Page 12

Chapter Twelve

My stomach spins when I raise my hand to knock. Back in elementary school and middle school, Ava had nice things to say about her grandmother. We even saw her now and again when she would drop Ava off or pick her up from birthday parties, my house, or school. The only things I’ve heard about the woman the last few years are all pretty negative. It seems she has become almost as neglectful as Ava’s mother.

My hand is still poised in the air, ready to knock, but I can’t seem to make it tip forward and complete the action. I remind myself that though her grandmother has become neglectful, she hasn’t become mean. Ava always says that it’s her mom who starts screaming first. If I don’t start yelling at the woman, I doubt she’ll yell at me.

Finally, I force myself to knock.

I wait, straining my ears for the sound of movement inside. Nothing.

I knock again, harder this time, and listen. Still nothing.

My nerves are raw, and I think I’m going to jump out of my skin. Eyeing the doorbell, I gnaw my lip. I hate using the doorbell. My aversion has always struck me as strange since our visitors have to use the doorbell if they want anyone to know they are there. At least this doorbell isn’t one of those cameras recording my inner struggle for people to witness and laugh at later.

With a shaking finger, I press the stupid bell. I hear it ring inside the house. If Grandma is downstairs, she should hear that, right?

In no time, I hear some thumping and banging from within. I straighten my back and pull my tummy in, hoping it will fortify me.

The door opens a crack.

“Yeah?”

I smile, hoping to look pleasant and unthreatening. “Hi…” I can’t remember her name, so after an awkward pause, I continue. “I’m Samantha Jones, Ava’s friend. She had an accident at work and I’m here to get her a change of clothes.”

The door swings wide and I find myself looking at a much older version of the woman I remember. I just saw her a couple of weeks ago at Ava’s brother’s graduation and she didn’t look as defeated then. Or maybe I was distracted by the graduation ceremony to take notice of the differences.

My gaze sweeps her from head to toe. Whatever brown was left in her hair four years ago is completely grayed out now. Her face sags more, her eyes are droopier, and her shoulders more slumped. It’s so sad how defeated she looks. But there is concern in her eyes.

“Is she okay?”

I blink. “Yeah. Oh, I’m sorry.” I feel horrible for misleading her. “Not that kind of accident. She split her pants.”

Grandma breathes out. “Oh, well, that’s nothing new. I’m surprised she doesn’t have a change of clothes.”

“She usually does, but you know…” I let the statement drop off because I’m not sure wh y Ava doesn’t have a spare outfit with her like she usually does. Perhaps she used the spare outfit already. That’s not unheard of.

Grandma just stares at me, so I smile again and ask, “Can I come in?”

The woman startles like she’s coming out of a dream. “Sure, sure.” She pushes the screen door open and steps back to let me slide past.

With the front drapes pulled closed, the living room is dark and full of shadows. A stale, dusty smell hangs in the air. I consider bolting for the stairs to make a quick escape from Grandma, but I’m stopped by what I see. It’s the exact opposite of what I saw in the woman behind me. Where she has changed a lot in a relatively short time, not a single thing in the living room seems to have changed in the decade or so since I last visited. The same two undersized pictures hang on the wall. The coffee and side tables are still free from knickknacks or magazines, or any sign that people inhabit the house. None of the furniture has been moved. It’s eerie.

I shake my attention free and move toward the stairs. “I’ll just grab a pair of pants for her and be out of your hair.”

I take the stairs two at a time. At the top of the stairs, I freeze as terror fires in my muscles. Ava’s mom’s room is at the top of the stairs, and I almost breezed past like a herd of elephants. Ava has shared countless stories about how mad her mom is when she’s awoken during the day. But the open bedroom door reminds me that she works regular office hours now and no longer sleeps during the day.

I inhale a shaky breath and head toward the end of the hall. I’ve been in this house for all of a minute now and feel like I’ll have a brain aneurism if I stay longer. How has Ava survived this long and stayed so sane?

I turn into the last door on the right and feel the wall for a light switch. When light fills the room, I bite my lip. The room has very little personality. The top of the dresser is bare, and the walls are bare. There is a bed and an empty bookshelf. Then I see the boxes stacked in the corner and plastic bags lined against the wall and I realize I’m in Joel’s room. He must already be packing to move.

I flip the light off and cross the hallway to what must be Ava’s room. Everything about the room confirms it. The drapes are open, letting natural light fill every corner, the window is ajar allowing fresh air in. The curtains are made from the same rose-covered material that wraps around her desktop. The stuffed animals we’ve won at the fair over the years sit expectantly on her bed, awaiting her return.

