Chapter Four

The last box was brought in through the front door. Now, I had in front of me the unpleasant task of muddling through all this stuff and figuring out where to put it all in my new cozy but unbelievably tiny house. I was scared but excited about beginning my new life. Maybe that was why I had that feeling that day over two months ago. That day I’d felt like I was on top of the world, and that life was anew with so much wonder.

That same day that my life had been turned upside down. My life had changed. It had changed so much and so fast that I still had whiplash from it all. The death of my parents then the moment I listened to Peter’s voice message.

“I won’t be home…” was all he said flatly. Faintly, in the background, I could hear a female voice in the background tag on the word “ever!” followed by the sound of their combined maniacal laughter just as he hung up the phone. I simply sat there. Tissue in my hand, eyes already puffy and tender from the night of forceful crying, and I started crying again. It all seemed so long ago, and at the same time, it felt like it could’ve been yesterday. That’s one of the funny things about time. 

Evie was with Peter today. So, I had a day to plunder through the assemblage of boxes that were scattered in every room and every corner of the house. Fortunately, I had Amy of the crazy hair and Carrie joining me in a bit for a mishmash brunch consisting of leftover shrimp, pasta, cheese toast, eggs, scalloped potatoes, and of course, the Moscato.  I could manage to throw together a party using  this combination of leftovers and food from the nearly bare fridge. 

At least I’d thoughtfully had the movers go ahead and place the heavy stuff where it would stay, so we were pretty much only obligated to the chore of unpacking the boxes and putting things where they go in the room in which they were in. Thankfully, every box was labeled and in its appropriate room.

Before moving day, I had come in and measured areas and figured out where everything would go. It was a small two-bedroom dwelling but plenty of room for Evie and me. Her bedroom was adorable…and unlike in the house I’d shared with Peter, it was directly across from mine and actually larger despite the fact that this house was considerably smaller than his. The thing I loved most about this house was that it was built like a cottage. 

The house was a small wooden structure with red shutters, but the house itself was painted an unusual shade of yellowish orange. It was located in Flowery Springs in the northern outskirts of Athens. It was closer to my job at Flowery Grove Elementary and clear on the other side of Athens, a good thirty-minute drive from Peter’s. Far enough away from him but close enough to be near Evie when she was with him. The owner of the house, Mr. Burk told me the paint was called Burnt Sienna, and his wife had painted most of it herself just a few years ago before being diagnosed with cancer. 

She had passed away about six months ago, he’d said. I had been sorry I’d brought it up because like so many who have lost someone dear and close to them, I was still uncomfortable with death. I didn’t know how to accept sympathy any better than I knew how to dole out condolences. 

I simply said that I was sorry for his loss, and he just shook his head, waved his hand, and said, “It’s not a problem. How could you possibly have known?” But I detected the shakiness in his voice, the glisten in his eyes. I just breathed a nervous laugh and shrugged my shoulders.

”Let me show you the storage building out back,” he said as he began to walk away, motioning for me to follow, and the awkward moment passed almost as quickly as it had come. 

Apparently, he, too, was as inept at what to do when the subject of his dead wife came up as I was whenever someone I hadn’t seen in a while would ask how my parents were doing. I mean, what do you say? And how do you gracefully accept the outpour of sympathy once someone realizes they’ve unintentionally said the wrong thing? It’s uncomfortable for everyone involved.

***

The protruding entrance of the quaint house was framed in rock with its own angled roof completely separate from the house itself, and it jutted upward as though pointing at the sky. The chimney, which was strategically built in the center of the front of the house, was rock as well. The walkway leading from the drive to the front entrance was adorned with arbors draped with wisteria, which at this time of year were in full bloom, the aroma of its grape-like flowers drifting in through the open shutter-style windows. The small garden that enveloped the walkway on either side was overflowing with azaleas of all colors, black-eyed susans, shasta daisies, salvia, purple coneflowers, and creeping phlox that crept beautifully in between and on the bricks that bordered the sides of the cracked walkway. In the cracks, rebel seeds had taken root and there were hints of little white and pink flowers nestled among the moss that grew there. White Jasmine and pink Clematis climbed the chimney to where little of the rock could be seen through the bristling vines. I admired them longingly, for in just a few short weeks they would wither to nothing as the chilly hands of fall would take hold of them and choke out their life for a couple of seasons. 

