by Jay Brushett
“Ah,” Martin said, as if that was obvious. “Okay, all set — you’re in 305. Here is your key.” He handed Jimmy a key card. “Parking is out front, as you’ve probably discovered, and the restaurant is down there.” He pointed to his right, down a hallway.
Jimmy thanked the man and retrieved his bag from the car. He dropped it in 305 and then made his way to the restaurant.
When he finished eating it was almost eight and the sun was getting low in the late summer sky.
It was too late to go there now, and besides, the owner wasn’t expecting him until tomorrow. But he could drive by at least.
Driving along the small local roads was a surreal experience. Though it had been twenty-four years they were as etched into his brain as any in Vancouver, more so in some ways. There was the post office and, over there, the convenience store where his dad would take him to get Doritos or ice cream. It was also where his father would talk to the owner while Jimmy grew more and more impatient. Most likely it had been minutes but they had felt like hours to him.
He smiled, remembering. Life had been good here. It had been a great place to grow up. Had been.
Until that night.
He crested a hill. On the left-hand side of the road a cement slab rose out of the ground — the remains of the school bus stop he had used every day. Coming up on the right, he knew, was the start of the trail to the playground. He kept his gaze straight ahead and didn’t, couldn’t, look at it as he drove by.
His childhood home was up ahead. The safe place where he had eaten mushy cornflakes and absorbed endless hours of toy commercial cartoons. He knew them for what they were now, but they were still magic in his memories.
He pulled over onto the gravel shoulder next to the driveway. In a patch of grass to the side of the driveway was a For Sale by Owner sign, with a phone number beneath.
Two cars were in front of the house and, as it was getting dark now, lights shone in the kitchen and one of the bedrooms. He couldn’t see any movement, nor any people. That was good, he could imagine that it was still his home, that he still belonged there. The house wasn’t very different. It was a different colour, had different siding. But in the failing light that was less obvious than it would have been. If he ignored the different windows and landscaping around the basement door, he could pretend he was home.
Whatever that meant.
He wasn’t sure he knew anymore. He didn’t know where he belonged. He would find out, he figured. Tomorrow he would return and view the house. He would see if it spoke to him, see if he might still have a place there, might have a future there.
His eyes wandered to the right, to the house next door. Brad’s house. It would always be Brad’s house, though Brad hadn’t lived there in twenty-five years. Hadn’t lived anywhere in twenty-five years.
He hadn’t thought of Brad much in all those years, not since moving to Vancouver. That was for the best. Some things are best forgotten.
There was just one problem: Jimmy did remember.
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JIMMY WOKE UP EARLY the next day, dressed and left the hotel. He walked five minutes down the street to the local Ed’s Coffee House.
The line was, as usual at any Ed’s, backed up to the door. He waited, moving with the queue as it crawled ahead. A woman around his age greeted him at the counter. She had dark circles under her eyes and looked tired. But she smiled and seemed delighted to help him. Her name tag had Rhonda printed on it.
“Good morning! What can I get you?” she asked.
“Good morning,” Jimmy said, “can I get a medium, black, two sugar and a multi-grain bagel, toasted with margarine, please?”
“Will that be all?”
“Yes.”
She rung up his order on the cash register and he paid with his debit card.
“How are you liking our town so far?” she asked while she prepared his order.
He laughed. “Is it that obvious?”
“That you’re not a local? Oh, yeah.” A pause. She winced. “Sorry.”
Jimmy couldn’t place it but there was something familiar about her. Her face, yes. But also something else.
“It’s okay. I am from here actually, but I moved away a long time ago.”
“Oh? What’s your name?”
Her voice! She was different, of course, but it was her.
“Rhonda!” Jimmy exclaimed.
She jumped and almost spilled hot coffee on her hand. She stared at him, incredulous. “Your name is Rhonda too?”
“You’re Rhonda Baker!”
Her face lost all expression. “Yes.”
“I’m James, Jimmy, Noonan!”
Her eyes widened in an instant. “Jimmy! Oh my God!” she said.
“Rhonda?” another Ed’s worker called from near the kitchen entrance.
Rhonda glanced in their direction. The person gave a flick of their head toward the growing line of people behind Jimmy.
“Oh, shit,” she muttered. “Jimmy,” she said, looking back at him, “can we meet up later? I’d love to catch up with you.”
“Of course.” Looking around the counter, he saw a stack of brown paper napkins and grabbed the top one. He retrieved a ballpoint pen from his pocket. With a light hand, so as not to tear the thin paper, he wrote on it. “Here’s my number, call me,” he said, passing her the napkin.
“I will,” she said, handing him his order, smiling.
Then she was off to the next customer.
Jimmy took his food and sat near one of the huge windows. He checked the news on his phone as he nibbled his bagel. All around he could feel eyes on him. He glanced around once and saw several sets of eyes turn to avoid his gaze.
Small towns were funny things, no matter where you went. In such places strangers were something to fear, disruptions to the status quo. If they had overheard snippets of Jimmy’s conversation with Rhonda they were likely trying to figure out what to make of it. By the afternoon, like a game of telephone, he and Rhonda would be an item and she might even be pregnant.
