Remembrance Read online

“Well, that’s nice.” Mom gently ushered us to the door, where I stepped into a pair of rain boots. A jacket hung in the closet, which I donned.

  “Do you have any pets?”

  “Not at the moment,” I murmured, holding the door for her.

  The umbrella suddenly sprang open, Mrs. Halbrook holding it high. “I love dogs, but I’m not fond of cats. Stella fed the strays, and that always annoyed me. Cats are awful little creatures. They kill baby rabbits and birds.” She made a face. “Nasty little things.”

  As she said that, I spied a cat in the bushes, the animal darting into the foliage. Rain hit me in the face, whereby I pulled the hood over my head.

  “There’s an epidemic of cats in this town.”

  We strode across the yard, the grass high here, with weeds in places, the lawn as unkempt as the house.

  “So, Brieanna, tell me, do you have a boyfriend?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find someone special here. You’re very pretty.”

  I hardly knew what to say to that, not wanting to appear rude or indifferent, although that was exactly how I felt at the moment.

  “There aren’t many things for young people to do, I’m afraid. We have a public pool and a skateboard park, but no malls like in the big cities.”

  “I’m not a great shopper,” I offered, feeling obliged to add to the conversation.

  “This was a wonderful place to raise our children.” A house came into view, a car parked out front. “There’s hardly any crime, not like what you’d find elsewhere. We’ve suffered our share of scandal and racist police officers, but we shouldn’t let a few bad apples spoil the bunch, you know? It’s all long-forgotten anyhow.”

  I had not heard of any of that, the two of us reaching the doorway. Her house looked quite old too, a smaller Victorian, yet better maintained. I waited for her to let me in, my hands seeking warmth in deep pockets.

  Her face suddenly loomed, startling me. “Do you go to church, my dear?”

  I held my breath a fraction too long before answering. “I … I’m sure mom will figure it out.” We weren’t especially religious, but mom dragged me to a service occasionally.

  “I’ve got just the place for you then. I’ll give you the address.” She held open the door, the house smelling of cooking. “I’m going to tell you something in confidence, but it’s worth mentioning. There’s a dark element here, Brie. You need to be careful.”

  “What?”

  Her happy veneer suddenly vanished. “That horrible motorcycle bar. It’s on the outskirts of town. I’m sure I don’t have to warn you about it, but I’d stay clear. You’re not old enough to drink anyhow, but … many have fallen onto the wrong path by spending time there.”

  “Uh … okay.” This was awkward. Her mood seemed to have changed on a dime.

  “We pray for the degenerates every day. There’s hope for everyone, even … ” she whispered, “the evil ones.”

  4

  “She’s completely nuts.” I brought back several candles. “Do we have holders for these?”

  Mom sighed heavily, her hands on her hips. “The heck if I know where I put them. We’ll have to dig through boxes, I guess. It’s getting darker by the second. I never did get firewood.”

  “Did you hear me?”

  “Yes, honey, what?”

  “Mrs. Halbrook.”

  “Whatever. I don’t really care at the moment. It was nice of her to stop by and welcome us to the neighborhood. I spoke to her more than any of the neighbors in Colorado. Everybody ignored me there. I like this.” A tired smile appeared. “I know it’s stressful. I know you’re dreading Monday, but I have a good feeling about the town. You seem to like the house. I thought you’d freak out by now.”

  She continued to dwell on my mental health, which annoyed me. “I haven’t decided yet if I like it or not, but I’m trying. I told you I’d give it a shot.”

  “I know. You’ve been a nice surprise, Brie. Thank you for tidying the parlor. It looks nice. It’s as good as it’s going to get until I repaint and redo the floors. We have to make beds and find the boxes with the linens. I’ve got to get food.”

  “I’ll find the candleholders.”

  “If there’s wood outside, it’s all wet now. I should run to the store before it’s any darker. I don’t know where anything is around here, but they have to sell firewood somewhere.”

