Page 8 of The Art Of Starting Over

“Cordelia,” Crow said. “Your uncle says her name means ‘goddess of the sea’ or something like that. Hell, I mean heck. I don’t know.”

“I can help take care of her,” Maren said without taking her eyes off the puppy. “We’re going to be best friends.”

Devorah watched this unfold and found herself smiling. This puppy could turn out to be a good thing for Maren.

“Colt lives here?” Devorah asked as she followed her father up the stairs.

“He does. Don’t worry, we have room. Come on, Cordelia,” he barked out as he entered the house. Much to Devy’s surprise, the puppy followed on command.

Nothing had changed. Not the house nor the man who ran it. The door slammed behind Devy. She jumped, lost in thought as she looked around the entryway of the home she’d grown up in and couldn’t wait to leave as soon as she graduated from high school.

While the bones of the house were old, dating back to prerevolutionary days, the interior had been redone sometime in the seventies oreighties and was in desperate need of another remodel. To the left was the large dining room, with built-in cabinets and buffet. The last Devy knew, those cabinets and drawers were filled with dishes and linens her mother, Marguerite, had acquired. Either passed down to her or something she’d bought. Devorah couldn’t imagine her father throwing anything out. The dining room table still looked the same, from what Devy could see. The tablecloth was lace, yellowed from age and lack of washing, with a vinyl protector underneath. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind the wooden tabletop was in pristine condition.

Separating the dining room from the eat-in kitchen was a robin’s-egg-blue swinging door. It was something you’d find in an old diner. Devy and her friends often used it for their grand entrances during their days of dress-up.

To the right, the outdated living room, with its floral wallpaper, brown wood trim, and well-used fireplace. The room was in desperate need of a paint job and probably a hammer. In front of the large picture window sat her father’s recliner. Crow sat there and watched over the town he’d sworn to protect thirty-plus years ago.

Straight ahead, a glass door, and behind it the hallway, her parents’ bedroom, one of the two bathrooms, one of the two entrances to the kitchen, and a door that led to the upstairs bedrooms and attic.

“Jesus, it’s like a time capsule in here. Don’t you get tired of looking at the same stuff, day after day?”

“No,” he said pointedly as he opened the door to the hallway. “Upstairs you go,” he said to Maren and Devy. They climbed the stairs after him and Cordelia. Maren followed her grandfather to the right, but Devy paused at another large picture window. That was one thing she loved about this home—the windows. Each room had massive windows, letting in as much natural light as possible.

She moved the sheer curtains to the side, coughing at the amount of dust that had accumulated. If she had to bet, she’d wager her father hadn’t washed the curtains since Dev had done it last time. The house would be cleaned, top to bottom, before she went back to Chicago,whether Crow liked it or not. It was the least she could do. She rested her head on the pane of glass and sighed, remembering that if she opened the window and leaned out, she could see the water from here. Otherwise, there was nothing but the rooftops of the other homes on Main Street and the old bank building at the end of the road.

Behind her was her old room. Devy walked toward the threshold and sighed. It was exactly as she’d left it. She expected to find a thick layer of dust, but the room was clean. Had her father cleaned it after Chad called him? Had Colt? Did her father have a girlfriend? The latter idea made her heart swirl in ways she didn’t expect. She wanted her dad to be happy, but imagining him with someone other than her mom was hard.

Devy walked through the Jack and Jill bathroom and found Maren chatting animatedly with her grandfather and Cordelia snuggled next to her. He seemed to be listening, which Dev appreciated.

At a break in the conversation, Devy asked, “Where does Colt sleep?”

“Converted the garage into an apartment.”

“Really? Isn’t it kind of small?”

Crow pointed to the window. Devy walked over and looked into the backyard. The wooden fence had been replaced with white vinyl, and the garage Dev remembered as falling down looked brand new. Her father could build a new garage but not update the interior of their house.

Because my mother never went into the garage.

“Looks nice. Where’s your car?” she asked without turning around.

The last Devy knew, her father still had his ’72 Chevelle, black with black leather bucket seats. She used to love riding around in it when she was little.

“Still there. Colt built his apartment above the garage.”

Devy turned around in time to watch her father leave the room without another word. She glanced at Maren, who stared at her. Dev shrugged.

“Grandpa’s complicated.”

“He’d probably say the same about you.”

Maren’s words gave her pause. History was about to repeat itself if Devy wasn’t careful. The last thing she wanted was for Maren to have a strained relationship with Chad, even though he didn’t deserve any kindness from her. Either of them, for that matter.

Four

Hayden

Hayden’s mood matched the dreary weather. It had rained for over twenty-four hours, ruining any weekend plans he’d had with Conor. He’d wanted to show his son Oyster Bay, take him down to all the best fishing holes by the water, and give Conor a chance to acclimate himself to the area before he started school. Conor would be walking to school most days, and he needed to learn the way. Not that he could really get lost. Oyster Bay was the definition of small-town living. By the end of the week, if not already, the people in town would know who Conor was and where he was supposed to be.

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