I loved my sister...I missed her...but I really wished she’d stop talking. It was hard enough for me to stop thinking about Danny on a good day, never mind after having this bomb dropped on me. What were the chances he and I would both end up back home at the same time? Some would have said it was fate bringing us back together…kismet. I didn’t know about all that. I thought it was simply a coincidence. Not even a purely random coincidence since this was where our families were.
“That’s nice,” I responded, knowing I wouldn’t get away with not acknowledging her.
“Is it?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said, and I meant it. I didn’t wish any harm on Danny. Quite the opposite. I just wasn’t ready to bump into him around town. I thought I’d have a few more years before running into him, if ever. It took a long time (and a lot of therapy) to bring me back to the land of the living, and that was in a world where Danny no longer existed. Now we existed again in the same place, and I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about that.
“I also hear he’s still single.”
I let out a sigh. Having a journalist for a sister was so much fun. Maybe if I ignored her now, she’d think I was asleep and shut up.
“He’s renovating his uncle’s old place.”
Maybe not.
“Melissa!”
“What?”
“Can we please go to sleep? I had a long drive today. I’m tired. And I don’t want to talk about my ex-husband.”
Now it was her turn to sigh. “Whatever. We’ll talk tomorrow when you’re less cranky.” Her bed creaked as she turned over; just like it had when we were kids; it brought me an odd sense of peace as the blankets rustled and then quieted.
“Not likely,” I muttered under my breath, not quite ready to let her have the final word.
“Oh, it’s happening, sister. I’ve given you years of peace and quiet. Time’s up.”
I rolled onto my back again and stared up at the ceiling. Melissa wouldn’t relent. I knew that. I’d be facing the music sooner or later. Might as well have been sooner.
My family had given me space after the divorce. Mostly because I’d stopped speaking to them long before then, and they’d gotten tired of being ignored or hung up on. After weeks of their calls being sent to voicemail, emails unreturned, and knocks unanswered…they finally stopped trying. Not that I could blame them. They knew I was alive, I’d sent out the bare minimum, “I’m okay” texts, and I was sure Danny updated them before we divorced. So there was really nothing left for my family to do but wait. I guess they’d had faith that I’d come around.
Eventually I made contact and apologized for distancing myself, but it took a while for things to get back to normal…or to a new normal, rather. And even so, our relationship was still long distance. They forgave me, because that’s what family did. They forgave you for your moments of weakness and selfishness and helped you move forward. That’s what I was supposed to be doing here in Oak River. Moving forward.
But now a big piece of my past was back, and I didn’t know how to handle that.
“I can’t believe you guys get to work on a farm all summer,” I said, taking in the wide open space that was Danny and Dean’s Uncle Pete’s farm. It never ceased to amaze me that there was property like this just outside the suburban streets of Oak River.
“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” Dean whined. “Farm work is tough.”
I had no doubt about that. The massive barn housed several horses and there were also chickens. Uncle Pete had some crops, too. Corn and wheat. I didn’t know what went into running a farm, but if their uncle needed the help of his nephews and my brothers, I imagined it was a lot of work.
“We should go to the river and go swimming after this,” Danny suggested. I watched a drop of sweat fall from his brow to his bare chest, then run all the way down until it was absorbed by his pants.
Lately, whenever I was around Danny, I felt weird. My hands got sweaty, my head felt fuzzy and my heart pounded...like when I have to give a presentation at school. I'd known Danny all my life, why was I suddenly nervous around him.
“Swimming sounds fun,” Melissa said. She pulled a small nail file out of her purse and started filing her nails. My sister was so bored. Aside from swimming or laying out in the sun to get tanned, she didn’t care much for being outside.
“I wouldn’t mind cooling off after this,” Dean agreed.
“We’d better get back to work so we’ll have time to cool off before it gets dark,” Bryan said, wiping the sweat off his brow before he replaced his baseball cap.
The boys all got up and left the porch, Mikey trailing behind them. My younger brother hated manual labor. I was surprised anyone had convinced him to help out, but I’d bet Mom and Dad didn’t give him a choice. Our family was close with the Thompsons, and when either family needed help, the other pitched in.
I watched Danny’s back, as he moved with the others across the field. I’d always thought he was handsome, but he was just a friend, right? Our parents were very close, so we always played with each other when we were younger. We were also in the same classes throughout elementary and middle school, since our small town only had one class per grade. High school would start in the fall, ninth grade, and I wasn’t sure what that would bring since it would be the first time we took classes with other grades. We hadn’t gotten our schedules yet, but I was hoping Danny and I would have some of the same classes.
I flipped through the latest issue of YM magazine while Melissa did her nails beside me. I started to feel bad for just sitting on the porch swing with my sister while the guys were out working hard in the sticky heat.
“Do you want to go help them?”
Melissa gave me a side-eye as she did her second coat of Wet n Wild hot pink nail polish. “Why would I do that? My nails will get all messed up.”
“I don’t know.”
“You just want to go see Danny. Admit it.”
My cheeks heated. “I do not.”
