Chapter 4
Casey
I was back.
Driving over the train tracks that separated the West-End from downtown Ashland, the stark difference in appearance and the feel of this place, I felt a flood of emotions running through me.
Seeing the old brick structures, the trees that lined the sidewalks (which had gotten more prominent over the years), and some old shops I recognized, felt so nostalgic and strange.
But there was something different. Maybe it was because I was no longer a child and had been away for so long, but everything seemed darker now.
The people, the stores, the barred-up homes, and the alleys all carried a heavy weight to them.
The neglect was evident as I took in the missing letters on storefront signs, boarded up windows, graffiti on almost every available free space, and the trash piled up everywhere…
Had it always been like that? Or was I blind as a kid?
I figured I had an understanding growing up here.
Maybe I’d seriously forgotten how bad it was with living on The Hill these past few years?
Or had it just gotten worse? Perhaps Mom had shielded me from a lot more than I thought.
Or the boys did. I quickly shook my thoughts of them away as we turned off one of the main streets and into a neighborhood of shabby apartment buildings and small bungalows.
I glanced over at Jackie, whose nose was wrinkled like she smelled something foul (her…
it’s her. That perfume she was wearing hides nothing), and curled her lip at the sight of a group of young men gathered on a corner as they laughed about something, their breath rising into the cold air in white clouds.
I could guarantee this woman had never stepped foot into Harley unless she was forced to for work.
We slowed as we came upon a group of townhouses, and I peered up at them, unimpressed with their condition.
They were ancient, probably one of the original structures of Ashland, give or take a few decades.
Made of brick, with ornate stone-lined peaked roofs, and covered in dead vines, I’m sure they were once beautiful.
But now, they were covered in graffiti (which, in all honesty, made them look marginally better as the artwork itself was great), the tall windows barred, and the high stone steps that were leading up to the front doors were crumbling.
The original wooden doors, all painted black, were shielded by aged, bronze, barred screens.
We stopped at the one on the very end, which bordered a small green space, where the trees were overgrown.
The concrete square flower beds were empty of soil, some littered with litter, a discarded traffic cone, or trash that the crows were fighting over.
It didn’t look like a place very many people would hang out, even in the summer.
Jackie parallel parked along the sidewalk and peered nervously around us. It was getting dark already, what with it being the middle of October, and from the way she was checking the area, I knew she was making sure no one was watching, waiting to jump us the moment we unlocked the car doors.
“Grab your things quickly, understand?” she hissed at me.
“Why?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
“Just do as I say!” she snapped. “I don’t want to get robbed!”
“Why would you get robbed?” I changed my voice to sound as innocent as possible, and she turned to me, her perfume mixed with her B.O. now flooding my nostrils, and I tried not to gag.
“Don’t be smart!”
“I find it funny that you are okay with leaving me here, when you’re so obviously terrified and when you’re supposed to be thinking of my welfare,” I said to her, holding her stare.
“Please,” she scoffed, “You’re used to this place.
I, however, have never lived here, and that makes me a target.
Now get your stuff together, and let’s get going!
” She dug into her overly large carpet handbag and pulled out a ring with several keys on it.
I jumped out and decided to grab my bag of clothes first, carefully climbing up the steep stairs as I lugged it behind me while she undid two locks on the screen, then two more on the front door, before walking in.
I guess Keith gave her a set to use for today.
I unceremoniously threw my bag in after and hurried back to the car, balanced both boxes on top of the other, and barely managed to lift them and bring them inside myself while Jackie went around turning on lights.
The house was narrow and old. The dark wood floors creaked and smelled like old lumber and alcohol (which was not a surprise to me, seeing as Keith was the owner of this place).
Off to the right was a sitting room with a single, old brown eighties-looking couch arranged in front of a television and a coffee table.
In the corner was an electric fireplace, which Jackie turned on, but that was it.
No photos, no plants, no décor. Even the old, green patterned wallpaper was peeling.