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HIS APPOINTMENT WITH THE home’s owner had been for eleven but he arrived at the house twenty minutes early. The driveway was empty, both vehicles he had seen the night before were gone. Someone might be inside, waiting for him, or, if not, they would arrive shortly.
He took the time to explore his old stomping ground. In the bright daylight he could see that there had been more landscaping changes than he thought. There was a rise to the side of the house with a garden that hadn’t existed before. A new stand of trees was between the house and a shed that stood off in a corner of the driveway. But it was still familiar enough.
He remembered one of the trees, though it was much higher now. His father had hung a swing from it when Jimmy was a small child, so young that the memory was hazy. But it came unbidden at the sight of the tree: he must have spent a fair bit of time using that swing.
Off in the distance, beyond Brad’s house, was a hill that was once covered in trees and crisscrossed with trails. They had played there often. It had seemed so high, so large to them when they were children. The hill was now covered with houses and crisscrossed with paved blacktop.
“You thinking of buying the Jaspers’ place?” someone asked.
Jimmy looked toward the voice, toward Brad’s house. A man stood in the middle of a path that ran from a small shed, set up on the far side of the overgrown lawn, to the house proper. The man appeared to be near his own age, though something about him made him seem several years older. He was carrying a length of thick rope, coiled and slung over his shoulder. And he was big, tall and barrel chested with a slight beer gut. There was something else too, a rascally demeanour that was familiar.
“Hello. Yes, actually. Well, I’m going to have a look around at any rate.” Jimmy walked as he spoke, closing the distance between himself and the man.
“They’r
e asking too much. You should be able to talk them down, they’re desperate to get rid of it.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Who can say? Folks do what they will, none of my business.”
Jimmy nodded to signify his understanding. He was pretty much next to the man now. “Oh, I’m Jim by the way, Jim Noonan. Pleased to meet you.” He held out his hand to the man.
The large man’s eyes went wide but he shook Jimmy’s hand. “Noonan? Little Jimmy Noonan?”
“Ha, yes, I suppose so. Steve?” And he knew as he asked that this was Brad’s older, mischievous brother all grown up.
Steve nodded.
It occurred to Jimmy then that the idea of Brad’s family still living in the house hadn’t crossed his mind once. But why wouldn’t they? Not everyone picked up and moved across the country.
“Do your parents still live here?” Jimmy asked.
“No, they passed away a few years back. It’s just me. Yeah, just me now.”
“Do you need a hand with anything?” Jimmy asked, pointing to the rope. “I could help after I’m through looking at the house?”
“Hmmm? Oh, nah, I’ve got it covered, need to secure something is all.” He paused and scratched his rough chin, covered in greying stubble. He narrowed his eyes as he asked, “Why are you here Jimmy?”
“As I said I’m thinking of buying the house, grew up here and all.”
“Right.” A pause. “But why are you here, in town? You’ve been gone a long time.”
Jimmy didn’t appreciate the accusatory tone. He didn’t owe Steve anything, didn’t have to open up about his pending divorce and the life that no longer waited for him in Vancouver.
“Trying to get back to my roots, I guess. It was good growing up here.”
“Not everything here was good.” There was a faraway look on Steve’s face, as if longing for something he’d lost.
“Oh,” Jimmy frowned, realizing he’d been inconsiderate, “I’m sorry, I meant before… before Brad went missing.”
At the mention of Brad’s name Steve tensed, became rigid. “I never said nothin’ ‘bout Brad!”
“No, I… it’s, well, that wasn’t a good time. It was hard, especially how abrupt it was.”
“Hard? Hard nothin’. The hard part came after. The hard part never ends. As God wills.”
They stood there in silence then, Jimmy not knowing what, if anything, he should say. There was a sound from inside Steve’s house — not Brad’s any longer he realized — the sound of something falling over.
Steve turned away from Jimmy and started walking toward the house. “Got things to do Jimmy,” he called over his shoulder as he went.
“Right. It was nice seeing you again,” Jimmy said, giving a forced smile. Steve seemed like he’d lived alone a little too long.
Jimmy sauntered around the property for a few minutes and then went to the front door and knocked. There was no reply. He sat and waited on a patio chair. A car arrived after a few minutes, one of the two he had seen in the driveway the night before. A short woman bounded out and up the stairs to the front door.
“Mr. Noonan? I’m so sorry I’m late.”
“Not at all. Mrs. Jasper?”
“Yes, that’s right. Pleased to meet you.”
She offered her hand and Jimmy shook it.
“Likewise,” he said.
The woman exuded energy. She was the kind of person that, depending on your own mood, could make you feel energized or tired. Given the odd conversation he’d had with Steve he was glad for some cheerful enthusiasm.
She unlocked the door and they went inside. Room by room she showed him around. Their voices echoed in the empty spaces, bouncing off the bare walls.
He nodded here and there, asking questions when appropriate. All the while his mind was swimming, remembering what the house had looked like. He’d see some corner or look down a hallway and was immediately transported back in time. He would see it as it was, remember Christmases and birthdays long past.
