A House for Keeping

by Matteson Wynn

  “Oh, I just wanted to check to make sure everything was still on and to get the details,” I said.

  “Yes, we’re still on. I’m not sure what you mean about the details. The reunions are always the same. Didn’t your parents fill you in?”

  I floundered for a minute, trying to come up with an answer other than “How can they, they’re dead?” and finally settled on, “Nope.”

  There was a pause. “Well, you’ll get the complete rundown when you get here, but it’s basically what you’d expect.”

  I had no idea what she thought I expected, but I didn’t want to sound any more clueless than I already did, so put a lid on the pile of questions bubbling in my brain, and said, “Okay.”

  “When do you think you’ll be arriving?” she asked.

  “Well, I’m driving cross-country as we speak. Oh, and you won’t believe what happened to me!” and I told her about my sink hole.

  “That sounds frightening,” said Meg. “Are you calling from the hotel?”

  “No. The hotel manager was, of course, upset about the whole thing and insisted I take a new room. I said yes to make her happy, but no way was I staying. It was only a matter of time before the insurance guys and lawyers came swarming in.” I shuddered. “I’ve had all the lawyers and insurance guys I can take for one lifetime, thank you very much. So, I washed up and snuck out, and now I’m back on the road.”

  “Well, you’ve still got plenty of time to get here.”

  “Yeah, about that. The invitation says to show up at five on Friday. I can’t check in at my hotel until after three, so I’ll check in and then head over,” I said.

  “Hotel? You’re not staying in a hotel!” Meg said. “All of the reunion guests stay at the house. Didn’t anyone tell you?” She didn’t give me time to interject. “Of course they didn’t,” she muttered. “Well look, we’ve got tons of room, so reunion guests always stay here.”

  “Uh, sure,” I said. “Thank you so much.” I figured if the reunion was super awkward, I could always bail and find a hotel later. In the meantime, it’d be a good idea to save my pennies. My textbooks were going to cost an arm and a leg and who knew what kind of mad money I’d need while sailing around the world.

  “Great,” Meg said. “I’ll see you soon.”

  After I hung up, I was torn between bouncing up and down in excitement and shaking my head at what a total goober I’d just made of myself. It was a small miracle that I hadn’t said something cringe-worthy about slumber parties or pillow fights.

  Then I thought, Oh the hell with it, and I bounced up and down anyway. Babs squeaked along with me. This reunion whim of mine was already working out great. I’d get to see Meg and meet some new relatives, too. All in all, I suddenly felt a whole lot less alone than I had in a long time.

  Chapter Three

  Road Trip Hokey Pokey! You take a left turn in. You take a right turn out. You detour to see a 200-year-old tree. And you drive it all about!

  The directions in the invitation had mapped out the straightest, quickest route to the reunion. It was a nice thought. But I’d spent years cooped up in the desert—“straight and quick” were not on the menu. For me, this trip was an all-you-can-see buffet, and I was determined to squeeze every bit of adventure sauce out of it that I could. I picked most of my destinations, but Babs added the hokey to my pokey. She’d start shuddering or huffing, and I’d have to improvise and find something neat to see nearby so she could rest. It was awesome: I never knew what I’d see next.

  By the time I reached the East Coast, I’d zigzagged my way across the country. Along the way, I’d encountered enough wacky weather to quench even my parched desert heart. I’d seen fog, hail, and freezing rain. And, if Babs hadn’t been wheezing and made me pull over, I might have had a Dorothy moment and experienced my first tornado up close and personal. As it was, seeing it from a distance was plenty impressive. I also got to indulge my inner road warrior by madly dodging road hazards, including pot holes, fallen trees, a rock slide, and what looked like a very cranky moose.

  But now, I was ready for the reunion. I’d stayed in a hotel the night before because I’d been starting to look like an extra in Mad Max. Once I’d showered the road off of me, I’d tried to get some sleep. But every time the motel bed creaked, I’d snapped awake. Eventually I’d given it up and gotten back on the road.