  “We’ll have some light by the time you come back.”

  “Thank you, honey.” She reached for her handbag. If your dad was here, he’d have it all taken care of. I should’ve come out in advance and arranged everything, but I didn’t want to leave you alone.”

  I touched her arm to stop her from speaking. “I’d rather be here, Mom.” Images of the past suddenly filled my mind, patients in white hospital garb pacing back and forth in corridors and me sleeping on a mattress before my room, so the staff could watch me. “I love it; I really do.”

  “I hope so.” Tears filled her eyes. “I want to make this a really awesome place to live, to start over fresh. We’ve been through so much in the last year. I keep telling myself it has to get better.”

  “It will. Go get the wood, Mom. We can talk about it later.”

  “What do you want to eat?”

  “I’m good.”

  A watery frown appeared. “I’ll see about pre-made salad. You need some protein too.”

  “Just get firewood.”

  “We need toilet paper and dish wash soap, among other stuff. I’ll be back.” She hugged me. “Go find those candleholders. This place might be scary in the dark.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Okay.”

  After she left, I tore through five boxes, finding everything from vases to coffee mugs, but no candleholders. Short and round, one of the candles sat on a small dish, offering a little light in the kitchen. I waited for my mother, while rain splashed against the windows and gusts of wind blew at the back of the house. Checking my phone, I noted the time, not having texting capabilities. Perhaps, if I could get her to trust me, she might buy me a nicer phone. A loud ring startled me, a call coming in.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, how’s it goin’?” My friend, Cary, had called.

  “It’s all right.”

  “Are you at the new house now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How are you holding up?”

  “Hanging in there.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “Um … there’s no electricity or hot water.” Laughter filled my ear.

  “Oh, man, that sucks.”

  “It’ll get sorted out on Monday.”

  “It’s a bummer you had to leave.”

  “Yeah.” I sat at the kitchen table, while a candle flickered before me. “It is what it is.”

  “Just let me know if I have to rescue you, okay?”

  “What can you do?”

  “You can come live with me.”

  “We’ve been over this. Your parents said no.” I could not blame them either, especially after that last … episode. “It’s an adjustment. People don’t have to worry so much about me. I’ll survive. I always do.” Something thumped over my head. “Hey, I think my mom’s home. I gotta go.”

  “I’ll be checking on you every so often.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “You’re my friend. Yeah, I do.”

  I smiled at that. “Thanks, you’re sweet.”

  “Bye.”

  “Bye.” I snapped the phone shut, getting to my feet. “Mom?” I had heard something upstairs, the sound quite loud. Reluctant to leave the kitchen, as it was the only room with light, I took the candle, holding the small plate with a trembling hand. “Mom?”

  Slipping the phone into a pocket, I ventured through a dark hallway, where I stood in the entranceway, the lights of a car outside shining through the dirty windows. That vanished a second later, the door flying open.

  “God almighty! I
t’s so gusty!” Mom held several grocery bags. “Thanks for coming to help.”

  I glanced at the staircase, although it remained in shadow. She hadn’t been upstairs. What had that noise been?

  “Is everything all right?”

  I swallowed anxiously. “Yep, just peachy.”

  “Take a bag, will you? They’re not getting any lighter. I’ve a bundle of firewood in the trunk. I’ll be back.”

  I picked at the salad, sitting cross-legged before a crackling fire.

  “It’s not bad.” Mom sat on the sofa with a blanket over her legs. “It’s a lot warmer now.” Sipping wine, she bought a bottle earlier. “It’s quiet. Maybe a little too quiet.”

  “You don’t have to make conversation on my account.”

  “I’m not. It’s just … really quiet. You don’t realize how loud a house is until there’s nothing on, like refrigerators buzzing or the furnace running. We don’t have any of that at the moment.”

  “We will.” The rain had stopped, the wind dying down. “I never made the beds, sorry. I only had one candle.” She bought more candles, the kind that light for ten hours, or that’s what it said on the package. We placed them in the hallway, the kitchen and the parlor.

