33. Only Memories Remain
Chapter 33
Only Memories Remain
T he highway splits the fields of corn as if it’s a bridge leading to the secluded island ahead where the sharks can’t reach you.
I haven’t been back here since before Grandma passed away. How painful will it be to find all of her belongings sifted through, her furniture given away? To walk into the kitchen and not find her twirling the bottom of her coffee cup on the table, her chin sitting in her other hand as she stares dreamily out the window?
I’ve been on the road for an hour when I finally turn onto the country gravel road. Fireflies illuminate my way as I drive past acres of farmland, a couple of cow pastures, and some old, weathered barns. It takes five minutes to reach their driveway, and when I make the turn, I see what I’ve always seen when the cornstalks part: the bright blue house, starkly breathtaking against a cloudy gray sky. And Grandma and Grandpa swaying in the porch swing.
I throw the car in park and jump out as Grandpa descends the steps and invitingly opens his arms. Running up the sidewalk, I’m eager to be wrapped in one of Grandpa’s bear hugs, but as soon as I approach him, he disappears.
He fades.
Into nothing.
I blink at the space he occupied for a moment before my eyes fly to the porch swing. But Grandma’s no longer there either, and I feel so, so stupid. I don’t remember the last time I ate and I’m probably dehydrated. If that wasn’t enough, I’m an emotional wreck. I got so lost in my desire to be hugged, to lean on someone else for a little while, that I forgot—only memories remain to greet me.
Because loneliness and pain follow now, even to Grandma’s house.
I run back to the car to get the bag I left behind in my temporary moment of insanity, and walk back up to the yard. The rain holds off, but the wind roars, whipping my hair in my face and blowing me back to a time when I was five.
The wind was fierce and I struggled to stay upright as I walked up to the house at Grandma’s call, but I was blown backward onto my butt. That happens when you’re smaller than the force pushing against you. Smaller and weaker. Grandma just laughed and rushed out to help me up and walk me inside. But she’s not here to do that anymore.
I’m at the steps when I hear a rustling from the garden. It sat, tall and green, just off the side porch and a dog jumped out. It was Otie, Grandma and Grandpa’s bull terrier, pouncing on the old watermelon rinds Grandpa had just thrown out. I laugh, then I’m startled by Sage, twelve years old, telling Spencer to look through the metal pipe that holds the slats of the porch swing. He did, and a frog jumped out onto his face, then he screamed and ran around until it finally leaped off.
I step onto the porch and unlock the front door with the spare key found under a rock in the flower bed. A blast of coffee-scented air hits me as I step inside, and walk past Spencer and I, playing with marbles in the front room. Past my siblings and I eating popcorn in the living room, crowded around a movie playing on their tiny TV. Past Sage and I, surfing down the staircase on storage tote lids.
In the kitchen, Grandma sat at the table, her chin in one hand, mug in the other, and a game of dominoes laid out before her, ready for game night. Grandpa held up the coffee pot, his eyebrows raised in question. I nod and grab the plastic cookie jar usually filled with Grandma’s homemade rice crispy treats and a clean coffee cup, but when I set the items down on the table, they fall to the floor.
Staring at the cup and cookie jar, my brain is incapable of understanding. The table isn’t there. Because Grandma and Grandpa aren’t there.
Once again, I’m reminded that I’m all alone.
I lean down to pick up the mug and empty cookie jar, shaking my head and thankful the rug cushioned the fall, but when I stand up, nothing is as it was before. I see everything clearly now, not how I wish it were still. The wallpaper peeling off the walls, a crack forming in the wood of one of the window frames, the wood floor in the corner chipping away. The house falls apart, all the clutter of my grandparent’s everyday lives disappearing along with any hope of my rescue. I wanted an escape, not a harsh reality that things can never again be what they once were because the magic of grandparents is gone.
As I scan the room, my eyes fall on the screen door to the side porch. I go to it and fling it open, unsure if my mind is playing tricks on me. The garden. It turns brown, then gray before my very eyes. The corn stalks fall and dry up. The door to the cellar caves in, and weeds shoot up around it.
I step off the porch, following the destruction to the back of the house. The paint from the chicken house dissolves into the air, leaving weathered wood behind; the same happens to the once-white barn. The tires deflate on Grandpa’s enclosed trailer parked off to the side, weeds growing up from underneath.
I run to the two trees that stand side by side, leaning against one, trying to catch my breath. But I fall. Just like the table, they aren’t there. They’ve been cut down at some point, probably so they didn’t interfere with the power lines above. I stand up and take off, running away from their disappearance, away from reality, because I’ve surely lost it now.
Then I hear the hum of a tractor. Back from a long day out in the fields, Grandpa pulled his tractor into the front barn. I run to catch up to him, to jump into his arms where everything is safe and sure. But when I get to the door, it’s empty. Completely empty, not even the old feed sacks litter the ground anymore. Not even the old front door is leaned up against the wall. Not even the doghouse sits in the corner.
I turn around and see the taillights of the maroon car, this vision an invention of my brain. During this memory, I was inside that car looking out at my grandparents and seeing them together for the last time before Grandpa passed away.
I look at them now, as I saw them then. They waved as they watched us pull away. They sat down on the swing. They pulled each other close and watched the fireflies guide us home.
The edges of their memory dissolve into the air.
And I fall, without the cushion of childhood bliss to catch me.
