If These Walls Could Talk

by Bettye Griffin

  “So I’ll have my own section. But you’ll have to come over here to use the bathroom.”

  Milo patted Zach’s back. “Nope. We’ve got our own bathroom right there in our bedroom.”

  “Your own bathroom? Wow!” Zach stared at the sparkling water just beyond the backyard. “Is our house gonna be on the river?”

  “It’s a lake,” Milo corrected. “And we thought you’d never notice.”

  “Wow! A lake in our backyard!”

  “Just think how nice it’ll be in the summertime,” Dawn said. “You’ll meet lots of kids here, and you’ll be able to have a birthday party in the backyard, with balloons tied to the trees. Maybe we’ll even buy a canoe or something, and we can take boat rides.”

  “Cool!” Zach ran off to see the water close up.

  Dawn peeked into the wood-frame house through one of the openings for windows. “What’s that in the walls, Milo, insulation?” She pointed to the fuzzy yellow material tucked in between the rafters of the walls. It reminded her of cotton candy.

  Milo looked inside. “Yes, that’s what it looks like.” He frowned. “But they certainly didn’t use much of it.”

  “Maybe they ran out and plan to finish up next week.”

  “I hope so. Or else the owners of this house are going to freeze come winter. Come on, let’s drive over and show Zach the model.” He whistled to catch Zach’s eye, then gestured for him to come to them.

  They got into their car and drove off, passing two signs in front of the house in progress with the poor insulation. One had instructions for the builders, and the other proclaimed, “Future home of The Currys.”

  Chapter 13

  The Currys

  April 2002

  Reuben got behind the wheel of the U-Haul truck, where Mitchell already sat next to him. “Again, Camille, don’t worry about trying to stay behind me. It’s tricky to follow someone when you’re driving on the highway, especially in heavy traffic. But you do know how to get there, right?”

  “Are you kidding? Of course I know. Reuben, we’ve been going out there every week for the last four months.” They drove out to the site every Saturday once construction had started, sometimes disappointed to see little or no progress, sometimes thrilled to see their home edging closer to completion. The structure didn’t look like much at the beginning, with just the foundation, wood frame, and unfinished roof, but then windows were placed, the drywall went up, the stairs to the basement and the second floor were built and the house took on the shape of the model it mirrored. As it neared completion even Mitchell and Shayla got excited.

  “Call my cell if you have any problem,” Camille said.

  “Will do. Drive carefully, honey.”

  “I will.” Reuben leaned out the window to give her a quick kiss. He patted the large steering wheel. “I’m not looking forward to driving this big ol’ thing all the way to Tobyhanna, I’ve got to tell you.”

  “It’s gonna be fun!” Mitchell exclaimed.

  “That’s what you say now, Mitch, but wait til we start hitting all those bumps on the turnpike and your butt is bouncing all over the place.” Reuben turned back to Camille. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours. We’ll have lunch in our new house.”

  Those last three words made Camille’s toes tingle. Our new house. Their own house. God, just thinking of it gave her that same rush she got during sex. “I can’t wait.”

  “Bye, Daddy. Bye, Mitchell,” Shayla said.

  “Bye!”

  Camille and Shayla got into the family’s white Malibu and drove off. Camille allowed Shayla to insert her Winnie the Pooh CD and sing along. Normally she found cutesy songs like that “Christopher Robin” one overly cheerful, but today she didn’t care what they listened to. She felt too keyed up. Besides, better Winnie the Pooh than hip-hop.

  After waiting so many months for construction to be complete, suddenly everything fell smack dab into place. She and Reuben went for a final inspection Thursday morning, closed Thursday afternoon, and now they had the keys to their front and back doors, plus a bottle of champagne, courtesy of the builder. This was it. Instead of looking at their future home and longing for the day when they would at last live in it and then heading back to the Bronx, the future had finally arrived; and they were going to their new home for good.

  The moment seemed almost anticlimactic. There was no one to wave good-bye to; Saul and the others who had helped carry their belongings down the stairs had already said their farewells and gone on their way. The sheet metal shop was closed today, so all was quiet for a change. Camille thought it ironic that the banging and slamming that often disturbed her Saturday mornings didn’t happen this last morning in their apartment. But a roaring train pulled into the 161st Street station as she headed for the Major Deegan Expressway, a fitting ending to the life they were leaving behind. Now it would be Saul’s turn to cope with those damn El trains every ten minutes.

  The landlord was happy to offer a lease to Reuben’s brother, his former employee, when he learned they would be moving out. It still incensed Camille whenever she recalled telling the landlord that she and Reuben would be giving up their apartment to live in their new house in Pennsylvania. He hadn’t bothered to even try to conceal his astonishment. He clearly expected them to remain in the apartment for years and years, raising their rent annually, even though he knew it was too small for them. She’d wanted to ask him, Do you think you’re the only one who wants to improve their life?

  They crossed the George Washington Bridge into New Jersey. Camille felt like they’d gotten away with an extra four dollars, because the toll booths were on the other side, for those entering New York. Of course, she and Reuben would be coming back to the city to work a week from Monday, but on a commuter bus, so they wouldn’t have to pay the toll themselves.

