smile as he ran absent fingertips over the counter, would’ve known
how to fix all of this. Even in the hospital the old man watched home and
garden shows on a near-constant loop, offered his only son tips on how
everything from how to repair a leaky pipe to how to remodel a basement. Shea
felt a dull ache now that he couldn’t recall any of them, could only remember
the barest details of those absent-minded conversations held over the beep and
whirr of machines, monitors, and IVs.
A curious pain
tightened his chest.
But there wasn’t time
for sentimentality, at least not now, and so limping he forced himself forward
into the rest of the house, grief-softened gaze roaming over the decayed
remnants of his childhood and happier times. There, on the lumpy yellow couch
in the living room, they’d stay up late past bedtime and watch movies together:
Mom and Dad, Kady and Shea. He remembered the slide of the buttered popcorn on his
hands, the sting of too-much salt on his tongue, the silly sing-alongs. And here,
in the bedroom, he and Kady used to construct extravagant forts around the
simple bed with its cheap metal frame, hanging billowing sheet-canopies from
the door to the headboard and scrawling signs that read Parents Not Allowed .
Shea’s eyes stung. He
cleared his throat and told himself it was the dust. A sharp ache in his ankle
reminded him he was injured and, wearily, he let himself slide to the floor by
the old oaken bookcase in the bedroom. For a few moments he simply breathed,
enjoying the serene quiet of the darkened room, the trill of birds outside. An
adventurous ladybug wandered across the floor and began an arduous climb across
the leg of his jeans. “Hi,” he said fondly, and let it crawl onto his finger
as he smiled faintly. How many of these had he captured and kept in jars
before, in a fit of childish remorse and sorrow, he freed them all back into
the outdoors? He wondered if future families would come here to do the same
thing, or what would happen to this place if not, who owned it, and what might
become of it.
Maybe, most likely, the
cabin would simply be destroyed, or simply decay away into an abandoned husk.
A rustling that could
have been leaves or bugs or simply the wind floated in through the open window
and made Shea’s skin prickle. Reluctantly he clambered to his feet and tested
the wounded ankle. The pain made him wince, but he hoped he could make it to
the car at the base of the hill. Best to do so before darkness fell fully. His
childhood recollections contained no memories of particularly intimidating
forest creatures, but he scarcely felt inclined to test the theory—and anyway, he really didn’t want to be caught. He wasn’t sure how a solitary graduate
student would explain trespassing and breaking in to a secluded forest cabin.
Determined, he didn’t
pause until he returned to the kitchen—and there, Shea lingered as his fingers
stilled on the light switch and his gaze swept the simple room. This time, when
tears pricked his eyes he indulged them. Surely he could allow this much, a
tribute to all the happiness and laughter that used to live in this place.
Surely he could feel sadness over the emptiness and darkness of it now, the
painful reminder of permanent loss. What was it about adulthood that made
everything about childhood seem smaller? “Bye,” he whispered helplessly. He
took another hobbled step forward to the door and turned his face away. Don’t
look back. Just keep going. You came to see it one last time, just like
you promised Dad you would. That’s all you can do. “Goodb—”
The sudden brilliance
of a flashlight blinded him as a sharp, demanding voice punctuated the
stillness of the night. “Who the hell are you ?”
Shea stumbled backwards
in fear and squinted against the blaze of radiance as he glimpsed, dimly, a slim,
tall figure in the yard silhouetted against the trees. A forest ranger,
how to fix all of this. Even in the hospital the old man watched home and
garden shows on a near-constant loop, offered his only son tips on how
everything from how to repair a leaky pipe to how to remodel a basement. Shea
felt a dull ache now that he couldn’t recall any of them, could only remember
the barest details of those absent-minded conversations held over the beep and
whirr of machines, monitors, and IVs.
A curious pain
tightened his chest.
But there wasn’t time
for sentimentality, at least not now, and so limping he forced himself forward
into the rest of the house, grief-softened gaze roaming over the decayed
remnants of his childhood and happier times. There, on the lumpy yellow couch
in the living room, they’d stay up late past bedtime and watch movies together:
Mom and Dad, Kady and Shea. He remembered the slide of the buttered popcorn on his
hands, the sting of too-much salt on his tongue, the silly sing-alongs. And here,
in the bedroom, he and Kady used to construct extravagant forts around the
simple bed with its cheap metal frame, hanging billowing sheet-canopies from
the door to the headboard and scrawling signs that read Parents Not Allowed .
Shea’s eyes stung. He
cleared his throat and told himself it was the dust. A sharp ache in his ankle
reminded him he was injured and, wearily, he let himself slide to the floor by
the old oaken bookcase in the bedroom. For a few moments he simply breathed,
enjoying the serene quiet of the darkened room, the trill of birds outside. An
adventurous ladybug wandered across the floor and began an arduous climb across
the leg of his jeans. “Hi,” he said fondly, and let it crawl onto his finger
as he smiled faintly. How many of these had he captured and kept in jars
before, in a fit of childish remorse and sorrow, he freed them all back into
the outdoors? He wondered if future families would come here to do the same
thing, or what would happen to this place if not, who owned it, and what might
become of it.
Maybe, most likely, the
cabin would simply be destroyed, or simply decay away into an abandoned husk.
A rustling that could
have been leaves or bugs or simply the wind floated in through the open window
and made Shea’s skin prickle. Reluctantly he clambered to his feet and tested
the wounded ankle. The pain made him wince, but he hoped he could make it to
the car at the base of the hill. Best to do so before darkness fell fully. His
childhood recollections contained no memories of particularly intimidating
forest creatures, but he scarcely felt inclined to test the theory—and anyway, he really didn’t want to be caught. He wasn’t sure how a solitary graduate
student would explain trespassing and breaking in to a secluded forest cabin.
Determined, he didn’t
pause until he returned to the kitchen—and there, Shea lingered as his fingers
stilled on the light switch and his gaze swept the simple room. This time, when
tears pricked his eyes he indulged them. Surely he could allow this much, a
tribute to all the happiness and laughter that used to live in this place.
Surely he could feel sadness over the emptiness and darkness of it now, the
painful reminder of permanent loss. What was it about adulthood that made
everything about childhood seem smaller? “Bye,” he whispered helplessly. He
took another hobbled step forward to the door and turned his face away. Don’t
look back. Just keep going. You came to see it one last time, just like
you promised Dad you would. That’s all you can do. “Goodb—”
The sudden brilliance
of a flashlight blinded him as a sharp, demanding voice punctuated the
stillness of the night. “Who the hell are you ?”
Shea stumbled backwards
in fear and squinted against the blaze of radiance as he glimpsed, dimly, a slim,
tall figure in the yard silhouetted against the trees. A forest ranger,
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