Page 28 of My Favorite Lost Cause
What else have I lost over these years with Harvey? And are they things I’ll be able to recover when I finally realize I’ve lost them?
In the afternoon,Charlie leaves to go to the lumberyard. I continue scraping the walls, but the upstairs starts calling to me again.
It can’t be that dangerous. Elijah and Charlie have been up several times, and Charlie showers there when he doesn’t use mine. I throw my tools to the ground before I can even think it through.
The stairs leading to the second floor creak but have a firmness to them that modern stairways don’t. From the landing, I see what must have been the primary bedroom on the left side, but it’s the room farthest down the hall to the right that I’m drawn to. My feet are moving toward it before I’ve even commanded them in that direction.
It’s not like something out of a horror film—I’m not pulledthere against my will. It’s more like spying your favorite person across a crowded room...of courseyou’re heading that way.
And as soon as I enter…I feel at rest. For the first time since we entered this house, I’m not fighting any pull at all. It’s as if I’ve finally come home after a long trip.
The room is small and feminine. Tiny violets dot the ancient wallpaper. The only piece of furniture is an ancient mirror opposite the windows. I walk into the room’s center, and this sensation begins sliding over me, climbing from feet to legs to chest.
Giddiness.
It’s the excitement of a teenage girl when she’s just been asked out for the first time. The excitement of a college admissions letter, or the way I’ve imagined I’d feel seeing a positive pregnancy test. It’s ecstatic, delighted, bubbling over with hope. When was the last time I felt like this? It’s been years—so many years that I’d forgotten I could feel it. The sensation washes over me—one wave after the next—until my legs shake under the onslaught and I finally have to slide to the floor. I scoot to the wall and let my eyes fall closed, remembering high school and the way my friends and I would gather in someone’s bedroom, giggling and borrowing makeup. We had the whole world in front of us, and anything was possible, but where is that world now?
After another moment the memory shifts. I’m no longer thinking of those nights with my friends, but something different, when I was about the same age—strolling down a road under the shade of live oaks and discussing some dance being held, one I was desperate to attend.
“You can’t miss it,” one of my friends had said, wide-eyed.
“Papa will never let me go,” I’d replied. “Not until my brothers get home.”
A name is shouted from very far away. I turn to look downthe lane behind us, but there’s nothing, and no, the voice isn’t even here. It’s…
My eyes open slowly, heavily, as if weighted.
“Maren?” calls Charlie.
I stare blindly at the opposite wall of an unfamiliar room.
What the hell was that?
Papa will never let me go, I’d told them.Not until my brothers get home.
Except, I don’t call anyone Papa. The closest thing I’ve got to a father is Henry, who I’ve always called by his first name.
I also don’t have brothers.
“Maren?” calls Charlie again.
“Up here!” My voice isn’t as loud as I’d intended it to be, as if I’m coming from very far away.
His footsteps echo along the hall and then he’s standing in the frame of the door, with his brow furrowed. “What are you doing?” he asks. It sounds less accusatory than concerned.
I bite my lip. I can’t tell him this, right? No, of course not. It’s too weird. Maybe the mold issue is worse than Elijah had thought. “Nothing,” I reply. “Just closed my eyes for a second. Why are you back? I thought you were leaving for the lumberyard.”
His mouth opens, then closes. He crosses the room and crouches beside me, placing his hand to my forehead. “Maren, I was gone for two hours. I texted to see if I should pick up dinner and you never replied.”
Two hours. That’s just not possible.
I’ve been up here five minutes at most.
But a glance out the window confirms that the light is dimmer than it was. Too dim by far to be mid-afternoon, so, again, what the hell just happened?
Charlie is still crouching in front of me, frowning. His thumb brushes my face, and for the strangest half second, I picture kissing him. I picture the softness of his lips and howI’d get a little whiff of his shampoo as I leaned in—and I long for that: his mouth on mine, his acquiescence, in a way I’ve never craved it fromanyone.
My gaze meets his. For a half second, I suspect he’d let me do it, and the thought sends all the air rushing from my lungs.