  “It’s all right. I’ll help you with your room. We’ve all day tomorrow to get settled. Are you taking a cold shower?”

  “I might, but not tonight.”

  “I’m sorry you have to go to school dirty. I didn’t think of that. I can get a cheap motel for tomorrow, just to bathe.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Not washing my hair for two days wasn’t the end of the world. I had gone far longer than that before.

  “Please finish the salad.” She slid from the sofa, her feet hidden by a pair of thick socks. “I’ll see about making your bed.” With a candle in one hand, she left the room.

  The sound I heard earlier came from upstairs—one of the bedrooms above the kitchen. Had it been mine? I snapped the plastic lid on the salad, not desiring to eat any longer. Getting to my feet, I picked up one of the candles, holding it before me. Hearing mom on the second floor, I ventured up, although the house appeared far too dark and eerie, with deep shadows in all the corners.

  “Mom?” A sensation of panic drifted through me then. I nearly tripped, because my toe caught a loose floorboard. Hurrying for the landing, I saw a hint of light from an open door in the hallway.

  “In here!”

  I arrived a moment later. Mom knelt, peering into a box. “Find the sheets yet?”

  “I did, thank God. We really should’ve done this earlier.”

  I released a deep breath, reaching for a bag of beauty products. “Do the toilets work?”

  “I think so.”

  “I’ll be back.” The bathroom stood two doors down, the room pitch-black. As I entered, the candlelight lit the space, although muted. Leaving it on the edge of the sink, I withdrew a bottle of face wash and shampoo, finding a toothbrush. Standing before the mirror, I glanced at myself, seeing a young woman with long, dark hair and pale skin. “God, I look like death,” I muttered. Faint shadows appeared beneath my eyes. I hadn’t put makeup on today.

  Retrieving a brush, I worked the tangles from my hair.

  “Does the toilet work?”

  I jumped, mom surprising me. “I … uh … don’t know.”

  “It should work. We’ve water, after all.”

  “Yeah, that’s true.”

  “I’m so bad at this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m embarrassed to say I’ve never messed with the utilities before. Your dad did that. I usually unpacked everything while he ran around town and took care of stuff.” She sighed heavily. “God, I took him for granted.”

  It had been stressful for her too, having to deal not only with dad’s death but all of my issues. A twinge of guilt drifted through me. “I can help you. You’re not alone. We can do it together. We are doing it together.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled weakly. “This reminds me of the time I spent at a cabin in Canada once. We couldn't get the hot water turned on, and we didn’t have a bath for a week. It wasn’t fun at all.”

  “Two days is nothing.”

  “Okay, I’ll chill about that. We’re troopers. You’re right. We got this.”

  Compared to a funeral and selling a house, she had a point. “You’ve done good, Mom. I’m proud of you.”

  She blinked, not having expected that. “Thank you, Brie.” A happy, watery smile appeared, traces of hope glimmering in her eyes. “I’m proud of you too.”

  5

  Wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, I donned thick socks, trying to ward off the chill. My bedroom windows felt like they leaked cold air, so I drew the curtains closed, although that displaced a fair amount of dust, making me sneeze. I made the bed, finding a down comforter in a box with the pillows. The only other pieces of furniture in the room stood against the wall, a dresser and an old chair. I wondered what happened to my desk? The movers must have left it downstairs. We hadn’t brought much with us, donating most of the furniture to local charities.

  Determined to have warmth, I held a piece of paper to the flame of a candle, the edges igniting at once. Tossing it into the fireplace, I sat back on my heels and prayed the wood ignited.

  “Come on,” I encouraged, watching as the edge of a perfectly cut log sparked. “You can do it.” A knock sounded on the door. “Yeah?”

  Mom appeared, having changed into her bedclothes, wearing a thick robe. “It’s freezing! We should probably sleep in the same room.”

  “I just started the fire.”