It made me think of my old home with Mom and Matthew and how we had family photos over the mantle, vases of fresh flowers (white hellebore were her favourite) from Mom’s garden or the greenhouse, and some random pieces from Matthew’s world travels, that were from when he was in his twenties.
The curtains were drawn over the bay windows that overlooked the street.
In the back of the room, an archway showed off the tiny and outdated kitchen, which Jackie entered, turning on the overhead light, and walking straight to the fridge, and opened it.
Even though I was standing behind her, I knew she wasn’t impressed by the way her hand clenched around the door and the small shake of her head.
The freezer didn’t get a different reaction either, which was jammed packed with frozen meals.
She shut the door and turned to me, her nose wrinkling slightly.
“Your father said that your room was upstairs. I suppose we might as well get this out of the way now…” She strode past me, pulling out a clipboard from her massive bag, and started scribbling notes down.
I had no idea what she was doing, but I followed, grabbing my bag of clothes to haul up the creaking, wooden steps.
The upstairs was as narrow as the rest of the house and had a similar feeling of disrepair with the peeling yellow wallpaper and uneven floorboards.
There was a storage room at the very top, then a tiny bathroom that had definitely not seen an upgrade since the eighties with its yellow tub and sink, or was that just from age?
My room was the last one, and it was pretty underwhelming when Jackie opened the door to reveal it.
It was small and cramped, and Keith had shoved a single bed that just managed to fit along the far wall, with a single window at the foot of it, which looked out onto the street.
A tall dresser was placed beside the head and by the window was a simple oak desk.
The closet was just big enough for me to stand in.
But I figured I could go to the dollar store and find storage baskets to fit my extra clothes in.
The ceiling had yellow stains from a leak in the roof, and the walls were basically just drywall, the joint compound not even sanded down.
In one corner, there was even a stack of boxes that Keith had labelled, “Storage,” which only confirmed to me that this was a junk room before he found out I’d be coming here.
Jackie scribbled a few more notes down before she turned to me, “Your father said his shift ends at 4:00 am. So you’ll see him tomorrow.
He has registered for you to start Harley Institute on Monday and has ordered your books.
” She held up the keys she’d used to get into the house, and I took them.
“He said to keep all the locks on except for the bolt and top and floor locks so he can get in later. Do you have any questions?”
I stared at her, not sure of what else to say.
It was clear she didn’t really care about her job.
That much I figured out on day one. It was just a paycheque.
Her question was just standard procedure.
She didn’t really care, and that was fine.
I wanted her gone. I needed to be alone.
So I just shook my head, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
“Okay, then. We’ll be checking in from time to time. You have your mother’s lawyer’s number, I assume?”
I nodded. He had given me his card so that I could call with any questions about the inheritance I’d be receiving or the life insurance money.
I didn’t see myself wanting to contact him about any of that any time soon.
I was still grieving. I’d much rather throw that money in Jackie’s scrunched-up horse-face if it meant I’d get Mom and Matthew back.
“Very well. I need to get back to the office to file this.” And without so much as a goodbye, she marched right past me and hurried down the steps.
I followed, locking the doors behind her as instructed.
It may have been a while since I’ve been back here, but I wasn’t completely lost on the severity of things.
Mom had constantly reminded me to keep our doors and windows locked.
Break-ins were not uncommon, and if a door or window was left open, it was an open invitation to thieves.
Behind the door, I could hear her peel off, no doubt speeding the hell out of here.
I shivered in the cool house, the electric fireplace not working fast enough to my liking, and decided to busy myself unpacking.
I put all my clothes away, set up my books along the back of my desk, along with my laptop, put away my toiletries in the tiny bathroom down the hallway, and set up my more personal stuff on top of the dresser…
like a photo of Matthew, Mom and me at Christmas last year, my childhood stuffed lamb, and my mother-of-pearl jewelry box.