Page 2 of The Last Time

When he told me I was left with our family vacation house, I almost fell out of my chair.

My stepmom is fuming over it. Even though she's refused to come here, knowing it was a place that held so many wonderful memories that didn’t include her, she still thinks it belongs to her.

She’s why the house is in such horrible condition. But from what I overheard one night in the beginning of their marriage, she wouldn’t dream of setting foot in a home that he shared with my mother.

Still, she knows it’s worth a lot if it just had a little TLC. Which means she wanted it in her name, not mine.

I take a deep breath and turn the key in the lock. Pushing the weathered door open, I’m shocked to find that the inside isn’t half as bad as I had expected.

It’s still decorated the same as the last time I was here. The kitchen is frozen in time with its array of creams and appliances that have seen better days. I walk over to the stove, turn the knob, and am surprised to see the gas burner lights. The walls are still painted light green, now covered in a layer of dust.

I walk over to the sink to see if the water is on, hoping to get a shower in after I unpack. I twist the handle and get blasted in the face as water spews out in all directions, soaking my shirt.

“Great,” I mumble to myself as I swipe the water off my face and look down at my shirt. “Oh, well. It’ll dry.”

I’m too overwhelmed being in this house again to worry about a damp shirt.

I continue walking, noticing the hardwood floors are scuffed with memories and discolored with age. The only furniture on the first floor seems to be the brown leather couches.

When I get upstairs, I realize the pipes in the house must be shot. The water is clearly on, but the sinks and showers are not working properly. In some cases, the water shoots out at you. In others, it trickles out.

I walk into my old bedroom and see buckets scattered about the now-empty room. Aside from the leather couches in the family room, all the furniture in the house is gone. I dreadfully lean over to peek into the buckets and see light brown water. Following the lines of gravity, I glance up and see the water damage in the ceiling as the yellow stain stares me in the face.

Crap. There’s probably mold up there. I need to get a contractor in here immediately if I don’t want to breathe those toxins in all summer.

I try to make a mental list of all the things that need attention. By the end, I feel the signs of a headache beginning.

I need some fresh air.

I open the sliding door that reveals the best part of the entire place—a large deck with a view of the river.

Our town sits on a small section of land right off the Skidaway River, which is a saltwater river that connects to the Atlantic Ocean.

I look out and see sailing and fishing boats pass by, and memories of my childhood come flooding back.

Dad would sit on the dock with me as we watched, trying to guess their names. It’s the first real memory of him since his death that makes my heart ache. Once again, I’m that seventeen-year-old girl just looking for stability in a crazy, hectic world.

Why couldn’t he see that I needed him? Why wasn’t his love for me enough to continue on, even with a new wife?

I shake the thoughts away.

It doesn’t matter anymore. He made his decision, and I wasn’t part of it. Now, he left me a house that’s going to cost me my own money to repair. Thanks for the parting gift, Father.

My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven't had anything to eat since this morning. I’m too exhausted to buy groceries. I don’t even know if the fridge works.

I guess my only option is to go out. Maybe I’ll head over to the local café that I used to go to all the time.

When I walk in, it’s like time stood still all of these years. Nothing has changed—but in a good way. The place is well-kept and clean.

The front porch holds wrought iron tables and chairs. The building’s teal color makes it feel beachy. The inside has the same teal on the walls, with dark blue booths along the perimeter and tables scattered in the middle of the room.

The place is crowded with people laughing and enjoying their meals together. I don’t want to take up a table for just myself, so I walk to the bar, where there’s an empty seat at the end. There's one bartender who looks like he’s trying to do the work of two. I grab a menu and look over the options.

The menu looks revamped from the last time I was here. It offers fresh seafood, but the dishes are different. The flavors in the descriptions of the food make my mouth water with anticipation.

The crispy calamari is calling my name. When the bartender makes his way down to me, I give him my order and add a well-deserved glass of white wine.

It feels strange to order alcohol here. I remember many nights as a teen, desperately trying to find a place that would serve us. It never worked. The memory alone has me smiling.

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