Page 10 of Chasing Stars
It doesn’t take longfor me to realize I’m in way over my head. In the daylight, the house looks more promising but not promising enough to walk away from this with a pretty penny. Not to mention, my mother didn’t do anything to pack this place up. Memories are everywhere, but a musty stillness clings to every corner, every surface. It’s as if the house itself has been holding its breath, waiting for life to resume inside its walls. Yellowed family photos line the shelves and walls in tarnished frames. Dust blankets every surface, muting the colors underneath.
Aside from the signs of life frozen in time, the faded wallpaper is peeling like withered leaves, cobwebs fall from the ceiling like ghosts, draping across corners and doorways. Areas of drywall are cracking, spreading like spiderwebs. The ceiling in the kitchen has dark water spots speckled in an uneven pattern.
“That might not be good,” Miles points his pen upward. The look on his face tells me heknowsit’s not good.
“The brown spots?” I ask, furrowing my brow.
“It could be a sign of a leaky roof.” Miles treads lightly. “It just means we need to have the roof looked at.”
“Okay.” I let out a shaky breath, continuing on to the laundry room.
Laundry from 1997 still sits in the dryer. My small colorful bathing suit draped over the sink basin. I let my fingers trail the fabric for a moment before walking away, Miles at my heels. In the adjacent bathroom, the toilet has a ring around the water line. Rust creeps like ivy across the faucet. I glance at myself in the tarnished mirror, a shadow of the girl who once lived here, and take a breath to steady myself.Okay, it’s dirty, but it’s not that bad.
The house is buried in layers of dust as thick as ash. Drop cloths cover the living room furniture, but somehow, dust still found its way underneath to the cushions. An old cordless telephone sits on the end table next to the couch. Time has settled here, like an old friend overstaying their welcome. I climb the stairs and poke my head into the hall bathroom. There are old shampoo bottles and hand soaps in here. The bar soap in the shower is so stuck to the shelf that I fear I’ll need a chisel to get it off.
Maybe it’s my imagination but as soon as I walk into my parents’ bedroom, I can smell her. My mom. That warm, familiar trace of her perfume. I know it’s impossible—she hasn’t set foot in this house in twenty-five years. But it’s here somehow and it’s clinging to the air like she never left.
“You could have warned me it would still smell like you,” I mutter, pacing slowly around the room. I tug open a dresser drawer. Empty. Then another, nothing in there either. Did someone clean these out, or were we not here long enough that time to unpack?
Miles leans quietly in the door frame, watching me carefully. He coughs lightly and I look his way.
“You know,” he says, his voice low, “they say if you can smell the scent of someone who has passed on, it means they’re still with you. Maybe your mom is here.”
My cheeks warm—I didn’t think he heard me.
He lets out another awkward cough and when I look at him, he looks away.
“Maybe,” I say softly. “I think I’ve heard that too.”
I brush past him and step into the hallway.
In the other bedrooms, morning light filters through grime-streaked windows, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow. Drop cloths cover the beds but somehow the ancient sheets still smell musty with traces of dust settling in the creases.
“First order of business is to strip the beds,” I mumble, crossing the room and pushing apart the rest of the frayed curtains. The house needs serious cleaning. It’s also freezing in here.Ah, right, no utilities. “God, you really kept everything exactly as we left it,” I say, looking up at the ceiling like she’ll hear me better that way. “If you’re still here, can you at least help me figure out what the hell to do now?”
Miles keeps his distance as he follows me from room to room making notes on a small pad of paper, presumably assessing the home’s potential value. After opening drawers and closets, looking at family photos that no one had the opportunity to put away, and wiping my silent tears, I trudge back down the steps with Miles in tow.
I walk into the living room and lift the drop cloth to reveal an old tan sofa with small burgundy dots in the fabric. I remember the day this sofa was delivered. My mother was thrilled with her brand-new living room in her brand-new beach house. She wouldn’t let us eat in front of the TV after that. I suck in a breath and plop onto the sofa willing to take the risk of dust clinging to my black leggings.
“Now what?” I say, more to myself than to Miles.
Miles pulls the drop cloth further off the sofa and sits down next to me, leaving a bit of space between us. A part of me wishes he would move closer. Although that would probably be as terrible an idea as the bangs.
“Well. If you want to stay here, we can start by having the utilities turned on and getting a cleaning crew in here.” He offers a reassuring eyebrow raise. “It needs work but it’s not unlivable.”
I shudder. “I want to put it on the market and run for my life,” I admit. “But I have nowhere to go. My lease was up when I left.” My voice catches as I fight back a new round of tears. “This feels likea lot.” Everything in my life has felt like a lot lately, but I don’t say that to Miles. I’m not usually a big crier but with the turns my life has taken, it feels like all I do anymore.
Miles scoots closer and awkwardly drapes an arm around my shoulder. “Hey, it’ll be okay,” he says, but his reassurance feels limp.
I suck in a sharp breath. “If you listed it tomorrow, what do you think I would get for it?” I ask, nervously chewing on my lip.
“Oh gosh. Probably not what you’re hoping.” Miles doesn’t look my way.
“$500K?”
Miles stifles a laugh, then points his finger downward.
“$300K?” I venture. My mother had some medical bills that her Medicare and secondary insurance didn’t cover. Now, they’re my medical bills.
