Page 21 of Fall onto me

This makes her smile. “You should see the inside.”

“Can I?” I don’t want to impose, but when I think of what I want in a home one day, this is it. I want to see if the inside matches the beauty of the out. Plus, I need to distract myself from the fact that Foster ditched me. Not that it isn’t okay for him to see his grandma without me, of course, but we had these plans all week and I was so excited.

“Of course you can.”

I rid the thoughts of Foster to focus on Grace. She’s been such a light in a tunnel for me, always making sure I’m okay and being there for me when I was in a coma. I don’t know what I would do without her. Now that I get to choose who I surround myself with, when I think of a mother figure, my mind travels straight to her. Too bad I’m too chicken to ask her to the dance. Saying that makes me feel like I’m in middle school asking someone to go to the awkward seasonal dance held in the stinky gym.

But really, she’s who I want to be when I grow up. Successful in a normal way, an accounting teacher at my school who owns her own ballet studio.

With the way I was raised, with my future planned for me, I always imagined I would live in a similar home to the newly built mansion I grew up in. It may be big, and I’ll always be thankful for having a roof over my head, but the winding halls and rooms allowed for bigger and badder secrets. The kind that would swallow you whole, gobbling up every inch of your being until there’s nothing left.

And since being with Foster has given me a new future, I’ve been daydreaming about what my life will be like five, ten, twenty years down the road. I’m not sure where this life will take us, but if we have a beautiful house like this one, I know I’ll be content.

The road noises from the industrial street don’t reach here, which makes it even more quaint.

“This is so gorgeous, Grace,” I tell her as we walk inside.

The exterior walls are stark white with black accented trim, and it looks freshly painted. A modern touch to freshen the antique look from the lawn, but the inside is vintage. Old hardwoods line the entryway and creep into the open living room. Dark wooden beams line the ceiling while cream walls tone it down. It’s beautiful.

“Thank you.” She beams. “It’s a family home. I grew up here.”

“That’s so cool!” I marvel at the structure.

I would love to raise a family here. This house is a home.

I add, “I’ve always wanted to live in a house like this.” I run my finger along the wall and smile at the varying heights etched into the old wood of the trim. If I were to ask my parents to do that they would have laughed in my face. “Whose is this?” I gesture to the C near her G.

A slight frown takes over her face. “My brother, Colton.”

“Does he live close?”

She shakes her head. “He moved a long time ago.” There’s a sadness in her eyes that gives me pause, and I don’t question her further. “My grandfather bought it in the sixties, but it was built in 1908.”

I follow her lead as we walk into the living room. There’s a small table flush against the wall. She lifts it up, showing a stack of blueprints. “He was an architect, designed and built many of the buildings around here.”

“Makes sense why he would buy this place.”

Grace smiles. “Yes, it was definitely ahead of its time. He loved buying properties. Back then the prices were way different than they are now.” She walks into the kitchen. “He raised us here, once he kicked out my parents.”

The thought is odd to me, being raised by grandparents. I see them in movies, the way it’s supposed to be. Teaching you how to make cookies and doting on your every accomplishment. That wasn’t the case for me. I slide into the seat at the kitchen table while Grace gathers drinks and snacks after setting down the programs in front of me.

We chat for a while, with her explaining things about her grandparents and me admitting that I never met mine. My dad’s parents lived up north, in Maine, and they never made it a point to visit. Mom’s parents were the same, absent, and too busy to bother with seeing their granddaughter.

I don’t want to ask why, but Grace already knows I’m going to. “Why did your grandpa kick them out?”

Grace tilts a smile. “My parents were alcoholics, and they didn’t take care of us.” She looks around the kitchen, no doubt reminiscing on her childhood that doesn’t seem so happy now. “This house was a gift to them from my grandparents, who lived their whole lives here and wanted to retire further south. They thought giving it to them would give some sense of stability and make them straighten out their lives. I’m sharing too much, aren’t I?”

“No, no.” I take a sip of my tea. “I would love to know more about you.”

“Okay, well. Grandma passed and Grandpa came to visit. It had been a very long time since he had been here. He saw the way his home, which he raised my mom in, became a hub of abandon. The hardwoods were almost destroyed, the house filled with filth, but what bothered him more than anything was the way me and my brother looked … skinny and tired. We tried to keep it a secret, so my grandparents could enjoy their retirement, and then when grandma passed, I couldn’t bear telling him what had been going on.”

“I’m sorry your parents did that to you.” I can relate on some level, the hunger pains at night, wondering when you’ll get your next meal. But Grace and Colton’s pain came from neglect. I had everything I could ever dream of. Abuse lies in many forms.

She shakes her head. “It all worked out in the end. Grandpa took over when I was a teenager. We didn’t have much, but my God, we had more than we needed. This house was filled with love, and we worked piece by piece to rebuild it together until he passed.”

I place my hand over hers, allowing a moment of peace to wash over her. I would be worried I pushed too hard to know more, but I can tell by her smile that she loves to talk about him.

That’s the flowing reality of grief. One minute you can’t bear to speak their name and then you blink, and years of pain have passed and there’s that moment of clarity, when you tell a story like Grace did and all of a sudden, you can talk about them again and it doesn’t hurt quite as bad.

---