Chapter 10
Ten
I traced the wrinkled grooves on my fingers with my thumb, closing my eyes and simply focusing on the wet ridges under the water.
It had gotten cold long ago, but it seemed like too much effort to drain the water and fill it again.
Two baths in two days. Who was I? Soon, if I kept this up, I would have to invest in lavender bubble bath and rose petal oil.
No matter how long I sat in the water, I couldn’t manage to feel unsoiled.
It was a far cry from my typical five-minute shower that I used to take every morning.
For some reason, though, I found this new ritual soothing.
I should have started it earlier, when I lived in Colorado where water was so much cleaner and softer.
Here, the water had stained the tub with yellowish-brown streaks.
Donnie had brought me back to Maudra’s house after the park.
I hadn’t been in the mood to see any more of the town.
I had originally hoped to go see Donnie’s family for dinner, but I doubted that I would.
Sitting here seemed like enough exertion.
In his typical style, Donnie hadn’t asked any questions.
Although he probably didn’t need to. Just pick any random spot in town, and there was a pretty good chance that anyone could conjure up at least one embarrassing scene or another created by my mother.
I couldn’t believe how much I was letting her affect me.
I hadn’t seen or talked to her in years.
I should be over it by now. I wasn’t that little boy anymore.
I didn’t need her acceptance or kindness, much less her approval.
I had a husband and amazing in-laws who had accepted me as one of their own.
I had broken free. I had moved away. I had claimed my freedom.
And now I was back. How was I going to do this?
I knew she needed me. I knew there wasn’t really another option.
Maybe I should just get it over with and go see her now.
Surely continuing to worry and stress over our reunion would only serve to make it worse.
It’s not as if just by seeing me she could force me back into childhood, back into making this town my home again.
Home again. The thought sent a new wave of desperation through me.
It wasn’t as if Denver could ever be my home again either.
That door was closed. If truth be told, I knew that facing my mother would be easier than staying in Denver, having to face people there.
I hadn’t been able to feel unsoiled there either.
As much as I might try to portray that I had come here out of the need to be a dutiful son, I knew I had come here more for refuge than anything else.
El Dorado, home, a refuge. What a thought.
The knock on the door startled me and caused me to jump, sloshing water over the edge onto the mauve-carpeted floor. I heard Maudra chuckle. “You plannin’ on sittin’ there for the rest of the evening? If ya want, I kin shove some toast under the door.”
I grabbed the towel off the floor, just in case Maudra decided to barge on in. “No, Maudra. I will be out shortly. Sorry, I didn’t mean on staying in here so long.”
“It’s not a problem. I jist wanted to check. If you had drowned, then I figured I needed to call somebody. Yer a little stocky for me to lift or move all on my own, ’specially being all soakin’ wet.”
I smiled. “Now I wouldn’t want to be the cause of you hurting your back. I’ll be right out.” After a few long moments, I let the towel fall back to the floor and settled back into the tepid water, my eyes closing.
“Brooke?” Maudra’s tentative voice caused me to jump again.
“Good God, Maudra. If you don’t stop scaring me, you really are gonna have a dead man in your bathtub.”
Her voice was so quiet I had to strain to hear it. “Brooke, I know it ain’t my place, but I was just wonderin’ if I could ask a question?”
Her serious tone gave me pause. “Of course, Maudra. You can ask whatever you want, you know that.”
“Well, I was jist thinkin’. Sometimes standin’ outside the chicken coop at night knowin’ there’s a possum in there is often a lot scarier than jist walkin’ on in with a broom an’ chasin’ it out.”
I could hear the rustle of her skirt against the door. “Is that your question, Maudra?”
“Well, I was jist wantin’ yer opinion.”
I shook my head as I stepped out of the tub and wrapped the towel around my waist. “As ever, Maudra, your timing is impeccable. I was just thinking something similar myself.”
“You wanna come down fer a bite of dinner before ya go to her?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Maudra. You’re a dear.”
“Aw, pish,” I heard her murmur as she walked away.
As I turned right off Hainline and headed up North High Street, the sun disappeared behind the horizon in an uncharacteristic lack of color.
The night began to settle in the gloom of gray and shadow.
I glanced out the driver’s side window and searched the graveyard for the large headstone of Joseph and Luella Morrison.
It was easy to find, with the large marble cross still visible in the dimness.
Although the tomato, bacon, and fried egg sandwiches with Maudra had helped calm my nerves, a few moments talking to Grandpa and Grandma would help compose me even more.
As I went to turn into the cemetery, I saw they had already shut and locked the gates for the evening.
As the fence only stopped cars from entering and not people, I never really understood the gesture.
Did they expect people to drive in and dig up their loved ones and drive away with them?
I almost parked and walked in, but then decided I shouldn’t keep postponing the inevitable.
Most people would consider it creepy growing up beside a cemetery, with nothing but the woods behind your back.
I never had. The cemetery had always been beautiful to me.
Before he died, Grandpa would often take me on walks through the cemetery.
He would always pick out the oldest gravestones and figure out how old the person buried beneath it was when they passed away.
We would make up a story about their life and how they had met their end.
After my grandparents died, I continued to come here.
The ancient oak trees always seemed to offer protection, and the only noises were the birds and crickets; no one ever yelled in a graveyard.
With a sigh, I turned the wheel and continued to the last house on the lane.
It looked even sadder than I remembered.
The white siding (or at least it had been white, long before I’d been born) that covered the tiny one-story house seemed to sag.
In places, the siding was gone and had been replaced by green-painted plywood.
The front porch had collapsed on the right side where a swing used to sit, and was now propped up with cinder blocks. All the windows were dark.
I pulled up onto the weed-infested gravel drive and parked.
I shut the car door quietly behind me. There wasn’t a light coming from the house.
I would have thought she wasn’t home if it weren’t for her car parked beside mine.
Not that she could drive anymore anyway.
Hesitantly, I made my way up the cracked sidewalk and tentatively placed one foot on the porch.
It groaned, breaking the silence. I paused, waiting for something.
I’m not sure what: the flicker of a light, a greeting, the sound of a shotgun being cocked.
After a moment, I placed my other foot on the porch and walked over to the door.
I reached out to turn the handle, but as I grasped the old glass knob, the pressure made the door swing open.
My eyes wide, I poked my head through the doorway.
It was dark inside. All the shades were drawn, so not even the moonlight made its way in.
I could only see a foot or two in front of me by the light from the doorway.
As I waited for my eyes to adjust, I stepped the rest of the way in.
“Rose?” I could barely hear my own voice.
I tried again. “Rose?” This time, my voice cracked.
I sounded hoarse and raspy. I sounded petrified.
I took a deep breath and cleared my throat. “Rose? Are you here?” No response.
I shut the door as my hand automatically moved to the light switch on the wall and flicked it on. I gasped. Like a little girl, I gasped. I couldn’t help it. She sat in the middle of the room, in a threadbare moss-green recliner, her eyes blazing.
We took each other in, neither of us budging.
If it hadn’t been for the anger in her eyes, I am not sure if I would have known her.
For all of her many flaws, she had always been beautiful, more than beautiful.
The woman who sat in front of me could easily have been a creature designed to play the part of an evil crone in a horror movie.
Her hair was still long, but now only vague reminiscence of any blond remained.
It was streaked with dirty white and mousey gray.
It was so thin in places I could see her scalp.
Her hair had once been so thick that you couldn’t gather all of it in only one hand.
On good days, she would ask me to comb and braid it for her. I had always been proud of her hair.