  Unfortunately, leaving in the wee hours of the morning meant that I motored into town super early for the reunion. It was only lunch time, and the invitation said not to arrive till 5 p.m. I figured I could amuse myself for a few hours, but first I should do a flyby and locate the reunion spot. Good thing, too. It wasn’t easy to find in full daylight, never mind in the five o’clock twilight.

  The directions had said the driveway was surrounded by “some trees,” so I thought I’d be looking for a yard with a couple of oaks fronting it. Instead, I found myself in the middle of a small forest. If I hadn’t been going so slow, I’d have missed the mailbox and the driveway. Both were tastefully blended into the trees so that they looked like they were part of the surrounding forest. I pulled up and read the number on the mailbox. 55. Yup, this was the place. I couldn’t see anything but more trees down the driveway, so I figured that the house must be set back from the road.

  Destination successfully located, I decided to kill some time exploring. Further down the road, the forest gave way to a small strip mall. There was a convenience store, a salon, and some kind of a restaurant. Babs was starting to grumble, and so was my stomach, so I parked and went in search of food and caffeine.

  When I opened the door to the restaurant, a strong gust of wind shoved me so hard that I stumbled through the door and went skidding across the hardwood floor. The draft I’d created swept into the room, hit the fireplace, and caused the fire to flare with a roar. I blushed, righted myself, and tried to look casual as I walked forward.

  Two more steps into the dimly lit room and one deep breath told me this wasn’t a restaurant so much as a pub. I had the place to myself, except for a pair of older gentlemen perched at the far end of the bar, and a bartender, all of whom were staring at me after my graceful entrance. Something about the old guys said “regulars” to me. I had the feeling that when they stood up, their barstools would bear their butt prints.

  I sat at the other end of the bar from them, ordered a burger and fries, and asked for a cup of coffee while I waited.

  The bartender brought my coffee. He leaned on the bar near me and asked, “You new around here?” The regulars swiveled to listen in on the conversation.

  “No! Just passing through,” I said.

  “Our neck of the woods not to your tastes?” he asked with a grin.

  I smiled back. “No, it’s not that. I’m just here visiting family.”

  “Family, huh? Sure you don’t want me to add something stronger to your coffee?”

  I laughed. “No thanks. But if it goes badly, I may come back here and take you up on it.”

  “Who’s your family, if you don’t mind my asking?” he said.

  “The Fosters—they’re just up the road that way,” I said, turning to gesture vaguely in the direction I’d come from. I turned back to see the bartender had straightened up and was trading a look with the two regulars.

  “You know them?” I asked.

  “Just by reputation,” said the bartender as he stepped back from me and began drying a glass.

  I said, “Oh,” and took a slow sip of my coffee. Whatever that reputation was, I was guessing it wasn’t good. I surveyed the situation over the rim of my cup. The bartender had shifted his weight to the balls of his feet and put distance between us, something I did at the diner when I thought there might be an issue, and I’d have to move fast. The old guys were so rigid they reminded me of hunting dogs on point. I could practically see their ears standing at attention. I really wanted to yell “Squirrel!” and see what happened.

  Instead, I set my cup down gently, gave the bartender my
best disarming smile, and said, “I’m from a distant branch of the family, so I’ve never met most of them, either.” The three of them just stared at me. I held onto my smile and said, “I’m Finn.” I waved at the regulars and then held out my hand to the bartender to shake.

  For a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to take it. The fire filled the silence, popping and hissing, and I glanced over to see it sending a shower of flaming sparks into the air. I shifted my gaze back, as the bartender gave my hand a quick, firm shake.

  “And you are…?” I asked.

  “Iggy,” he said.

  I looked over at the regulars. Old guy number one said, “Pete.” He pointed to old guy number two and said, “He’s Lou.” Lou nodded at me. I nodded back.

  Iggy said, “I’ll just go check on that burger,” and he went through a door behind the bar.

  Pete and Lou were still staring at me. I smiled at them again but that seemed to make them more tense. I considered leaving, but then Iggy reappeared and plunked my burger and fries in front of me. And the check. Subtle. I nearly walked right then, but the scent of burger and fries wafted up, and my stomach whined at me. I took a bite of the burger, and my eyes closed in bliss. Okay fine, I would eat fast and then go.

