Page 51 of Just Business

After a full day of eating, tossing the kids around in the pool, and lounging around talking, we make our way over to a roaring fire pit. It’s a hot evening, but Josie insisted we needed it for “atmospheric vibes.” Liam has his guitar out, softly strumming some chords, and I’m leaning against Austin on the bench we’re seated on.

We sing along to the songs, many of them the soundtrack of my childhood with my mom and dad, bringing back all the memories that I’ve clung to. When I close my eyes, I can see them in my mind’s eye like Polaroid snapshots flashing in and out, one by one. As I relive each memory, Austin trails his fingers up and down my arm, like he’s playing chords to his favorite song, and I know it’s time.

As soon as Greg and Ed talked about my dad and how much he’d have loved recording this album, I knew I had to show him what Josie refers to as “the shrine.” If I’m planning on allowing Austin into my life, I want him to get to know all the parts of me, and this grief that I still can’t seem to find closure to is one of those parts.

Austin clearly has his own demons locked up tight, and I trust that he’ll open up when he’s ready. But he told me he wanted something real. Tonight I’m choosing to roll over and expose my sensitive underbelly, as scary as it will be.

The fire pit is down to low-burning embers, and I see Lisa stifle a yawn.

I lean over to him and whisper, “I’m ready to go.”

He stands, pulling me to my feet and everyone else takes our cue, rising to leave as well. After several minutes of goodbyes and claps on the back, we gather our stuff and climb into the van, heading to my house in silence.

I’m the first to break the silence when he pulls into my driveway and cuts the engine. “Wanna stay for a while?”

Austin glances at me wearing an unreadable expression. “Yeah, Penn, I’ll stay.”

I don’t know what I expect to happen when Penny unlocks her door and I walk in—okay, that’s not entirely true—but her taking my hand and leading up the stairs to two identical closed doors is not it.

I’ve been in every room downstairs by now, but this is my first time upstairs where the bedrooms are. When she opens the door, I’m unsure at first what I’m looking at. We stand in silence, Penny looking at me like she’s afraid I’ll bolt. That’s when it hits me where we are.

“This was your parents’ room, wasn't it?”

She gives one jerky nod of her head, and I take a moment to process what I’m seeing. My eyes roam the room, trying to take in everything at once. On the nightstand is a glass of stagnant water, with a pair of reading glasses lying on top of an opened pack of Marlboro Reds. A pair of leather boots sits at the foot of the bed, a chunk of dirt still caked on one side, and a Wrangler shirt with pearl buttons is slung over a chair in the corner. Next to the chair on a stand is the most beautiful Martin Six-String I think I’ve ever seen.

“You said you wanted real. This is as real as I’ve got.” Penny walks further into the room and I follow her. “I’ve never touched it, any of it,” she says in a hushed tone. “It’s like—” Her voice catches and she takes a deep, steadying breath. “It’s like, if I touch it, if I move one single thing, I might slowly forget them, little by little.”

I don’t respond right away. I just walk over to the nightstand that was Penny’s dad’s, careful not to touch anything. On it is a framed photo of a woman, obviously Penny’s mom, based on the copper hair. She’s holding a chubby, smiling toddler on her hip, and they’re both looking up at the man in the picture, maybe laughing at something he’s said. The man, who I instantly recognize as her dad, looks down at them, wearing a megawatt smile to match theirs.

Next to the picture is a grocery list of items that were probably never purchased:Eggs, milk, cigarettes, mustard. It’s like the day her dad died time stopped moving in this room.

I move to the dresser and see a picture of Penny on the day she graduated from Alabama. She and her dad are arm in arm, wearing matching expressions of joy, beaming at whoever is behind the camera.

As I take it all in, I spot things that must have belonged to her mom as well. A mirrored tray full of turquoise jewelry sits on the dresser, and next to it are perfume bottles so old they’ve probably lost their scent. It’s clear that her dad allowed this room to become a memorial to her mom, and when he died, Penny kept the torch burning for both of them.

She walks to where I’m standing and points to the tray of jewelry. “I used to ask my mom if I could try on her wedding ring, and if I promised to be careful with it, she’d let me. But when she died, I guess she was buried with it. If it wasn’t on her finger, it was always right here. And I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve stared at this tray, hoping every other time maybe I overlooked it. Hoping that that would be the time it would appear.”

Penny takes my hand and leads me to the next closed door. “There’s more, Austin. I’m showing you because I trust you. I’m trusting that you won’t judge, please.” The room is so jam-packed the Room of Requirement has nothing on it. Honestly, I’m not even sure what I’m looking at.

She must sense my confusion because she reaches for an old straw hat on a rack and holds it up to examine. “This was my pop’s hat,” she explains. “This is the exact rack he hung it on every single day when he got home. And this is my nana’s afghan that she crocheted when I was a kid.”

Suddenly, I realize what I’m seeing. It’s as if she gathered every single item an elderly couple might have accumulated over fifty or sixty years of marriage and stuffed it into this small bedroom.

“Baby”—I let out a long exhale through my nose—“you’re living in a house of ghosts.”

She looks up at me, those honey-colored eyes full of sadness, and she’s not the woman I’m falling for, or the studio owner. She’s just a girl who misses her family, and I’d give anything at this moment to take the pain of loss away. So I do the only thing I know to do. I wrap my arms around her, tucking her head under my chin.

Penny pulls away and guides me from the room, the door clicking closed behind us. When she sinks against the wall, I lower down next to her, and she leans, resting her head against my shoulder. I don’t know how long we sit like this; it could be minutes or hours, but she looks up at me with a sad smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“I need to tell you something, so you know what you’re getting into.” Penny’s eyes shift back and forth between mine.

“Anything. You can tell me anything.”

“You have to promise you won’t jump in and try to fix this. Can you promise me that? I have to do this on my own. I’ve gotta prove to myself that I’m able to handle all that’s been thrown at me.”

I nod and after several seconds she speaks. “I knew things weren’t quite right. Those years I lived in Nashville, I knew. He’d call me and something in his voice sounded off. But I was self-absorbed and didn’t bother checking in on him. I was finding my way in a city where everyone was trying to get their foot in the door. Also, I think maybe I didn’t want to face it. I didn’t want to come back here, where the ghosts of my mom lingered, and face the person my dad had become.”

Penny pauses, looking up at the ceiling, and I reach over, lacing my fingers with hers. She looks down at our hands, and then up to meet my eyes.

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