Being on the train is like being in a dream, the hazy green landscape flying by, the low whistle. It’s nearly dinnertime when Shelby arrives. There’s no one on the streets, only the hum of lawn mowers in backyards and an occasional dog walker. When she gets to her house she stands in the driveway. The old paint is being scraped off, but the workmen have finished and left for the day. Clearly, the new people intend to remodel the place. Shelby goes up to the front door. There’s no answer when she knocks. She peers under the mailbox, and sure enough there’s the extra key taped there. Her mother always wanted to make sure that Shelby could get into the house, even if no one was home. It can’t be breaking and entering if you have a key, so Shelby unlocks the door and slips inside. The place is so empty that her footsteps echo. The house should look bigger without furniture, but it seems tiny to Shelby. The appliances are all missing, no refrigerator, no stove. New ones will be installed and there’ll be a complete kitchen remodel, something Shelby’s mom had always wanted.
Shelby meanders through the rooms, which feel sad and unfamiliar. Then she goes down to the basement. What had been her lair is filled with boxes that belong to the new people. She sits on the stairs, where she often thought she spied Helene. This was her safe place, where no one could find her and nothing could hurt her, but nothing familiar remains. Even the washing machine is gone. Shelby says Mom out loud just to test what will happen. Maybe time will shift and she’ll be seventeen again and everything will be different. She won’t go over to Helene’s that night, she’ll have a cold and stay home in bed, and in the morning Helene will call her and everything will be all right. But the word Mom rises up and disappears. It sounds like a sob. It’s dusty in the basement, and Shelby realizes that even when she was a recluse her mother must have cleaned up when she was asleep. She was always watching over Shelby.
Shelby leaves through the back door, as she used to do when she roamed the neighborhood after dark, meeting Ben Mink. The picnic table is gone. The new people must have had it hauled away with everything else. The grass is patchy, but a few plants in the borders are growing; they refuse to give up. There is a stray stem of a dahlia. One that managed to get through the winter. Shelby starts walking to James’s house. His car is in the driveway. His father died the year after his brother passed away, so on the weekends it’s James who drives his mother to the market and to her doctors’ appointments and to the cemetery. On his way back to the city he often stops at the beach where he and his brother went swimming. He never goes in the water, not even on the hottest days. He likes to watch the birds. Sometimes he brings along a pad and a pen and some ink so he can work on illustrations for the sequel to Nevermore.
But this Saturday is different. James has come to tell his mother he’s leaving. He’s going to California with Shelby. When he quit working at Scorpio, the guys threw him an after-hours party to which Shelby was not invited. “Don’t tell me what went on,” she advised when James finally came to her place at four in the morning. “I didn’t drink, but I almost tattooed your name on my back,” he told her as he got into bed. Shelby laughed and drew him close. “Very funny.”
It’s their private joke: never write someone’s name on your skin if you know what’s good for you. “Our love will never be a burden,” James promised her that night. He was sober and very serious. “Never is a long time,” Shelby told him. “Not at all,” he said, his hands all over her. “Not for us.”
The Howards’ house is identical to the house where Shelby grew up, only the Richmonds’ house was painted gray and this one is dark green. There’s a picnic table in the yard, like theirs, only in better condition. James mentioned he painted it last summer. There are some roses growing here, red with centers so dark they’re almost black. Birds perch in a sycamore tree, peering down at her. Shelby thinks they’re robins. She raps on the back door for some time and hears Cooper barking like mad before James finally swings it open, eyes narrowed with suspicion until he sees her. Shelby can’t tell if he’s horrified or delighted. He’s certainly puzzled. Coop runs to greet her warmly, rubbing his head against her.
“I thought you were going to a party and I was picking you up at Maravelle’s.”
“I went. But I wanted to see my house.”
“How was it?”
“Not mine anymore.”
James glances at the house where he grew up. “Well, this is mine. When I told my mother I was leaving New York, she didn’t say anything. She just froze me out. As usual.”
“You don’t live here,” Shelby says. “You just pay your penance here.”
James eases himself onto the picnic table and lies on his back in order to look at the sky. Shelby lies down beside him, the way she and her mother used to do. The sun looks like it’s falling to earth. Everything is red. They go inside, down to the basement, which served as James’s bedroom when he was younger. Coop hops onto the bed and curls up. Shelby and James lie down beside the dog, entwined. James tells her he used to lie in his bed thinking about her. He says that every time he was with a woman, no matter where he was, he was with Shelby inside his mind.
“Mind-fucked,” Shelby says.
“I’m serious,” James says. “It was always you, Shelby.”
She goes to wait in the car while he finishes packing up. She’s not the kind of girl who has to befriend someone’s mother, and she’s sure his leave-taking will be difficult. He’s come here every week to run errands and help his mother, despite the fact that he says they’ve never been close. It’s growing cooler, and Shelby wishes she had her Burberry raincoat. She hugs herself to keep warm. She’s so wrapped up in her thoughts about leaving for California she doesn’t notice Mrs. Howard has come out of the house and is approaching. When there’s a tapping on the window, Shelby nearly jumps out of her skin. She buzzes down her window. She says the first thing that comes into her head. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Howard.”
