Page 131 of Salty Pickle

“I have something for you,” Court says. He tugs my hand from where I’m gripping my skirt and places something papery in my palm.

I open my eyes, careful to avoid looking up or out the window.

“What’s this?”

“Take a peek.”

I slide my finger under the flap. Inside is a folded sheaf of pages.

And a key.

The key is new and shiny. I turn to Court. “What’s this the key to?”

He points out the front window. “They changed the locks when it first sold.”

I hold his gaze for a moment. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying the development deal from five years ago fell through when the holding company filed for bankruptcy. BeeBee’s farm went into foreclosure and got hung up for two more years. A year ago, it sold to another developer, who hasn’t yet decided what to do with the property.”

My entire body flashes hot, then cold.

Is it true?

I look up.

And it’s there.

It looks terrible. Paint peeling, porch listing, weeds overtaking everything.

But it’s there.

“Court! Court!” I can’t think of anything else to say. “Court!”

“It’s yours, Lucy. We’re not married yet, so it’s just yours. If you get rid of me some time in the future, it will still be yours, since it will predate our wedding.”

I lean over and kiss him. “I can’t believe it!”

I wrestle with the door. Finally, it opens, and I race across the cracked drive to the overgrown yard.

I stop at the collapsing porch and take off around the house to the back door. This side has only a concrete step.

I try the lock, and the key works back here. I pause for a moment, turning to look over the barn and yard that was once my most familiar view.

It’s still here!

The back door opens with a squeal of rusty hinges. The kitchen has the same wood cabinets and linoleum floor. It’s dirty and filled with spiderwebs, but it’s the same as I remember it.

I dash to the empty dining room. The curtains are on the window! I brush them with my hand, sending a flutter of patterned light on the walls from the lace.

I can almost feel Grandma BeeBee here.

Next is the living room with the old stone fireplace. The furniture has been cleared out, but the old oval rug made of tied rags sits in front of it.

I drop to my knees on it. If I don’t pay too close attention to the dust, I can almost imagine that their two matching recliners are behind me. BeeBee is doing a cross stitch, and Grandpa is squinting at his phone and wishing for a newspaper.

The thought makes me smile, and I hold onto the moment as long as possible.

Then I’m up again and walking down the hall. The small front bedroom. The hall bathroom. The funny cutout in the wall with a shelf above the old defunct landline jack. The middle bedroom. Then BeeBee’s bedroom with its big sunny windows and attached bathroom.

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