Squinting, I peer at the collage of pictures over her desk until I recognize the three of us. I cross the room for a closer look. I laugh out loud when I see a picture of Bek, Ava, and me from third grade. We’re at a school fair in the gymnasium that was some fundraiser my parents took us to. We’d all won something from the fishpond game and Dad snapped a picture of us holding our prizes. Ava has a multi-colored pen, Bek has a mini spiral notebook, and I’m holding a very gaudy necklace that I remember thinking was beautiful.

We’d really thought we’d all gotten lucky enough to “catch” something. I’m only now realizing that there was someone sitting behind the screen putting a prize at the end of every pole that was cast. My dad must have thought we were such idiots.

My heart swells as I study the rest of the pictures. So many memories. I reach out and touch a picture of the three of us cuddled together in my bed. We’re ten years old and look so little. Mom snapped this photo the night Ines moved out. I had such a hard time understanding why Ines would want to leave our house. We always had so much fun. I took it personally. Like she was leaving me. My friends stayed with me that night, the three of us like sardines in my bed. They’ve always been there for me .

I finally spin back toward the bed and snatch up the pair of jeans Ava had discarded this morning.

I’m caught up in the memories the photo collage stirred up as I jog down the stairs, so I startle when I almost run Grandma over. She stands at the base of the stairs waiting.

“I got them.” I hold up the jeans to prove my point.

Grandma nods, but her gaze studies my face, not the pants I’m waving at her.

“You’ve grown into a lovely young woman. Not that that surprises me.”

I halt on the bottom step because she stands too close for me to continue without it feeling weird. “Thank you.”

She sighs heavily, and something about it tells me she has more to say. I’m not sure how to invite the conversation though, so I smile again, feeling very vapid.

“Our Ava is a good girl.”

“She’s the best.” Her expression tells me this isn’t what she wants to say, either. This is so unexpected and I’m desperate to hear what it is she hopes to convey. “Ava is one of the strongest people I know.”

Grandma’s face crumples. “Well, she has to be. Doesn’t she?”

That wasn’t what I meant to point out, but it’s true, so I keep my mouth shut.

“Lately, I’ve realized…” she pauses and shakes her head. “I’ve realized so many things. Ava has grown into a compassionate person. Against all odds, she’s a caring person.”

I swallow and slam my lips together. But I nod in agreement.

“I didn’t know her dad.” Grandma looks into the living room like we’ll be able to watch the past play out together. “Cora and I were estranged. We’ve always had a…a…tumultuous rela tionship.”

She rubs her hands together, like she’s washing them, over and over in front of her.

“Well,” she sighs heavily. “I was a bad mom. I was. Cora left home when she was seventeen. Shacked up with her boyfriend. Some guy who was way too old for her.”

This is getting really uncomfortable, and I want to leave, but I can’t imagine excusing myself now.

“That wasn’t Joel’s and Ava’s father, by the way. I don’t know anything about how they met or what their relationship was like. I just know that by the time Cora reached out to me and told me her husband had walked out and she had two young kids, I had recognized my failures as a mother. So, I stepped up.”

She meets my gaze for the first time since she started this story. I don’t know what she sees in my expression, but it seems to make her soften.

“Clearly, that only lasted so long because I haven’t been great for a while now. And Cora and I have made this place a living hell for the kids.”

I nod, because that is one thing I know for sure.

“When Cora got sick, Joel and Ava stepped up to help. They didn’t even pause or think about it, they just did it. Even though she doesn’t deserve it. But Ava...”

She shakes her head and sighs. Her pause draws out longer than I expect, and I wonder if that’s it. If she’s done as suddenly as she began. Then she speaks again.

“Ava has shown a patience and compassion that I don’t recognize, and I’ve wondered if she got it from her father. Because the Lord knows it didn’t come from me or Cora.”

The pain in her eyes makes mine well with tears. A lump forms in my throat that I struggle to swallow around.

Her chin tilts up and a fierce pride kidnaps her expression. She looks like the woman I knew before life dragged her features and her body down. “But it must have been learned from you. You and that little fairy girl have been a huge reason for Ava becoming the young woman she has, you know. If Ava didn’t have your big house and your family and the constant support of good friends, she would be the next generation of me and Cora.”

She looks expectantly at me. I don’t know what she wants from me, and my emotions are hanging on the edge, so I nod.

“Thank you,” she all but whispers. “Thank you for being there when we couldn’t.”

Tears tumble down my cheeks. I step down the final step and throw my arms around the woman. She stiffens at first, but then she returns the hug, patting my back.

“Be off.” Her voice warbles with emotion. “Get those jeans to our girl.”

I nod and scurry out the door.