  To her pleasant surprise, their new neighbors welcomed them as they unloaded the truck, coming over to say hello and introducing themselves. Two of the men, the one next door and the one across the street, actually helped them move in the heavier pieces. One of them took over for her as she and Reuben attempted to place their entertainment center on a wheeled lift, telling her she had no business trying to lift anything so heavy. Imagine getting a complete stranger to help you move your furniture if you were in New York! If they offered, you could be sure they would make careful note of what they saw so they could come back and rip you off, she thought matter-of-factly.

  It amazed her that the help they received came from white folks. She’d never lived near white people before; the South Bronx was nearly exclusively black and Hispanic. Their new neighbors seemed like genuinely nice people. To show their gratitude, she and Reuben invited both men and their spouses over for dinner on Tuesday. She wanted a few days to get the house in shape, unpacking and hanging the new drapes and curtains they’d bought, before they entertained their first guests. Besides, the new dining room furniture they ordered wouldn’t be delivered until the weekend.

  Camille insisted they buy a formal dining room table because their white laminate-top table and Windsor chairs looked way too casual for a separate formal dining room. They placed the existing set in the corner of the eat-in kitchen. She wanted to get the matching china cabinet as well to go with their new table, but Reuben pointed out that they had no china and put his foot down about buying any, so she settled for a buffet server.

  Camille knew that as long as she lived she would never forget their first week in the new house. It had been heavenly, just perfect. The knowledge that they had a home of their own still hadn’t completely sunk in. Several times a day she walked through it, sniffing the walls, loving the way the fresh paint smelled. She walked barefoot over the beige wall-to-wall carpet they had chosen, loving its thick, lush feel. She’d lived in apartments where there’d been new paint, but never in her dreams did she ever believe she’d live in a house with a rug so light it was practically white.

  Finally, she walked up the staircase, letting her hand trail
along the pecan-wood banister, telling herself over and over that this was their home, where they would live from now on. She’d never been a stay-at-home mom, except for a brief period after both Mitchell and Shayla’s births when she took off for two months. Now she played the housewife role with vigor, unpacking their belongings while Reuben got the children registered in school. Late April was awfully late in the semester to make a transfer, but they saw no point in paying rent in the city for another two months just so the kids could finish out the year. Besides, this way she could get an idea of how far ahead the Tobyhanna schools were compared to the Bronx—she had no doubt they were ahead—and maybe give the kids some tutoring to help them prepare. She wanted to limit any difficulty they might have to the last weeks of the current semester. By the time the fall semester rolled around Shayla would be ready for the third grade and Mitchell the sixth.

  As Camille lined the shelves with contact paper and helped Reuben paint, she wished she could be at home like this all the time.

  But she knew she had to work, and she wanted to. Money brought good things, and she wanted good things. Heading her wish list was more new furniture. Their stuff was far from ratty, but it did look a bit tired, and a little chintzy as well, in their brand-new home. She kept thinking of how nice that furnished model looked, everything brand-spanking new and expensive-looking; no assembly-required tables. Ah, but they had plenty of time to redecorate. They’d be here the rest of their lives. When they retired they would sit out back in the proverbial rocking chairs and watch the sun set in the evenings. Mitchell and Shayla would send their children to Grandma and Grandpa’s for the summers....

  The first prick in Camille’s bubble came when, Tuesday evening at dinner, she asked her female neighbors about day care options for the children of New York commuters.

  “I don’t think anyone stays open past six,” Linda Tillman said. She turned to Marianne Willis. “Do you know of any place, Marianne?”

  “Actually, I don’t.” She shrugged apologetically. “Our oldest was fourteen when we moved here, so Jeff and I managed without day care. And now that I have a real estate license in Pennsylvania, I work pretty close by.”

  “I work from home doing medical insurance coding,” Linda said, “so we had no need for day care, either. But I’m sure there has to be someplace.”

  “Oh, I’m sure there is,” Camille replied confidently.

  But her subsequent research proved there wasn’t, and she began to panic. She hadn’t expected to encounter problems in finding day care; she just assumed that since people from New York were pouring into the area that extended day care would be readily available. Was everyone who lived here like Linda and Marianne, with older offspring or work-at-home positions that didn’t require them to need child care?

  Once she and Reuben returned to work in another week they would be away from home most of the day. They would have to catch the 5:40 AM bus into the city, and take the 5:30 PM bus back, which would put them in Tobyhanna at around 7:30 in the evening. That made for a frighteningly long time for the children to be alone. Not only would they have to get themselves up and off to school each morning, but they would have to get their own dinner upon returning from school. They could hardly have dinner at 8:00 or 8:30 at night. They couldn’t avoid the commute, but the schedule bordered on neglect for children as young as theirs.

  She talked to Reuben about it. “We’ll have to get someone to watch them,” he said.

  “That’ll be expensive, Reuben. I’m not sure we can afford it, especially after what we’ve already spent.” The cost of window fashions alone ran over two hundred dollars, and the dining room another twelve hundred. And Reuben, anxious to start barbecuing in the warm spring and summer weather, had bought a shiny new gas grill from Lowe’s; another two hundred gone.

