Page 9 of Rafe: Sins of the Father

“We got cameras, don’t we? Have you even bothered to look at them?”

“Uh, the one in the building isn’t working.”

“What the hell? You’re just telling me this now? When’s the last time they were working?”

He shrugs.

“Jesus Christ, Charlie. Get the damn things fixed.” With that, he whirls and climbs in the car, and we zoom toward the house.

I don’t say a word, and neither does he.

Once he parks, he drags in a long breath. “Sorry you had to see that. Like I said before, it’d be best if you steer clear of the mill.”

“All right.” I glance around, taking in the familiar things, and memories come flooding back.

The tire swing down by the oak. The big wraparound porch where I’d drink lemonade with my mother on the big swing. The rockers that had once sat on the porch are now replaced with stylish furniture more suited to modern California living.

The only thing that hasn’t changed are the big, billowy white sheets hanging out on the clothesline to the side of the house.

“I bought Ruth a top-of-the-line dryer, and she still hangs the laundry out.”

“Just the bedding,” I say. “She always liked the way they smelled when they air dried. I did, too. They smelled like wildflowers and sunshine.”

“Whatever.”

I watch the sheets swell in the cool September breeze like sails against the blue sky.

“It’d be better if you kept what you saw down at the mill to yourself. Ruth wouldn’t like it, and she’d harp on me for it.”

“Sure.”

The screen door opens, and Ruth stands there, motionless for a moment, and I take her in. Her hair is almost completely white, and she seems a little more hunched than I remembered, but her smile is as kind as ever.

I fumble for the car handle, shove the door open, and climb out. A second later, I’m dashing up the steps to be enfolded in her tight hug.

“Praise God, there’s my little girl. Welcome home, baby,” Ruth whispers against the side of my head, then plants a kiss there.

I hug her back, and nothing can stop the tears that stream down my face.

We break apart, and she cups my face. “Look at you, honey. All grown up. It’s so good to have you back home.”

Her skin is paper thin and wrinkled, but her blue eyes are still lively. She hooks her arm through mine and leads me in.

Stepping Inside the screen door, I see not much has changed. The oak floors gleam with polish, and the stone fireplace takes up half the living room wall.

She heads to the kitchen, then stops when she realizes I’m not following.

“You okay, sweetie?”

I suck in a deep breath. “I just… need a minute,” I manage.

Ruth’s face holds a flash of understanding. “Of course.”

I wander upstairs to my old room. The walls have been painted a pale blue since the last time I’d visited, but the furniture is still the white wood set I had as a child. I touch the music box that sits on the dresser, then switch on the lamp. My reflection stares at me in the mirror, so much older than the last time this room was mine. My hair is lighter with highlights Inever had as a child, and I’m almost 5’8” now. My dark blue eyes are done in smoky shadow and eyeliner.

The nineteen-year-old me looks confident, but inside I’m filled with anxiety at starting at Huntington on Monday. I took a year off between high school and starting, mostly because coming to this school isn’t what I wanted, and I’d hoped my parents would come around to considering some school other than their alma mater. Unfortunately, that didn’t work out for me. So here I am.

Behind me in the reflection are soft, ruffled cushions piled on the window seat where I’d sat dreaming as a child looking out over the land between the house and the mill and to the highway beyond.

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