Page 5 of Home to the Hollow

Feeling vaguely unsettled by that realization, I walk over to the big oak tree that still has my rope swing hanging from a gnarled branch. I push on the board, testing that it is sturdy, and then sit down on it, pushing myself with my toes. My eyes roam over the house, and I wonder why I never realized that I was so detached from my past. I graduated, headed for college, and just… left. Being back should flood me with emotions and memories, but it’s not. There’s a blank spot where all that should be.

It’s not bad, per se, but I know it’s not normal. Nothing bad happened to me. They did not bully me; my parents didn’t treat me poorly. I simply have no connection to this place or the people here. Thinking about it is like watching a movie about someone else’s life. I see it all, but I’m not a part of it.

“Been a long time, hasn’t it?”

Leaping off the seat, I whirl to face the person who sauntered up behind me and scared the shit out of me. “Holy hell!”

The wrinkled old lady throws her head back and laughs. “Sorry ‘bout that, jellybean. At my age, I rarely get the drop on people.”

I squint, inspecting her, and my face breaks into a smile. “Niecy! You nearly scared me out of my skin!”

She smiles indulgently, tilting her head as she looks at me from head to toe. “You always were a jumpy little thing. I should have remembered, but alas, the mind is foggier the older I get.”

Niecy is the name I gave our housekeeper Bernice when I learned to talk. She and her husband Eugene worked for my parents and several other families when I was a child. They did housekeeping, grounds work, and light cooking for some of the finishing school staff so they would be available for school needs. I loved her peanut butter pie, and my mouth waters wondering if she remembered that tidbit.

“I kept the place looking nice with the help of my younger counterparts, just as Gene did the yard. After your poor parents passed and you couldn’t come home, we followed the lawyer’s instructions for care and maintenance to the letter. I always hoped it would mean that someday you’d return home.”

Looking around for a moment, I take in the perfectly manicured lawn, landscaping, and exterior of the house. “You and Gene did an amazing job. I’m sure your ‘extra help’ comes from grandkids?”

Her smile widens again. “Surely does. I know Portia graduated when you were still in the lower school, but her kids are my dedicated helpers.”

I frown. “Oz doesn’t have any kids? He was older than Portia.”

Turning towards the house, Niecy shakes her head, looking sad. “Come on, child. Let’s get your stuff unloaded before it gets dark. I have cottage ham and beans on the warmer, fresh cornbread, and peanut butter pie.”

The gasp flies out of me before I can stop it, and I give her a wry grin. “Foggy mind, my ass, Niecy. You’re as sharp as a tack.”

“Language,” she calls over her shoulder, her voice laced with amusement. “You’re never too old for a swat, jellybean.”

My lips curve up as I follow the tiny woman across my yard and up the stairs of my home. I finally found something that made me feel nostalgic, and I’m going to soak in while I inhale the best food I’ve had since Europe.

* * *

Ugggggghhhhh.

I ate SO much food, and it made Niecy happy as hell. Never mind that I’m too full to even contemplate unloading the truck tonight, and that’s going to set me back at least a half a day. My belly is bursting with home cooked Southern food, and I’m not complaining a whit.

Groaning again, I roll off the couch and force myself to stand. I have to go get my bag and the duffel with my essentials. That way, I can wake up early and get a jump on my meticulously planned schedule. I’m already behind the eight-ball because of that traffic jam and my visit with Niecy. I can’t let that spiral out of control.

There’s simply too much to do before the school year begins, and as always, I’m doing it all on my own.

I trudge out to the truck, opening the passenger door and tugging out my gear. I’m so used to being on the move and having to travel light that I need little to survive for a day or two. As long as there’s a bathroom and Wi-Fi, I’m usually good with just these two bags if I pack correctly. A shiver runs down my spine as I settle the duffel on my back, and I know distinctly that there are eyes on me. I don’t know where they are, but someone is definitely watching me. Years of being a woman in large foreign cities alone have honed my early warning system, and it’s never been wrong yet.

My cell is in the house. I didn’t think I’d need it running across the yard in fucking Mayberry. In a proper city, I would never have taken the chance. But here? It did not occur to me I’d feel unsafe. I pause, pretending to root through my bag for something so I can buy time to decide what I’m going to do. I’m perfectly capable of basic self-defense—again, woman in big cities—but I don’t know if this is a person or a stray mountain lion. The difference could mean alotof surgeries—if I don’t die. The hairs on the back of my neck tickle and a surge of what MUST be adrenaline courses through me, making my limbs feel tingly.

It’s a weird sensation—one unlike anything I’ve ever felt before—and I remain motionless at the truck as it flows through me.

I tilt my head, sensing confusion in the hidden watcher, and wait to see what happens. There’s a whispered rustle in the foliage behind me, and as if by magic, the feeling of being spied on goes away. I frown, deciding a mountain lion or animal wouldnothave simply yeeted off when I made myself a stationary target. That means that the eyes must belong to a human, and now I’m definitely freaked out. I gather my shit, slinging the bag over my shoulder as I hurry inside for the night.

Time to look into a fucking Ring or some shit.

Just fucking great.

* * *

When I wakeup in the morning, I resign myself to hauling in the non-furniture items box by box.

I’m going to see if I can hire some local teens to help with the furniture once I have my smaller shit taken care of, but I want to organize as I go, so I haven’t asked Niecy. She’s so efficient that I would have had grandkids here at 8 AM banging on my door, so I waited. My compulsiveness about my space and how it’s set up dictates I carry each box in, take it to the marked room, and unpack it before I grab another.

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