* * *
M y knee bounces, my knuckles ache from being cracked repeatedly, and my shoulders are tense and full of knots. After she shut the door to Sam’s room in my face, I reluctantly got dressed and left, hating myself. I knew she needed space, and not just because she’d asked for it, but because the light disappeared from her eyes, just like at dinner with her parents. I texted her after I got back to Callum’s and asked if she’d let me know if she left and when she safely arrived wherever she’d go. I’ve sent a few more texts and called her, but it's been two hours and I have yet to receive anything. I’m going insane.
Callum slaps my shoulder. “Man, relax. I’m sure she’s fine.”
I shake my head. “She was pissed. But the scary kind where you don’t really feel the emotions until a bit later and it all comes crashing into you.” I didn’t tell them we kissed. And would have done a lot more had I not pulled away. But I told them what she knew about Sam, and what I had admitted.
I stand and pace the living room like Cori does when there’s too much nervous energy in her body to handle. Like when she’s on the phone with her parents or waiting for Sam because they’re running late for something.
Tyler is completely unbothered, eating chips straight from the bag, cheese dust covering his fingers and his mouth. Little flakes float to the couch, where I’ll be sleeping tonight.
“Why are you such a fucking child?” I snap.
He looks at Callum, then back at me. “What the hell did I do?”
Sighing, I sit back down on the couch. I shouldn’t be taking it out on him. They’ve done nothing but be here for me. “Nothing. Sorry.”
I reach for my phone again, but texting her once more isn’t going to accomplish anything. Besides, she may be driving and unable to use her phone.
“I’ve never felt like this before,” I admit.
“Like what? Anxious?” Callum asks.
Like she’s driving off with my heart. Like I can’t focus because my entire being is wherever she is, and I can’t even imagine my own surroundings because she could be anywhere right now. But I don’t admit that out loud.
Instead, I say, “Yeah.”
My phone rings and I whip it up to my ear so fast it hurts. “Hello?”
“Is she with you?” It’s Sam again, the last person I want to speak to at this moment. His voice is terrifying, full of venom and rage.
Rubbing my eyes and breathing deeply, I respond, “No, she’s not.”
“Tell me the truth, Porter. Give her the phone,” he commands.
“She’s not here.”
Sam shouts through the phone loud enough that Tyler and Callum can hear. “I know she is, don’t make me come over there!” He doesn’t realize I never told him where I was staying.
“She discovered you were cheating on her and she left you, but she didn’t come here. I don’t know where she is.”
Callum snatches the phone from my hand. “Sam, she’s not here. We’re sitting here worrying about her, waiting for her to let us know she’s safe somewhere. But you can bet that when we find out, we won’t be telling you.” He ends the call and hands the phone back.
I’m done waiting. I grab my keys and slip my boots on. Tyler stands from the couch and puts the chip bag away in a cabinet.
“Where are we going?” he asks, washing his hands and wiping his mouth.
“I don’t know, but I have to start looking somewhere.”
Callum puts his hands up. “Just stop. You’re only going to waste gas. Have you tried calling Sage? Or Hailey?”
“I would if I had their numbers.” I snap my fingers as a thought occurs. “Her grandmother’s. That’s probably where she went.” I grab the doorknob and start to turn it but stop. “I don’t know where the farm is.”
“I have Sage’s number, I’ll call her,” Tyler says. He puts it on speaker and my heart races as it rings.
“Hello?”
“Do you know where Cori is? Have you spoken to her?” I ask without greeting.
“Hi, hello, how are you doing? I’m good, not that you asked.”
I roll my eyes, waiting for her to go on.
“She tried to call me earlier, but I missed-”
“Seriously? What if she needed help?”
Callum pushes on my chest. “Calm down.”
“If you’d let me finish…” Sage adds. “I missed her call, but Mom just called and the security alarms went off at the farm. She had a neighbor drive by and they recognized Cori’s car. I’m almost there now.”
“See?” Callum points to my phone. “She’s good. Now chill.”
“I’m sorry, Sage. I’m just worried about her.” I run my hands through my hair, gripping a little.
“Yeah, me too. She was pretty pissed when she walked out of work this morning, then the whole Kenna thing. She didn’t respond to my text, but I imagine it was upsetting.”
Tyler’s eyebrows furrow. “What text? And why did she walk out of work? Because of Sam?”
“No, because of Dad. And Mike,” she says, like it’s obvious.
When she realizes we don’t know what she’s talking about, she explains that Cori was overlooked at work for the assistant manager position. And that Mike and her dad have the nerve to be upset with her because she took off with some important information and the other recipes. Her recipes. Not theirs.
“And I texted her a screenshot of Kenna’s last post on social media. The one where she’s lying in a hospital bed?”
I flex my fists, anger coiling down my spine. Not just at my dumbass ex, but it meant so much to Cori to have her dad accept her ideas, and to feel like she was part of the diner, not just some employee. It took a lot for her to put herself out there and make her ideas known. She wanted to feel essential, to have a purpose. She already had that, but too many people in her life made her feel otherwise.
She’s out there dealing with the rejection all alone, and I hate myself for doing what I did. Although, I’m still unsure where I went wrong. Should I have told her earlier about Kenna? Or not at all?
Tyler hangs up the phone after I give Sage strict instructions to keep me informed. But I don’t ask where the farm is because Cori’s asked for her space and I have to respect that. Regardless of how much I want to go to her and hold her. And tell her I love her.