Amy was the first to arrive. She brought a bottle of Absolut, and Carrie arrived just minutes later carrying two bottles of rum. 

“Libations for the ladies,” Carrie laughed as she walked through the door. 

It looked like we were going to have a really good time unpacking today.

“This is too cute,” Amy squealed as she came from the kitchen with two glasses of wine and a plate already made. She handed me a glass.

“You need some rugs. Look at these hardwood floors. I would love to have this in my house, but we had to settle for laminate,” Carrie grimaced and looked back down at the floors as she walked to the kitchen and poured some coke and rum in a glass.

Amy sat on some boxes and used a few others as a makeshift table.

“I have a table and chairs, you know?” I said walking over to her and plopping down on the couch.

“Yeah, I know.” She stuck her tongue out. I reciprocated.

I laid back on my plush Salvation Army sofa and sipped my drink, soaking in the feeling of satisfaction. Here I was lying in my own home, and in spite of all that had happened to me over the past few months, I was content.

“It really is a lovely home.” She said stuffing an over-sized shrimp in her mouth.

“I like it,” I said. I really did. It had the feel of another country to it. And it felt like independence and home. It was mine, and I guess that’s what made it feel even more auspicious. 

Carrie had ventured off to the bedrooms, talking as she went, her mumbling barely audible like the grownups in the Peanuts cartoons. She knew I'd be able to hear her anyway regardless of how soft spoken she was. 

“I have some flower decals leftover from when we decorated Sarah’s room, if you want to use them in Evie’s room. That is a beautiful shade of lavender in there.” Carrie declared as she walked back into the living room pointing in the direction of Evie’s room.

“Yeah…I know. I thought I might paint a mural or something in there,” I started.

Amy nearly spewed out her drink.

“I wasn’t aware that you were such an artist.”

I had been. Before. Before Peter and married life. It wasn’t until all this happened, and I was forced out of my complacency that I realized how truly unhappy and oppressed I had been in that marriage.

We sat and ate and drank and then ….to the job of unpacking. It lasted about two hours. 

“That went much quicker than I’d thought it would. I guess I hadn’t accumulated as much over the past seven years as I’d thought.” I stated.  

“Yeah, probably because Peter kept everything,” Carrie scowled. 

I didn’t want to think about it. I had just wanted it over quickly. I didn’t take inventory, and I certainly didn’t make a fuss. It was all just stuff anyway. The only things that mattered to me were Evie’s things, and while I didn’t get all of her things either, I had gotten enough to make her feel just as at home here as she’d been in the other house.

“Phew.” I sighed looking at the few remaining pieces lying in the box beside the coffee table. “I’ll just hang those pictures later,” I said plopping down on the couch again. Carrie and Amy followed suit.

“Guess you’ll have to sit in an actual chair this time since there were no more boxes for you to plop your big butt on.” I teased Amy as she slumped into the big red chair (another Salvation Army find) and as it appeared to swallow her up, out flew a throw pillow just missing my head. I let my middle finger fly. 

“You wish,” she snorted. I chuckled. 

“Afraid you’re not my type, dearie,” I said, grabbing up my glass and taking a big swallow. Too big. It burned going down. I was going to have to weaken my drink. 

“This is so comfy,” she continued to tease, caressing the faux velvet of the chair. She snatched her drink up off the coffee table and added, “It’s been a long time since I’ve been swallowed up like this.”

Carrie and I both cackled, Carrie screaming, “You are so wrong!” Amy accidentally toppled over her drink and the glass hit the floor shattering into a million tiny pieces. We stopped laughing momentarily as though waiting for a scolding then burst into laughter once more.

“Consider your house christened!” Amy announced.