Remembrance

by Avery Kloss

  “Really?”

  “It’s home now. You bought it. There’s kinda no turning back at this point.”

  Some of the tension left her. “Well, why don’t we lock up and get some food, okay?” She reached out to move hair from my eyes. “We can get coffee. They supposedly make it just as good here as in Portland.”

  “Do we have to sleep at the hotel?”

  “Well, yes,” she blurted. “It’ll be dark soon, and there’s no electricity. There are no beds. Our stuff isn’t coming until tomorrow.”

  “True.” I longed to linger a bit, feeling at ease in the space and not wanting to leave.

  “The movers will be here first thing. We should’ve come a day sooner to clean, but I don’t have any supplies anyway. It’s just gonna be a mess for a while. I need to hire people to help me change everything.”

  “I like my room the way it is.”

  “You do?”

  “Yep.”

  “Even that god-awful wallpaper?”

  “I’ve seen worse.” An image of grey walls with fluorescent lighting filled my mind, a woman rocking back and forth in a hallway. Yes, it could always be worse. “It’s got character.”

  “Let’s take a drive through town then.”

  “That should take all of three minutes,” I quipped.

  “We won’t have to worry about getting lost here at least.”

  “Nope. That won’t happen.” I followed her out, standing on the front steps of what was now my house, feeling the weight of it behind me. For an instant, I stared at a yellow Volkswagen Beetle, the car many decades old. I blinked, and then it vanished, our green Subaru parked there.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” I swallowed my confusion, wondering why I saw something so odd. “I don’t need a ton of food. I’m not really hungry.”

  She opened the door. “You have to eat something.”

  “I had breakfast,” I lied, although I nibbled on some crackers earlier. I fastened the seatbelt, mom turning the engine over.

  I watched her choose her words carefully, clearly worried how I might react. “Well, they have a buffet. You can make a salad. You can make it just the way you like it.”

  “All right, Mom.” The day being pleasant, I did not want to ruin it. I tamped down a sudden flood of emotion, feeling unsettled and desiring to return to the house. I cast one last glance at it over my shoulder, the building now hidden behind the trees. “Salad sounds great.”

  Nestled within timbered hills, they named the area after the river, which meandered through town. Situated 30 miles from the Pacific Ocean, Clatskanie felt every bit as isolated as it was, the highway far enough away not to be seen. Cherry trees all but hid the exit sign. But, mom managed to find the place, using the last bit of dad’s insurance money to pay for the house. We sold our property in a Denver suburb, leaving behind everything familiar in my life, along with every bad memory I had ever had.

  “Here we are.” Mom parked at the restaurant, the building on the corner across from a hardware store. An older woman and her friend emerged, eyeing us in passing. Mom waited for me, holding her jacket closed. “Chilly.”

  “Considering it’s eight degrees in Denver right now, this is a heat wave.”

  “I’m used to a dry cold. This is a wet cold. There’s a difference.”

  I laughed at that, surprised by the sound, because I sounded genuinely happy. I hadn’t found anything worth laughing about in a while. “I don’t think it really snows here.”

  “Oh, it does, but not by the foot.” She held open the door. “Let’s get inside.”

  “Thanks.”

  A waitress approached, offering a table in the center of the room, where I sat awkwardly, feeling eyes on me. I dreaded having to get up to make a salad, forcing myself to do it a moment later, while mom ordered chicken pot pie, wanting something warm. We ate with little conversation, other people glancing at their phones often enough, while the server approached to refill the water glasses. I wasn’t allowed a fancy device with all the bells and whistles that everyone else my age had, using an ancient flip phone with no Internet connection. Access to any type of social media was strictly forbidden, at least to me it was.

  “How’s the salad?”

  “Fine.”

  “Do you want to go get some coffee afterwards?”

  “They have coffee here, Mom.”

  “I know that, but I thought you might like a latte or a cappuccino or something.”

