Eleven Grace
Coffee splatters across my boots, and Carter shouts when the cup hits the porch.
“Oh God. I’m sorry. Shit.” Wyatt picks up his cup, still holding the screen door open with his other hand. “Just a second. Let me get some towels.”
He stumbles back into the house. The creaky screen door slams behind him.
“Daaaad,” Carter whines. “You made a huge mess!”
Wyatt reappears with several dish towels in his hands. “I know, bud. My cup slipped out of my hands. Did you get burned?”
Carter shakes his head. “Nope.”
Wyatt crouches down and starts patting the wood dry, then he’s pressing the fabric onto my shoes. I take a step back. “Oh, don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll clean them.”
I reach for a towel and he hands me one, his face red. “Sorry.”
“Mom, it’s all on your dress!” Carter shouts. He points at the brown splatters on the blush pink fabric.
“Sorry, Gen,” Wyatt says. He can’t seem to stop apologizing.
“It’s fine,” she says.
“You have to change to a clean one, right Mom?” Carter says like he’s reciting a correct answer.
“Uh—” Geny examines her dress again. “No, it’s fine. I’ll change in a bit.”
Wyatt pushes the door open and steps inside. “Come on in.”
I hold my breath and step into their home, their children following behind me.
My eyes move around the room, taking everything in.
I stand in the small foyer. There’s a wall on my left, a hallway straight ahead that leads to a set of stairs, and the living room to the right.
The living room is painted a soft blue and trimmed with dark stained wood.
There’s mismatched furniture and a rocking chair I recognize as the one my mother used to knit in.
There’s a fireplace with a few boxes stacked on the hearth.
It doesn’t look like a fire has been lit in a long time.
The small round end tables are covered with papers and books.
“Sorry about the mess. Things have been a little much lately,” Geny says. “And I wasn’t expecting company.” She huffs out a small awkward laugh.
“Don’t apologize.” I scan more of the house.
The house is older. Not the open concept type that’s become popular over the years. Each room is separated, so I can’t see much else. I glance at the photos framed on the wall. Pictures of the boys when they were younger. A wedding photo of Wyatt and Geny. I look back at my sister.
“So,” I say. “What now?”
She breathes out another small laugh. “How should I know? I’ve never had my sister come back to life on a random afternoon.”
It wasn’t random. But I smile anyway. Geny rarely used to make light of anything, so it’s nice to see. But just as fast, she’s back in serious mode. “Boys, why don’t you show Aunt Grace around. I’m just going to talk to your dad for a minute, and we’ll be right back.”
Geny looks at Wyatt with an apology already on her lips. She hasn’t talked to him about inviting me to stay here. They disappear out the front door, and I fight the urge to follow them to try and listen in. I can’t do that with the boys looking at me.
“All right, tour guides,” I say. I wave toward the rest of the house.
“Well, this is the living room,” Jack says.
I nod, looking around the room again. “Very lovely.”
He smirks and walks toward the hall on my left. Carter grabs my hand and pulls me along.
“Our kitchen is in here! That’s where the food is. And the snacks. But you can’t have a snack until after dinner,” Carter says.
“Of course. Don’t want to ruin my appetite.”
The kitchen is painted a soft yellow. I wonder if Geny picked the colors or if they bought the house this way and just left it.
She liked pretty colors growing up, and it always felt so contrary to her quiet personality.
I loved that about her though. There was so much more to her that other people never got to see.
“Do you guys eat in here?” I ask. There’s a circular wooden table at the back of the room with four chairs pushed beneath it.
“Sometimes,” Jack says. “We’re not always home at the same time for dinner.”
We used to have dinner at home every night at six o’clock sharp.
Except on the nights I had a track meet because they usually ran late, especially the out-of-town ones.
But Mom always saved me a plate in the microwave for when I got home.
A pang stabs my chest. It’s been so long since I’ve had one of my mother’s home-cooked meals.
I mourned my mother years ago, but it still hits me from time to time.
“What’s next?” I say, blinking away the sting of tears.
“Um . . . The bathroom is that way.” Jack points down the hall. “So are our bedrooms. Except Mom and Dad’s. Theirs is upstairs. And then there’s the basement.”
I turn around to where his eyes go and see a door I assumed was a pantry.
Jack reaches for the door, but we all freeze at the sound of yelling outside.
They didn’t close the front door, so the noise travels right through the screen.
It seems Wyatt isn’t happy about my new living arrangements.
I could stay at my parents’ house. It’s empty after all.
But I have no intention of doing that. Not yet anyway.
The screen door slams. A moment later, Geny appears in the kitchen doorway. Tires spit up gravel outside, and Geny winces.
I try to take the attention off the awkwardness. “Jack was just about to show me the basement.”
“Right,” she says. “Actually, let’s go upstairs first. I have extra bedding in the linen closet. Jack, can you help Carter get ready for his tee-ball game? I almost forgot about it with everything going on.”
“We’re still doing that?” Jack asks.
Geny’s face softens and she pulls him into a hug. It’s incredible to watch her be a mother. “It’ll be good for all of us,” she says. “Keep our minds a little busy.”
Jack’s head nods against the top of his mother’s. “Okay,” he says. Jack pulls away and puts his hand on Carter’s head, mussing his hair and steering him out of the room. “Let’s go get dressed Carter-sauce.”
“Ugh, that was a bad one!” Carter whines.
“Nonsense, Mario-Cart,” Jack says.
Carter laughs in the hall.
“They’re cute kids,” I say when Geny and I are alone. Though Jack hardly seems like a kid. I don’t know how old he is, and I’m almost afraid to ask.
She smiles hesitantly. “Thank you. They’re good kids too.”
I nod. “They seem like it.”
Geny motions for me to follow her and leads us up the staircase.
“Did Mom and Dad love being grandparents?”
She turns to look at me, her eyes shiny with tears. Was she already crying?
“They were great grandparents. Mom only got to see Carter as a baby. That still makes me sad. But I’m glad she got to meet him.”
“I wish I could have seen it.”
We pause in the hall on top of the stairs. She wants to say something but doesn’t. Instead, she opens a door and sorts through folded sheets and blankets. While she’s busy, I take a step back and scan the top floor. Her bedroom is right behind us, the door wide open.
“Do you use top sheets? I have them somewhere,” Geny says, her back still to me.
“I usually do, but I don’t need one.”
I peer into the room. There’s a king-sized bed centered against the far wall. But only one side has pillows. The other side is empty and still made up. There’s nothing on the nightstand on that side either.
“There they are. Here, grab these from me.”
I spin back to Geny and take a bundle of sheets and blankets from her.
She grabs two pillows and heads back down the stairs.
I look over my shoulder as I follow her.
There are plenty of reasons one side of their bed looks empty.
Maybe one of them is really neat and the pillows are in the wash.
Maybe one of them took a midday nap and didn’t make up their side of the bed.
Or maybe their marriage isn’t as loving as it looks and they’re no longer sharing a bed at night.