Melissa smirked as she stuck the brush back in the bottle and sealed it. She waved her hands back and forth in front of her, causing the swing to sway. “There’s nothing wrong if you like him, you know?”
“I don’t like him.” I liked him as a friend, but that was it, I thought.
“Uh huh.” I wanted to wipe that smirk off her face. Sometimes I wondered why my sister was my best friend. She dropped her polish and file into her tote bag and stood up. “Okay, let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“To find the guys.”
“We don’t have to,” I said.
“Okay, then let’s stay here.”
I stood up. “Okay, come on.”
Melissa laughed, then carefully took my hand as we skipped off the porch.
“Are you going to try out for cheerleading?” Melissa asked as we walked through the field to where the boys were fixing a fence.
“Why would I do that?” I didn’t think I was coordinated enough to be a cheerleader.
“I overhead Danny talking to Bryan. He’s trying out for JV football.”
“Really?”
“Yup. And the cheerleaders get to go to all the games with the football team.”
“They do?”
“Yup. I’ll help you practice, if you want.”
“Thanks,” I said.
Melissa may have been my younger sister...but I guess she was a pretty amazing best friend, too.
***
My mother made a huge breakfast the next morning, and as I made my plate I absently wondered if half the reason she cooked all the time was so she didn’t have to clean up afterwards. It seemed she dirtied every single pot, pan, and utensil in the kitchen, but I wouldn’t complain…at least not out loud. Her breakfast buffet of pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage, and fresh fruit was to die for, and I needed to get my fill before I was on my own in my new place. If that meant I had to spend the next week washing dishes, I would happily comply.
“Melissa said she
told you about Danny,” Mom said as she poured orange juice into my glass.
Damn you, Melissa, I silently cursed my sister. The little brat left early and rode with my dad to the office, leaving me alone with our mom and the dishes. It was just like Melissa to do something like that.
“Mm-hmm,” I acknowledged, hoping she didn’t press any further, but knowing it wasn’t likely.
“I didn’t know he was coming back,” she told me, placing her hand gently on mine. I released the white-knuckle grip I had on my fork, not realizing I’d been squeezing it so tight.
“It’s okay, Mom,” I said. “We were bound to cross paths again at some point with me being back here.” Realistically, I knew that. His parents still lived here, after all. He wasn’t the terrible, estranged child I was. He probably came back to visit his parents and siblings over the years after we split up. After all, there had been numerous trips back home while we were married that I bailed on for one made up reason or another.
Mom gave me sad smile and squeezed my shoulder. “If you ever want to talk about anything, I’m here for you, sweetheart.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said, looking down at my plate so she couldn’t see my eyes well up with tears.
She had no idea how much I wished I’d confided in her when my life was falling apart. I was too proud back then. I had wanted to show her and my dad that I was independent and that I could make it on my own and be an adult. Running home to my mom after too many disheartening doctors’ appointments and too many failed infertility treatments would have felt too much like admitting defeat. I was never ready or willing to admit that, even though I had been so utterly defeated. I was such an idiot. If there was one thing I had learned over the years, it was that one of the most crucial parts of adulthood was recognizing and then admitting when you needed help.
“What’s on your agenda for today?” she asked, and I was thankful for the change in topic.
“I’m going to run by the practice and check on the house. I need to see what needs to be done before the movers show up next week.”
“You’ll probably want to paint. I don’t imagine Mr. Smith has updated much in that old house. He had a few tenants, so who knows what condition it’s in.”
Thanks, Mom. I feel so much better now.
The “house” was actually a small cottage set behind Mr. Smith’s law practice. When I bought the practice, the home came with it. It seemed like the perfect new start, at least temporarily. Mr. and Mrs. Smith never lived in the house; they’d been renting it out until a few years ago. It was all sight unseen, and I hoped I didn’t end up with a complete lemon on my hands. I had a lot of hope riding on a relatively easy move-in transition. With my mother’s words, I was beginning to feel uneasy about the whole thing.
“I’ll probably need to air it out, too,” I said, my mind conjuring up the old, musty odor that was likely to be behind closed doors.
“Why don’t we make a day of it?” Mom asked, her eyes brightening up. “We can do a walk through, then hit the hardware store for supplies.”
Her excitement was contagious, and I loved that she wanted to be involved. Some of my dread lifted. I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my day than getting my new home ready with my mom.
- 3 -
“It could be worse,” Mom said.
“Please,” I stated dryly, my hands perched on my hips, “enlighten me on how this could possibly be any worse?”
“It has a roof.”
I looked up at the white, popcorn ceiling stained with water marks. “Barely,” I scoffed.
“There could be no electricity or running water…”
I walked over to the kitchen sink and turned on the tap. The pipes groaned, but nothing came out. I sighed as my stomach knotted. “Any other words of wisdom?”
“The water is probably turned off,” she shrugged. “I’m sorry, sweetie.”