  “Regular coffee is fine.”

  She waved to the waitress, who made a beeline for us. “Can we get two cups of coffee, please?”

  “Sure.” She smiled. “Any dessert?”

  “That’s a good idea. Apple pie might be nice.”

  The waitress glanced at me. “Would you like a slice too?”

  I shook my head. “No. I’m good.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  After the beverage arrived, I drank it, while mom devoured the apple pie. I regretted not having a piece. Glancing towards the windows, I noted the darkness outside, being well after sunset.

  “Boy, that was good. Are you sure you don’t want this last bite?”

  “Um, nope.” I drank the last of the coffee, waiting for the check to arrive. As we got up to go, the door opened, a couple arriving. I waited for my mother by the exit, impatient to return the hotel.

  She approached, smiling. “That was pretty good. I could eat here again.”

  Dismayed by the choice of restaurants in town, I kept that information to myself, not wanting to sound spoiled or petulant. When we emerged into the parking lot, all the streetlights had come on, our car a short distance away.

  “I need to text the movers to make sure they’re coming tomorrow. We should’ve come a day earlier.” She opened the door. “That house is a dusty mess.”

  The rumble of a motorcycle grew louder, and a moment later, I saw the rider, a man dressed in jeans and a leather jacket. I waited for him to pass, our car pointed towards the road. He turned to look at me, his eyes dark indentations on a pale face. Shivering, I quickly sat inside the car, locking the door at once.

  “I could’ve gotten dessert to go.”

  “I don’t want dessert. Let’s stop talking about it, okay?” Annoyed, I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling a twinge of anxiety. My heart thumped rapidly, while a wave of panic crashed over me, and I hated it, because it was something I could not control at all. The attacks always came on at the worst possible moments. I knew it would pass, but it left me unsettled and shaking.

  “Never mind.” Mom steered the car into the street, her eyes on the road. “It was just a suggestion.”

  I forced myself to think of something else, breathing and trying to remain calm, willing the panic attack to end quickly.

  It’s your fault, Brie. You shouldn’t have stopped your meds. You’re so screwed now. It’s always the same. Did you think it would just go away?

  Flinging the door open, I all but stumbled out of the car, hurrying for the doorway of our new house. I waited for mom, as she opened the trunk to get a suitcase.

  “Are you going to help me at all?”

  Swallowing my impatience, I ventured over to her. “Yeah, sorry.” Grabbing the handle of the bag, I dragged it behind me, the wheels bouncing over the rocks. I lifted it up the steps, grabbing the handle with both hands.

  “We’ve an hour before they get here.” She inserted the key. “I’m hoping to get some cleaning done. I have to go to the gas and electric company later too. I should do that right now, really. We’re not gonna be able to vacuum anything. They better have weekend hours.”

  With the door ajar, a stale odor hit me. “You go. I’ve got this. I’m gonna open some windows.”

  “It’s about to rain, honey. I can smell it in the air.”

  Greyish clouds had gathered since daybreak, although the sun still shone through here and there. “It’ll be all right. The floors have to be redone anyway. A
little water isn’t going to kill them.”

  Her look softened. “I’ll bring back some coffee. Are you sure you’ll be okay here alone?”

  “The utilities are important. Go take care of it. I can manage.”

  “There’s bottled water in the car. When the movers come, we’ll find the Brita.”

  “Yeah.”

  “All right, then. I’ll go. You call me if there’s a problem, okay?” She offered a smile.

  “Yep.”

  After she left, I closed the door, leaning against it, my eyes drifting to the stairs. An odd sort of movement caught my notice, the image of a woman descending, wearing a pink dress, her hair blonde. The vision dissipated just as quickly, the impression one of welcoming.

  “Hello?”

  What the heck was that?

  Chewing on a nail, I pondered the experience, refusing to brand myself as crazy, because enough people had already done that.

  “Is this your house?” I asked, finding it bizarre to speak to a ghost.