  As I set about inhaling my burger, Iggy drifted down to the other end of the bar, where he, Lou, and Pete commenced talking in low voices. What, did they run out of mean girls, so they went and formed a mean men club?

  Tuning them out, I focused on deciding what to do with myself until it was time to go to the reunion. Well, I wasn’t that far from the water. I wondered if I could sneak in my inaugural visit to the ocean a little early. I brightened at the thought and found myself smiling. The more I thought about it, the more excited I got.

  I was finishing my burger when I saw Lou and Pete approaching me. They stopped a few feet away. I quashed the impulse to sniff my armpits and see if I smelled.

  I just looked at them as I chewed on a fry. The burger was gone, and they had until I finished the few fries on my plate to say whatever they had to say, then I was outta there. The ocean awaited.

  Pete shifted back and forth for a moment, then said, “Let’s say for a moment we believe this whole ‘distant branch’ thing. What do you know about your family?”

  “Nothing really,” I said.

  Lou snorted. Pete said, “Nothing?”

  “Er, well, it’s a big family,” I said.

  “That’s it?”

  “Uh, really big,” I clarified.

  Lou crossed his arms and looked at Pete.

  They could glance meaningfully at each other like divas in a telenovella all they wanted. I only had three more fries to go. I ate another one and began digging out my wallet.

  “Are you here about the house?” Pete asked.

  I looked up. “What house?” Was that why they were being so weird? Some kind of property dispute going on between the Fosters and their neighbors? Great.

  Pete looked at Lou, who shrugged and said, “I can’t tell if she’s lying or just ignorant.”

  I looked askance at him. “Hello! Sitting. Right. Here!”

  Pete eyed me. “Well, she doesn’t look like the sharpest tool in the shed…”

  Gaping, I said, “Jeez, I’ve heard about New England reserve, but you guys,” I pointed at them, “are just rude.” I thumped my money on the bar. Generally, I speak old guy—a necessary survival skill working in a diner. Maybe they spoke a different dialect in the Northeast because something was definitely getting lost in translation here.

  I crammed the last two fries in my mouth, grabbed my purse, and hopped off the stool.

  Lou and Pete got very still. Iggy stepped up so he was flanking them from the other side of the bar. I shook my head and headed for the door.

  “That’s it?” Lou called after me.

  “What do you mean ‘that’s it’? Yeah, that’s it.” I didn’t know what information they thought I had, but I didn’t really care. I waved goodbye over my shoulder and stomped out the door.

  Chapter Four

  I marched back to Babs. Grumpy old men, indeed. Well, at least I had plenty of time for my ocean adventure. I could practically hear the waves already. When I reached Babs, her door was stuck again. As I began tugging and begging, a kind of crying noise distracted me. Head cocked, I stopped and listened, trying to figure out what I’d heard. The noise came again, seemingly from behind the convenience store. I crossed to the building and made my way around the side.

  And stopped short as I slammed into a wall of stench. Either a bunch of fish had decided to commit mass suicide nearby, or I was headed for a dumpster. Sure enough, rounding the corner from the side to the back of the store, I encountered the pair of dumpsters emitting a set of smells so spectacular I swear I could see them wavering in the air like in a cartoon.

  Clamping my shirt over my nose, I looked around, trying to see what had attracted my attention. Peering between the two dumpsters, I found the culprit.

  Oh no. I should’ve known.

  With a sigh, I crouched down and surveyed the ball of fuzz, peering up at me with a combination of hope and terror in its eyes.

  “Hello wee beastie,” I said.

  It squeaked at me.

  I sighed. “This is so not fair! I’m supposed to be on vacation.”

  It looked at me with big eyes and squeaked again.

  “No, I can’t take you home with me. I don’t even have a home. So don’t start with the whole ‘Oh I’m so cute and pathetic’ thing. I’m not falling for it.”

  Of course, I’d already totally fallen for it, no matter what I said. I was my animal-rescuing father’s daughter, after all. And the animals all seemed to know it somehow.