We stood in the kitchen of the small, nine hundred square foot cottage, a.k.a. disaster area, and I scanned the space. As much as I hated to admit it, my mother was right. It could have been worse. The once white carpet in the living area and bedroom was mostly brown. The linoleum in the kitchen and bathroom was worn through in several places. There were holes in the walls from who knew what—it looked like something chewed through in a few places—as well as several broken windows that were being held together with masking tape. But at least it was still standing. Silver linings and all that.
“I’m going to need to hire someone,” I muttered to myself. This was more than a quick paint job.
Mom started clapping her hands excitedly, and I raised an eyebrow at her. “You can use Michael!”
“Michael? As in my brother? Your son, Michael?” My tone must have indicated my surprise because she rolled her eyes at me.
“Of course, what other Michael would I recommend?”
“I don’t know…” I started, biting my lip. The Michael I remembered wasn’t a handy guy. He had been a bookworm all through high school. Could he really repair a house? I knew from our conversation over dinner last night that he was working in construction, but I kind of figured he did paperwork or something.
“What’s there to think about? He’s your brother.”
“He’ll probably write messages in glow-in-the-dark paint throughout the house to scare the hell out of me, Mom.”
She smiled, probably remembering the time he’d rearranged the glow-in-the-dark stars on mine and Melissa’s bedroom ceiling to make spiders and scary faces. We didn’t sleep in our room for a week after that. “He takes his work very seriously, Jess. He’d do a good job for you.”
“I’ll give him a call.”
“I think that’d make him very happy.” She squeezed my shoulder before stepping around me and heading out the door. “Call him now, then we’ll go look at paint swatches and get some lunch.”
I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and skimmed the contacts for Michael’s number, then tapped his name and waited for the call to connect.
“Michael Price,” he answered, and I smiled at how professional my little brother sounded.
“Hey, Mikey. It’s Jess.”
He was quiet for a moment before responding. “Hey, Jess. What’s up?”
Guilt ate at me. Talking to my little brother on the phone shouldn’t have been awkward. He was my brother. We hadn’t spoken much at dinner the night before, but we had exchanged some pleasantries. Nevertheless, there was a strain there.
“Mom and I are at my new place,” I told him. “It needs some work.”
“I’m pretty busy today,” he started, and I interrupted him; I knew I shouldn’t have asked.
“It’s okay. I’m sorry to have bothered you. Maybe you can recommend someone?”
“Jess, stop. If you’ll let me finish…I’m busy today, but I can probably meet you there tomorrow morning to check things out.”
I blew out a relieved breath, some of the tension left my shoulders. “Really?”
“Of course,” he said assuredly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Thanks, Mike.”
“No problem.”
I told him goodbye, disconnected the call, and tucked my phone back in my pocket. For the first time since walking in the house and seeing the damage, I felt like everything was going to be okay. I took one final look around the small, open floor plan and smiled, imagining its potential.
Things would come together.
They just had to. There wasn’t any other option.
***
“I really liked that shade of brown you picked out for your bedroom,” Mom said as she stirred the sugar into her iced tea. She always used to complain that restaurants couldn’t get the sugar to tea ratio quite right, and it appeared she still held that opinion. At least she developed her own solution to the problem.
“I love the color,” I responded, leaving out the fact it was the exact same color Danny and I had painted the bedroom of our townhome in the city. I wasn’t happy to adm
it it, but I’d never had them out to visit the townhouse, so she wouldn’t know how the place was decorated. Life had been too busy with college and work; it was just easier for Danny and me to go home for holidays and quick visits. Not to mention that things went south so quickly after we’d moved in, and I’d begun to distance myself from everyone. The only person who would recognize the color was Danny…and he’d never see it. It wasn’t like he had any reason to be in my bedroom.
“I can’t wait to see what Michael does with the place,” she said excitedly before biting into her grilled chicken wrap.
“There’s not much to do,” I said to her. “Just the ceiling, walls, windows, and flooring.” You know…just everywhere you looked. Our eyes met, and we burst out laughing at the absurdity of my statement. There was so much to do.
“You’d be surprised what a difference just those things will make,” Mom said after we’d composed ourselves.
I nodded, taking a forkful of my Caesar salad. She was right. The interior of the house looked like an abandoned shack. It smelled like one, too. But once the aesthetics were taken care of, the cottage would look like a whole new place. Not to mention what a difference adding splashes of color would make.
As we continued to eat in silence, I realized how much I’d missed The Diner. Yes, that’s what it was called: The Diner. It was the only diner in Oak River, so it was suitably named. We—Danny and I—used to come here after school on the days we didn’t have practice or some club meeting. In fact, the last time I was here was the last day of our final summer in Oak River before we left for college—almost twelve years ago. I’d gotten a strawberry milkshake and he had a root beer float. Everything about the place was comfortable and homey, from the rich and delicious comfort foods to the super sweet desserts.
“How long do you think the repairs will take?” I asked my mom, remembering they had some renovations done to their kitchen a few years back.
“I guess it depends on when he could fit you in and if he has to order the materials. I don’t think the work itself will take that long. The cottage isn’t that big.”
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