  Although never experiencing an apparition before, I believed they existed. I once thought I had seen my dead grandmother right before her funeral, but … it could have been the meds.

  “Hello?” I chided myself for being silly. “I don’t think she’s gonna answer me.” Mom bought cleaning supplies earlier, two plastic bags on the floor in the entranceway. “I better dust or something. This place sure can use it.”

  Glancing at the messy interior, the sheer scale of the job proved overwhelming. We did not have a vacuum cleaner, the machine packed away by the movers. A broom and dust pail would hardly but a dent in it. I chewed my lip, pondering the predicament, feeling slightly paralyzed by indecision. The rumble of a truck caught my notice, the moving van ambling up the driveway.

  “Oh, my God! So much for cleaning.”

  There was no time to do anything, but open the door.

  3

  The few sticks of furniture we had disappeared in the size of the house, although boxes littered the space, most of them in the music room. Mom arrived shortly, stunned to see the movers here already, men wheeling boxes in on dollies.

  “Ah, crap, Brie,” she muttered.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “They didn’t have Saturday hours. There won’t be any electricity until Monday, honey. I’m sorry.” She frowned, the lines between her eyes creasing. “We can be at the hotel two more nights. It’s fine.”

  “I’d rather stay here.”

  “It’s cold water.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I know you’re putting on a brave face. You’re doing really good, honey, but you can be mad at me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I dragged you here. I took you away from your friends, from … your life!”

  What friends? What life?

  “I’m not mad.”

  She sighed. “Gosh, you really are taking this so well. Dr. Jessops was right after all. I feared this might trigger another—”

  “Let’s drop it. I’m fine.” I stepped aside, as a mover went past. “I’ve a ton of stuff to unpack.”

  “If we’re here for two days without electricity, I need to buy some candles. It’s gonna be cold, honey. There’s no heat.”

  “Practically every room has a fireplace. We’ll pretend it’s 1886.”

  “I don’t know if any of them work is the thing. We could end up burning the house down or smoke ourselves to death. With my luck, anyway.”

  “Quit worrying, Mom. I’m not some fragile piece of porcelain. I won’t break.”

  One of the movers approached, asking, “Where you want this?”

  Mom looked at the box. “Upstairs bedroom. Second door to the right.” As he took to the stairs, she offered a weak smile. “I think they’re almost done. I’m gonna start to unpack the kitchen. Can you dust and sweep the parlor, please? That way we have someplace to sit later. Your idea about the fireplace is a good one. I don’t know if we have any wood, though.”

  “There might be some outside from the previous owner.”

  “Or I can go buy a bundle or something.” She patted my shoulder. “We’ll make do.”

  I nodded. “I know where they put the broom.”

  “Thank you, honey.”

  Keeping busy served its purpose, my mind occupied by the task at hand, arranging furniture and dusting, the movers rolling out a carpet. I eyed the fireplace, hoping it was usable, because it felt chilly in the house, the front door wide open for the men to come in and out. A light rain began a while later, the gloom of the day darkening the interior, and, with no electricity, we would not be able to see a thing come dusk.

  “Hello?” called a female voice.

  I had just finished sweeping out the fireplace, tossing black ash into a plastic bag, when a woman appeared in the doorway. I had no idea who she was.

  “Oh, hello.” She smiled, nodding at me. “I’m your neighbor, Ruth Halbrook. I thought I’d come over and introduce myself.” Older than my mother, the woman wore a heavy coat, with a folded umbrella in her hands.

  “I’m Brieanna.” I shook her hand, which felt cold. “Hi. My mom’s in the kitchen.”

  “Mrs. Thompson,” called one of the movers. “I need you to sign off on this, and we’re done.”

  Mom strode into the entranceway, saying, “Of course.”

  “Could you please initial each line. If something’s broken, you’ll have to note it.”

  “I can’t tell if anything’s broken. I’ve hardly opened anything.”