In the living room, where he had passed so many Saturday mornings, they stood looking out the window. Mrs. Jasper explained that the windows were all new, vinyl, installed only two years before. But Jimmy hardly heard her. Through the window he saw the long driveway that ran up to Brad’s, or rather, he corrected himself, Steve’s house.
But it was Brad’s driveway and Brad’s house he saw through that window then, saw them as they were. As they were that night. There had been police cars, grey in the pre-dawn, lights flashing red and blue. Jimmy had sat, glued to that window, watching the uniformed RCMP officers going to and fro. His mother had told him in low tones that Brad was missing while his father left to join the search party. No one knew where Brad was or what had happened. He might have been taken or might have left on his own. Tears had run down Jimmy’s face then. They had run over his lips and he felt he could still taste their salt.
Jimmy knew then that Brad’s disappearance had something to do with what they had found in the woods. But he had been a child, he hadn’t said anything. No one would have believed him anyway, that they had found a strange object in the woods that made people act funny. So he had kept it to himself. But now he remembered.
“Mr. Noonan? Are you okay?” Mrs. Jasper asked.
“Yes, sorry, I got lost in thought for a moment. I apologize.”
“Oh, no, not at all. Buying a house is a big decision, lots to think about.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“Going on eight years now.”
“Do you know the man next door, Steve?”
She hesitated a moment, only the briefest of moments, but Jimmy caught it. “Yes, a little. We don’t know him but, as neighbours, you know, we see him about and such. Why do you ask?”
“I was speaking with him before you arrived. He seemed a bit… how can I put it… odd.”
She laughed, almost a snort. “That’s putting it mildly. But he’s harmless enough, keeps to himself.” She paused. “I hope that won’t influence your decision about the house. He really is harmless. In all our years here we’ve not had any issues with him. Fred, that’s my husband, has seen him out late at night or early in the morning sometimes. Out, going about with a flashlight, around the yard or down the street.”
“Really? Wandering about in the dark?”
“Yes. Strange, right? But harmless.”
At length, they arrived back in the kitchen. Mrs. Jasper told him how excited they’d be if he bought the house and to call if he had any questions. He thanked her and made his way to his car.
Opening the door, he chanced a glance back toward Steve’s house. He could have sworn he saw a narrowed set of eyes glaring at him from a gap in a curtained window. He looked again but saw only curtains.
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JIMMY STOPPED OFF FOR lunch at a pizza place, which had been a chicken place when he was a kid. Then he drove around for a few hours, passing the afternoon. He retraced his childhood along stretches of asphalt and dirt roads. Some places were familiar, others had changed so much as to be unrecognizable.
Around four his phone buzzed. It was a text message from Rhonda. Meet for dinner? 5:30 @ Lee’s?
He texted her back, Sure, see you then.
In the hour and a half he had before dinner he went back to the hotel and freshened up. There was something about seeing old friends that made him want to look his best. Perchance it was a desire to look prosperous, to seem like your life was going well, that you weren’t wasting it. Or it was vanity, pure and simple.
Jimmy arrived outside Lee’s Chinese Restaurant at 5:20 PM. He remembered the place well — he had eaten much chow mein and many egg rolls there as a child. And it still looked the same as he remembered. The only thing different was the sign. Two carved red dragons chased each other around the border of an illuminated white rectangle. Inside that rectangle Lee’s was in pseudo-Chinese brushwork and Chinese
Restaurant was beneath in a plain, sans-serif font.
It was typical of every Canadian Chinese restaurant that Jimmy had ever visited. But Lee’s held a special place in his heart. It brought back the past, a time before he had met his soon-to-be ex-wife and before his childhood best friend had gone missing.
He noticed Rhonda pulling into the parking lot in an old Sunfire coupe that had seen better days. He wondered how she was doing, working at Ed’s Coffee House and driving that old car. He realized it was none of his business — he had his own problems and was not qualified to judge anyone else.
He approached her car as she got out and waved. “Hey!” he said.
“Hey,” she said, smiling at him. “Been waiting long?”
“Oh no, I just arrived too.”
They walked inside and got a booth near a window. The room swam in reds and golds with carved dragons staring at them from alcoves and corners. It was exactly as Jimmy remembered. He smiled.
“You seem happy,” Rhonda said as they sat down.
“It’s the memories, you know? I haven’t been here for over twenty-four years and it feels like yesterday.”
“Well,” she leaned in close to him and lowered her voice to a whisper, “that’s only because Mrs. Lee is still too pissed off to think about redecorating. Since Mr. Lee ran off with one of the dishwashers.”
“You’re making that up.”
“Uh-uh. It’s a small town, you hear stuff. As I’m sure you’ve re-discovered.”
“Yeah, a bit.”
They perused their menus.
Jimmy looked up. “I remember the last time I was here. You were here too. Well, I should hope so, anyway. It was your birthday.”
A look of recognition appeared on her face. “Oh yes, my tenth birthday!”
“I had the chow mein and egg rolls.”
She laughed. “That’s all you ever had!”
“Well, why break with tradition,” he said, closing his menu. “Mushroom chow mein and veggie egg rolls it is.”
