Page 106 of The Tattered Gloves
I had nothing but time.
Wrapping my hands around the cup, I let the warmth melt through the tattered strings of my gloves, all the way down to my bones, as my mind caught up with the exhaustion the rest of me was feeling.
I sat there for what felt like hours, sipping my never-ending cup of coffee, as my gracious waitress continued to refill it long after she should have.
I didn’t know what I’d expected to gain by visiting this place… by coming to this city. Sitting here, in this diner? I didn’t feel any closer to Addy. I didn’t feel like I was suddenly walking in her footsteps, reliving her early years to a bigger, brighter future of my own.
If anything, it only made me miss her more.
And I regretted the pain I must be causing her this very minute.
Knowing I’d outstayed my welcome, I threw what little I had on the table for my bill and tip and said good-bye to The Short Stack. My feet ached the second they made contact with the ground, but I had one more stop to make before I figured out what to do next. Unfortunately, it was on the other side of town.
When my aunt had told me she’d left her old life behind, moving across town to seek out something new, where no one could find her, a part of me had thought that perhaps she was being overly dramatic. I mean, how far could she really go?
A lifetime, it seemed.
The farther I walked, the more the city changed. It morphed into something grander. Even though cars whizzed down the streets and people walked past, chatting on their cell phones, I could somehow still picture how it must have all looked when the roads had been full of dust and horses carried rich old men to business meetings across town.
The architecture was ornate and detailed, reminding me of my one and only field trip to the Lincoln Memorial in fourth grade. It was the only time I’d ever seen it up close.
So many years in D.C., yet I’d been the only kid still mesmerized by the enormity of it all.
It had taken most of the day to get to the area of Charlottesville I’d described to the old man in the bus station. I hadn’t completely lied.
There was just no one waiting for me.
Walking down the tree-lined street, I wandered from house to house, wondering what it must have been like to grow up here.
It didn’t take long to find the place. I’d spent way too much time stalking it on the Internet and knew every detail — from the elegant columns to the formal brick entry. My aunt had told me their house was the smallest of the Fairchild dynasty, a punishment from my great-grandfather to his less-than-reliable son. Standing in front of it, however, made it hard to believe. The place was massive, encompassing nearly half a block, including the lush gardens that surrounded it.
After the diner, I’d given up on the idea of finding any comfort here. I couldn’t picture my aunt running around the yard, young and carefree. I couldn’t see my mother chasing after her.
It was just a house to me. A big, beautiful house.
People passed by me, joggers and moms with strollers. Maybe they thought I was a stray or the one teenage girl in America obsessed with historic architecture.
But I didn’t care. I just stared up at the big house until someone finally came out. Ducking behind a tree, I watched a young girl around my age walk the garden, a phone glued to her ear. Even from this distance, I could see the dollar signs painted all over her, right down to her leather riding boots and plaid scarf. It was chilly out, but she hardly seemed to notice as she prattled on and on to someone on the other end about this and that, waving her hands around as she talked.
Soon, the front door opened again, and someone else appeared. With gray hair and a long dark coat, he looked like half a dozen other men I’d seen today.
All business.
He looked left and right until he spotted the girl walking through the garden that I was sure was even prettier in the spring.
She didn’t notice him until he yelled.
Even I jumped a little.
“I told you, no phone, Alexandria. Not until you pull your grades up.”
“Like that’s ever going to happen, Dad. I’m not you. I don’t want to go to college. I don’t want to run a company!” she hollered right back.
“So, you’re just going to spend your life on the phone, hanging out with your friends, with no regard for the future?”
“At least I have a life!”
It was like watching a soap opera or a horrible accident on the interstate. I just couldn’t look away.