“When you lose a son, people being sorry doesn’t do much good,” Mrs. Howard responds coldly.
“But you have James,” Shelby says.
“James is it? I thought that was the son you were talking about since you never knew Lee. Now I’m about to lose Jimmy, too, thanks to you.” Liz Howard stares Shelby down. “I don’t think you’re sorry at all, Shelby Richmond.”
Shelby meanders through the rooms, which feel sad and unfamiliar. Then she goes down to the basement. What had been her lair is filled with boxes that belong to the new people. She sits on the stairs, where she often thought she spied Helene. This was her safe place, where no one could find her and nothing could hurt her, but nothing familiar remains. Even the washing machine is gone. Shelby says Mom out loud just to test what will happen. Maybe time will shift and she’ll be seventeen again and everything will be different. She won’t go over to Helene’s that night, she’ll have a cold and stay home in bed, and in the morning Helene will call her and everything will be all right. But the word Mom rises up and disappears. It sounds like a sob. It’s dusty in the basement, and Shelby realizes that even when she was a recluse her mother must have cleaned up when she was asleep. She was always watching over Shelby.
Shelby leaves through the back door, as she used to do when she roamed the neighborhood after dark, meeting Ben Mink. The picnic table is gone. The new people must have had it hauled away with everything else. The grass is patchy, but a few plants in the borders are growing; they refuse to give up. There is a stray stem of a dahlia. One that managed to get through the winter. Shelby starts walking to James’s house. His car is in the driveway. His father died the year after his brother passed away, so on the weekends it’s James who drives his mother to the market and to her doctors’ appointments and to the cemetery. On his way back to the city he often stops at the beach where he and his brother went swimming. He never goes in the water, not even on the hottest days. He likes to watch the birds. Sometimes he brings along a pad and a pen and some ink so he can work on illustrations for the sequel to Nevermore.
But this Saturday is different. James has come to tell his mother he’s leaving. He’s going to California with Shelby. When he quit working at Scorpio, the guys threw him an after-hours party to which Shelby was not invited. “Don’t tell me what went on,” she advised when James finally came to her place at four in the morning. “I didn’t drink, but I almost tattooed your name on my back,” he told her as he got into bed. Shelby laughed and drew him close. “Very funny.”
It’s their private joke: never write someone’s name on your skin if you know what’s good for you. “Our love will never be a burden,” James promised her that night. He was sober and very serious. “Never is a long time,” Shelby told him. “Not at all,” he said, his hands all over her. “Not for us.”
The Howards’ house is identical to the house where Shelby grew up, only the Richmonds’ house was painted gray and this one is dark green. There’s a picnic table in the yard, like theirs, only in better condition. James mentioned he painted it last summer. There are some roses growing here, red with centers so dark they’re almost black. Birds perch in a sycamore tree, peering down at her. Shelby thinks they’re robins. She raps on the back door for some time and hears Cooper barking like mad before James finally swings it open, eyes narrowed with suspicion until he sees her. Shelby can’t tell if he’s horrified or delighted. He’s certainly puzzled. Coop runs to greet her warmly, rubbing his head against her.
“I thought you were going to a party and I was picking you up at Maravelle’s.”
“I went. But I wanted to see my house.”
“How was it?”
“Not mine anymore.”
James glances at the house where he grew up. “Well, this is mine. When I told my mother I was leaving New York, she didn’t say anything. She just froze me out. As usual.”
“You don’t live here,” Shelby says. “You just pay your penance here.”
James eases himself onto the picnic table and lies on his back in order to look at the sky. Shelby lies down beside him, the way she and her mother used to do. The sun looks like it’s falling to earth. Everything is red. They go inside, down to the basement, which served as James’s bedroom when he was younger. Coop hops onto the bed and curls up. Shelby and James lie down beside the dog, entwined. James tells her he used to lie in his bed thinking about her. He says that every time he was with a woman, no matter where he was, he was with Shelby inside his mind.
“Mind-fucked,” Shelby says.
“I’m serious,” James says. “It was always you, Shelby.”
She goes to wait in the car while he finishes packing up. She’s not the kind of girl who has to befriend someone’s mother, and she’s sure his leave-taking will be difficult. He’s come here every week to run errands and help his mother, despite the fact that he says they’ve never been close. It’s growing cooler, and Shelby wishes she had her Burberry raincoat. She hugs herself to keep warm. She’s so wrapped up in her thoughts about leaving for California she doesn’t notice Mrs. Howard has come out of the house and is approaching. When there’s a tapping on the window, Shelby nearly jumps out of her skin. She buzzes down her window. She says the first thing that comes into her head. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Howard.”
“When you lose a son, people being sorry doesn’t do much good,” Mrs. Howard responds coldly.
“But you have James,” Shelby says.
“James is it? I thought that was the son you were talking about since you never knew Lee. Now I’m about to lose Jimmy, too, thanks to you.” Liz Howard stares Shelby down. “I don’t think you’re sorry at all, Shelby Richmond.”