  And this poor thing! The fuzzy ball was tiny, just a baby, and painfully thin. It was sitting among a bunch of styrofoam containers that had fallen over the side of the dumpster. I could see bits of fish sticking to its fur, which told me it had been scavenging for something to eat. My heart broke a little as I realized it had been trying to survive on rotting fish.

  I inched forward, trying to get a better look at the fuzzy, watching for signs of distress.

  As I moved forward, it backed up under the dumpster against the wall. Its fur was filthy and matted, but from what I could tell it was some kind of kitten. It looked as though some asshole had dumped it with the trash. I tamped down on my anger lest the kitten pick up on it.

  “Okay little Fuzzy—can I call you that?—I’m just gonna reach in there and get you, and then we’ll have a proper look at you.” Unfortunately, my arm didn’t reach all the way back, so I couldn’t quite grab it. Muttering, I got down on my hands and knees and squeezed myself between the two dumpsters. Well, on the bright side, at least the dumpsters were in the back of the store so the customers wouldn’t be subjected to the sight of my ass sticking out. Inching forward as far as I could, I kept up a steady cooing stream of “Who’s a handsome boo boo?” as I reached again for Fuzzy.

  The dumpsters were doing their part to make this as fun as possible. My eyes were watering from the smell. Fuzzy started squeaking pitifully, obviously alarmed at my approach, so I stopped again. The squeaking stopped, and Fuzzy’s gaze locked on my chest. I looked down to see my necklace had popped out of my shirt and was swinging. I wiggled it a bit. Fuzzy crouched down and started to creep forward. I wiggled it some more. Fuzzy got close enough to bat at it, and I snagged the scruff of Fuzzy’s neck.

  “Okay Fuzzy, it’s okay,” I kept muttering nonsense words as soothingly as possible as I scooted back. I felt something squish and looked down to see I’d just crawled through a puddle of some kind of goo. Perfect.

  As I wriggled the rest of the way out, I said, “I’m so sorry to tell you this, but we both need a bath—” and looked up into the unsmiling face of a cop.

  “Uh, Officer.” He just looked at me. “Not you! Uh, I wasn’t saying you need to take a bath. With me.”

  “Convenience store clerk said some lady
was out here digging in the garbage, talking to herself,” he looked me over. “I take it that’s you?

  “I was talking to this,” I held up the wiggling Fuzzy, who’d started with the pitiful squeaking again.

  The officer peered down at the furball. “Whatcha got there?” he asked in a gentle voice that immediately raised my opinion of him.

  “Some kind of kitten.” I took a quick look at it. “A male, I think. Poor thing’s a mess. I saw it behind the dumpster here and decided to fetch it out.”

  The officer nodded. “It’s starting to get too cold at night for a little guy like that to be out and about on his own.” He frowned, looking around. “Don’t suppose you’ve seen any sign of his mother?”

  I shook my head. “I’m thinking some jerk probably just left him here.”

  The cop made a disapproving noise. “What are you going to do with him?” he asked.

  I held up Fuzzy. “Maybe you could take him? I’m just visiting relatives, so I’m not staying in town for long.”

  The cop took a step back, raising his hand. “Oh no. If I bring home one more stray, my wife’ll kill me. I’ll tell you what though. The vet’s just a mile or so down the road. Maybe you could drop by with the kitten? I’ll give him a call and let him know you’re coming.”

  While I didn’t really want to incur a massive vet bill, there was no way I was going to leave Fuzzy literally out in the cold. I sighed. There went my side trip to the ocean. Well, I’d waited this long to see the ocean, I could wait a little longer. I said, “Sure. Where’s the vet at?”

  The cop gave me directions, then went to his car to call the vet. When he came back, he had a hand-drawn map to help guide me. He handed it over and said, “They’re expecting you and will fit you in.”

  I took the map, thanked the officer, and headed toward Babs with Fuzzy. He had stopped squeaking, but now he was shivering. I tucked him down the front of my sweater to keep him warm and continued to talk softly to him. Two men in the parking lot looked at me strangely. I realized that to them it looked like I was cooing at my breasts. Crazy dumpster lady who talks to her boobs. A few hours in town, and I was already making quite an impression.