Matthew.
“It’s nothing like it used to be at the Dells,” Grandpa piped up. “All commercialized now. You kids have no idea what it used to be like to take a canoe out on those waters and peacefully view the sandstone cliffs. Used to be a person felt he was exploring one of the wonders of the world, before all the tour boats started to clog up the waterways. That’s the only way to explore the Dells, you know—by canoe. That’s how the Indians did it. I can’t rightly stand to see all the moneymaking businesses that have spoiled the place.”
Grandma re
ached over and patted Grandpa on the arm as a signal for him to stop the tirade. “Plenty of places on the Wisconsin River and in the Wisconsin Dells area are still remote and undeveloped, dear.”
“Well, it’s a crying shame, that’s what it is,” Grandpa said. “I read in the paper just last week that over three million people come to the Dells each year. You tell me someone isn’t making a pretty penny on God’s natural wonder.”
Grandma patted Grandpa’s arm again.
“Only four places in the world where a person can see such unusual sandstone formations. Did you know that?”
“It’s good to see you,” Mom said to Matthew, taking the focus off of Grandpa.
“Switzerland is one,” Grandpa said. “And New York and here. And Germany too. I’ll bet you they don’t have any blasted helicopter tours in Switzerland. Or in Germany, either.”
Grandma shot a stern look at Grandpa. He shook his head, still disgusted, but he kept quiet.
Dad sat back down and gave Matthew a wave, as if he were dismissing him. “Tell your folks hi, and we’ll see them on the Fourth.”
Matthew shot a look of “help” to Christy.
“Matthew and I were wondering if we could go do something,” Christy said.
“Oh?” Mom said.
“What kind of plans did you have in mind?” Christy’s dad asked.
“Nothing big,” Matthew said, addressing Christy’s dad with his shoulders back a little farther than they had been when Christy and Matthew entered the kitchen. “I thought we’d drive around and maybe get something to eat.”
Christy’s dad looked at her mom. Mom smiled and nodded her approval.
Grandma stepped in before Grandpa had a chance to lecture them on how courting was handled in his day. “If you two want to go to the movies, I think it’s still half price at the Bijou. But you have to arrive before six o’clock. Or maybe it’s seven o’clock. You haven’t much time if it’s six o’clock, but you’re welcome to call from here, if you’d like.”
Departures: Two Rediscovered Stories of Christy Miller and Sierra Jensen Page 2