  “What choice do we have?”

  This seemed like a good time for her to tell Reuben what was on her mind, even though the want ads in Sunday’s paper revealed dismal pickings. “I thought I’d try to find a job around here.”

  “And make, what, eight bucks an hour? You saw the paper the other day. You can’t bring home those kinds of wages in the twenty-first century. It won’t be enough for us to make it, Camille.”

  “But if I can find something that pays reasonably well, when you factor in the cost of bus passes and babysitters, wouldn’t you want me to change jobs?”

  “Yes, but that’s a pretty strong if. In the meantime we’ve got to protect Mitchell and Shayla. Maybe get some local kid to sit with them until at least six. By that time they’ll have to go home and have dinner themselves, but at least we’ll be home within another ninety minutes. Mitchell is almost eleven. I know that’s young to be responsible for your little sister and yourself when it’s getting dark outside, but I think he can manage for an hour and a half. We’ll coach them.”

  Camille wasn’t convinced. “It’s such a big house, Reuben. And it’ll take us at least a few weeks to find someone. You and I have to go back to work next week.”

  “Talk to some more of the neighbors. Maybe they can recommend someone.”

  She felt uncomfortable with the idea of knocking on doors of people she didn’t even know. “And if we don’t find anyone by the end of the week?”

  Reuben shrugged. “They can go to the library after school, and we’ll pick them up there. That won’t cost anything, plus it’s educational. It’ll encourage them to study or read even after they’re done with homework.”

  The underlying fear about child care was the only blemish on an otherwise perfect week. On a particularly cool spring night Reuben gathered them all together in the family room and lit a fire. Camille even bought some graham crackers, Hershey’s bars, and marshmallows, which they toasted over the open fire, and then made s’mores, a snack new to everyone but Camille, who remembered it from her days at camp.

  On the last Saturday before she and Reuben were due to return to work they drove into Bushkill so Camille could show the family where she’d gone to camp as a child. No one was there at this time of year, and she imagined all the buildings were locked up tight, so they didn’t even try to go inside the beautiful, high-ceilinged chapel she remembered. Much of the grounds had changed. Not far from the lake a new Olympic-size pool had been built.

  She smiled, full of fond memories of learning how to swim in the brown water of the lake with other city kids. Who could have predicted that one day decades later she would be living in a house on another Pennsylvania lake?

  “This is nice, Mommy,” Shayla said. “Can Mitchell and I come here this summer?”

  “How come you and Daddy didn’t send us here before?” Mitchell asked.

  “Because you’re not eligible to come here. This camp was founded to give poor kids from the city a place to get away for a few weeks each summer. My family didn’t have much money, and while Daddy and I don’t have a whole lot of money ourselves, we do make too much for you to qualify to come here.”

  “So what’re we gonna do all summer?”

  “You’ll have a great time,” Reuben said with enthusiasm. “You’ll know all the kids in the neighborhood by then, and we’ll probably get one of your cousins out here to keep an eye on y’all.”

  Camille’s head jerked. That was the first she’d heard about that plan. When had Reuben decided that? And why hadn’t he discussed it with her?

  He caught sight of her startled expression and shrugged. “It’s just an idea. It popped into my head.”

  “Any particular cousin you had in mind?”

  “Kierra. Mom was saying how Brenda would love to get her out of the city. A couple of girls in the building are having babies already, and Brenda’s worried. I can’t blame her. Kierra’s only fifteen.”

  Camille didn’t respond, but she couldn’t help remembering how unkind her sister-in-law had been when she learned about their plans to build a house. Now Brenda had Ginny relaying her worries to Reuben in hopes of securing an invitation so that her daughter woul
d stay out of trouble in the city. Camille found that ironic. They probably had Reuben believing that no teenage girls ever got pregnant in Tobyhanna, where half the parents in town spent five hours a day commuting to offices in New York.

  On Sunday evening, after cooking all afternoon so she could get dinner on the table within minutes of arriving home the next evening, Camille packed extra sandwiches and drinks in the kids’ lunch boxes. The library was easy to get to from the school, and at least there the children would be safe. But she felt an unrelenting sense of guilt for not researching her options for child care before they moved out here. It was rather irresponsible of her to merely assume that extended day care services would be readily available to people like her and Reuben, with young children who needed supervision in the hours between the end of the school day and their parents’ arrival at home. She’d been too caught up in the excitement of owning a brand new home to look into it. Already she worried about their upcoming summer vacation. Reuben’s idea of bringing Kierra out to watch Mitchell and Shayla wasn’t a bad one, but Camille was still annoyed at Brenda and really didn’t want Brenda’s daughter coming to stay with them unless she had absolutely no other options.

  But the day camps advertised in the newspaper all looked so expensive. Back in the Bronx the kids had attended a low-cost day camp sponsored by their church. She doubted anything like that existed out here, where everyone seemed reasonably well off. Besides, their long weekdays would probably make joining a church difficult. She couldn’t picture Reuben getting out of bed early on Sunday morning when he already arose before the crack of dawn Monday through Friday, and she didn’t find the idea particularly appealing herself.