  “I’ve got mine going too. I'm thinking about dragging my bed in front of it.” A grin surfaced. “You look like you’ve settled in.”

  “I’m going to bed soon.”

  A yawn escaped her. “I’m exhausted. I have to go downstairs and blow out the candles before I burn the place down.”

  “I kinda like the candlelight. It’s … it feels right in this house. It’s how I imagine the original owners lived.”

  “Don’t you find it scary? I’m terrified going down those steps. It’s just creepy.”

  “I guess. I can go with you, if you want.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ve got a flashlight.”

  “Don’t fall.” The flames grew, offering light and heat. “It’s not smoking so far. That’s good news, huh? Back in the old days they didn’t have central heat. They had to warm each room like this.”

  “We’ll run out of wood by morning.”

  “Just have to get more then.” I leaned in closer, feeling the warmth against my face. “It adds a certain ambiance.”

  “Just don’t catch fire, honey.”

  “I won’t.”

  “All right. See you in the morning. Night.”

  “Night.”

  After she left, I stared into the flames, feeling a strong sense of having done this before. I often experienced these sorts of impressions, which I associated with déjà vu. I felt it on our arrival in Clatskanie yesterday, something striking me as familiar about the town. Even when I first heard the name of the place, I could have sworn I had known of it before. I expected to hate it, having dreaded the move for weeks now, but I didn't.

  “If dad was alive,” I whispered to myself, “we would’ve never come here. There’d be no reason to.”

  I could only guess why my mother decided on this place, having scoured the Internet, looking for a fixer upper that she could afford. We weren’t destitute by any means, having a fair amount of insurance money and selling a house in a strong market, but mom feared running out of cash, never having worked during her marriage.

  The popping of the log made me jump, the sound cracking in my ear. “It’s warmer now.” I eyed the room over a shoulder, seeing every corner in shadow, while the firelight flickered off the walls. I wondered whose room this had been at one time, vowing to explore more tomorrow. We had done all we could today, although many boxes remained to be un
packed.

  Waking in the middle of the night, I chastised myself for forgetting to take the sleep medication. I did not want to wake up groggy in the morning, but now I worried I might not be able to sleep at all, lying in bed and listening to the sound of the wind. A light scratching noise on the other side of the window revealed how close the trees were, with branches tossed against the glass panes.

  I knew exactly why I woke, remembering the dream in vivid detail, mostly because I had the same one for years. I spoke to various therapists about this, wanting to know why I always dreamt the same thing. They offered weak explanations, but none of them proved satisfying in the least, all leading to more questions. Sitting up, I eyed the darkened room. A tiny bit of light seeped in through the edges of the curtain from the streetlights outside.

  Blustery again, a faint, bell-like sound caught my notice, which reminded me of wind chimes. I doubted mom had the time to hang anything on the patio, yet someone had. Did the house even have a patio? I hadn’t seen the backyard. Sliding from the bed, I donned socks. Then I lit a candle on the nightstand, the light wavering for a moment, threatening to extinguish. It caught fully then, the flame robust.

  I headed for the hallway, passing mom’s room a moment later. She left the door wide, her soft snores resonating. After using the bathroom, I paused before the master bedchamber, mom choosing one of the smaller rooms. An ornate mantle stood against the wall, the rest of the space empty. A set of doors led to a patio, the sound of bells louder here. I tried the handle, the brass cold to the touch, although it turned, the door creaky. A blast of cold air hit me.

  Leaves gathered in messy piles, the balcony needing to be swept. I came to stand near the railing. A gust wind blew hair into my face, while the light of the moon filtered down, a misty sort of glow lingering. From this vantage, all I saw were trees, with a darkish lawn below. Holding the railing, I felt the roughness of the wood, paint peeling here. A damp chill reminded me of the rain earlier, a cloud overhead threatening more. Breathing in deeply, I peered over the edge of the railing, mentally measuring the distance to the ground. A fall from here would be fatal.