  His bland look betrayed indifference, the man’s eyes roaming over me. He leered slightly, which left me feeling uneasy. I stood beside the neighbor woman, mom not having seen her yet. She turned to us a moment later.

  “Oh, hello.”

  “Mrs. Thompson? I’m your neighbor, Mrs. Halbrook.” She shook mom’s hand. “How do you do? Welcome to the neighborhood.”

  “How nice, thank you. I’m Hila, and this is my daughter, Brie.”

  The rumble of the truck indicated the movers planned to leave, the man hurrying for the door without closing it. Mom smiled politely, motioning for me to shut it, which I did.

  “I’d offer you something to drink, but all I’ve got is bottled water. None of the utilities are on, as you can see.”

  “You’re free to borrow candles and an extra flashlight, if you need them. I have plenty to spare.”

  “Oh, thank you. I was planning on shopping after dinner. That would save me a trip.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Well, we have to eat something, Brie.”

  “Are you … will your husband be joining you?”

  “Um … my husband passed away a year ago.”

  Her smile vanished. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you. It’s been … a rough … year.”

  “Such a loss is terribly difficult. My husband isn’t in the best of health. He would’ve come over with me, but he’s in a wheelchair. He sends his regards.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She smiled sympathetically. “You’re terribly young for a widow, my dear.”

  Mom stared blankly, clearly not knowing what to say to that.

  “If there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know.” She eyed the foyer. “We thought they’d donate the house to the city, but having a family here is wonderful. It’s been too long since we’ve had neighbors. Stella kept to herself mostly. She lived here for nearly thirty years.” Lowering her voice, she whispered, “She was a strange woman. She never really left the house. Food and things were always delivered.” Her gaze drifted upward. “This place has such potential. Are you planning on renovating?” A hopeful gleam entered her eye.

  “A bit, yes, but I’d like to keep the character.”

  “Oh, good.”

  “I’m thinking of doing a bed and breakfast or an Airbnb sort of thing.”

  “Air—what?”

  “Where people come and stay.”

  “I see.
” She still appeared confused, a frown lingering. “There’s plenty of room for that, I’m sure. It’s a dreadfully big house. Stella closed most of the doors to the rooms. After a water leak, she was forced to do some updating in the 90’s.” She cast a glance my way. “And you’re in school, I assume?”

  “Yes.”

  “How nice. Are you a senior?”

  I nodded.

  “I’m sure you’ll fit right in. You won’t have any trouble making friends. There are some younger people in the neighborhood. Anna Flake might be out of school already, though.” She smiled. “Everyone knows everyone here.”

  I had heard that more than once already, the implication worrying. In my hometown, with its 2,000 students, I could hide in plain sight, blending in with the masses, which I preferred. The last thing I wished to do was stand out and be noticed. I brushed away a twinge of anxiety, dreading Monday even more now.

  Mom cleared her throat. “Well, it was nice of you to stop by, Mrs. Halbrook.”

  “Ruth, please call me Ruth.”

  “We sure would appreciate those candles, if you have them. Brie can go get them.”

  That was the last thing I wanted to do, but someone had to, or we would sit in darkness. I had picked up some weird vibes from the house already, seeing that floating blonde woman on the stairs and the old-looking car in the driveway. I had to ask, “Did she die here?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The woman who lived here before.”

  “Oh, Stella? No.” She offered a smile. “She passed away at the hospital. I know it’s an old house—very old—but no one’s ever seen a ghost here, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Honey, why don’t you go with Mrs. Halbrook and get those candles?”

  “Yeah, Mom.”

  “I won’t keep you any longer. I can see you’re busy. It’s been ages since I’ve moved. We were in Portland first, but my husband got a job at the paper mill, and we’ve been here ever since. I raised three children in Clatskanie. They’ve all gone to other places now, though.” A wistful smile appeared. “I wish I saw them more often. They do come for Christmas, though.”