Page 33 of Mended Hearts

EVERYTHING LOOKS THE same as we pull into Jasper, Georgia. It’s as if time stopped when I left. Memories play out in front of me as I drive down Hickory Street; the main street that goes straight through town. It used to be the main drag all school-aged drivers did on the nights after games. Or when the football and basketball teams played out of town. Fellow classmates who didn’t go to the game parked backward in this gravel parking area, waiting for the buses to come strolling back in town. They’d always hoot and holler from their tailgates or the trunks they were perched on. It was something I never got to experience.

On my left, I see the diner Dustin took me to for our first date—good ole Tootie Fruitie’s. Of course it wasn’t considered a date to anyone but the two of us and possibly our waitress. I smile as I picture us sitting in the booth in the back corner.

“Please tell me this isn’t the town,” Dylan groans from his seat. “There’s nothing here.”

He's right. There's not much physically to this town, but it holds all my favorite memories. This town is where Dylan was conceived. To me, this town holds everything of value.

“Sorry to disappoint you, kiddo.”

“Shoot me now. This is going to be so boring. Way to end summer with a bang.”

“Way to be optimistic, buddy. We just got here. I’m sure there will be fun things for you to do.” I haven’t told him about the plans my mom and I discussed.

“Highly doubtful,” he mutters as I start navigating through town, not even realizing where I’m going until I park in front ofmy old house. The house that now has a‘for sale’sign staked into the front lawn.

My parents bought it when we moved here. I truly think they believed we’d live here much longer than we did. I’m sure they never expected things to go array in a town with less than five thousand occupants. As far as I’ve ever known, they never sold it after we moved but left it open to rent out to missionaries and such, people coming through needing a place to stay.

“This used to be the house I lived in when I was in high school.” I look over at Dylan and smile, hoping showing him my memories of this town and how we’re linked to it will bring some sort of understanding to him. After all, the little turd did ask me to show him around.

“Cool,” he says, unmoved. “I hope the place we’re staying at has a pool or something.”

I try not to roll my eyes. “You better hope it has a pool or I might have to enroll you in summer school to show you how bad your summer can truly be,” I half threaten.

“I’d almost willingly go.” He laughs, finally returning to his normal joking self.

“I want to see something,” I say quickly, unbuckling my seat belt, and open my door.

I make my way through the pristinely manicured yard, heading for the back fence. It still catches, so I push on the handle, lift up on the gate, and hit it with my hip. Voilà. It opens.

“I didn’t know you were a ninja,” Dylan says from behind.

Blowing the hair out of my face, I turn to face my son. Short of giving myself a pat on the back, I’m mighty proud of myself for remembering this nifty trick of the trade.

“Well, you know”—I try to play my skill off—“a ninja would have just jumped the fence or swung from a tree.”

“I think you underestimate yourself sometimes, Ma.” He pats my back, walking past me through the gate.

When did my son become so smart?

“So this is where the magic happened?” Dylan asks, looking around the yard. His question causes me to choke.

“Ahh, the magic, what magic?” I ask, propping my hand on my hip. I know he’s smart and all, but my son doesn’t need to know about any kind ofmagicyet.

“You know. Where grandpa helped you perfect that pitch of yours you’ve yet to show me.”

“Oh.” I let my hand fall and my body sags a bit. “That magic.” I wave my hand. “Yes, this is one of many yards where grandpa taught me a few tricks. But this is the yard where I had finally perfected it.”And the last yard I ever played ball in with him. Or played ball period.

“What kind of magic did you think I was talking about?” He frowns with suspicion.

I shrug my shoulders and turn away. “You know. Houdini,” I say with the wave of a hand. I walk toward my old window to see if the carving from so long ago is still there. The old white windowsill is now worn and peeling, but the carefully knifed out D+E 4ever is still visible, barely. After all these years, the proof of the love we once had still exists.

Arms come around my waist from behind and I cover my mouth, trying to hold back a sob.

“That’s why this place means so much to you. This is where all your memories of you and my dad are.” Dylan isn’t asking. He knows. He sees what I’m touching and can tell what it means to me.

As I let my finger trace the letters that represent the love we once had, I’m held tightly with the arms the love we shared created. Both of these realizations slam against me, forcing me to release the sadness I’ve been holding inside for so long.

“Excuse me, miss, but can I help you?” I know that voice. I quickly wipe my face with the back of my hand.

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