“You were, Bebe. You were. I saw your face everywhere as I struggled. I love your fucking face.”
“Right back at you, bitch. Now get in,” she says, opening the passenger side of her black Porsche Macan. “I’ll drive and you talk. Oh,” she says just as my door closes. She jogs around the front of the car and gets in before she picks up her sentence again. “I mapped out all the Starbucks from here to Holyoke!”
“They don’t have Starbucks in eastern Colorado, Bebes.”
“I know,” she pouts. “It’s like the apocalypse already happened out there.”
People make fun of small towns. And I guess they deserve it for being so backwards and slow. But I never minded them. It was nice to be in a place with no traffic and no crime.
Well, I guess that’s not true. My whole family was murdered in our home, so obviously every town has crime.
I still wonder why that freak fixated on me. Why me? I’m not ugly by any means. I’m cute. I have my beautiful moments. But why me?
Bebe chats all the way into Parker to pick up coffee, we use the drive-through, and then we get back on the freeway that will take us out into no-man’s-land. It’s a long drive up. Probably boring for most people. But it’s been while since I saw hay baled up neat and lining fields. And the farther away from Denver we go, the more I feel the tug of home. Whole flocks of turkeys wander around the side of the roads. Herds of antelope stare at us as we pass. Snow begins to fall as we make our way north. And before I know it, Bebe stops talking and we drive into town.
It’s quaint, I’ll give it that. It’s well-kept and colorful with the fall decorations. The downtown is small, just a block really. But it’s bustling with busy people.
No one looks at us and yet… everyone looks at us. I mean, a Porsche SUV is not something you see every day in Holyoke. Luckily it only takes us about thirty seconds to drive through town and then we turn east. I look over at Bebe.
“You want to see the farm, right?”
I nod. She knows me so well. And the fact that she knows how to get there without asking me for directions… well, that’s something too. It’s a maze of dirt roads and dead ends. And every field of winter wheat or fallow ground looks like the next. But sure as shit, she finds the house.
Bebe pulls her e-brake as soon as we stop but she doesn’t turn off the engine. “I’m not going inside.”
I look over at her and she turns her head to meet my gaze.
“I don’t want to go inside,” she repeats.
I swallow down my fear and open my door. I step out into the muddy driveway and close the door quietly behind me and then take a few tentative steps towards my home.
I still own it. Which is why it’s still standing, I suppose. No one farms this land. The barns are all empty and the only sound is the slight hum from Bebe’s car and the wind whistling through the trees.
My courage builds as I take a few more steps and then I’m just walking up to the front stoop. The windows aren’t broken. There’s no graffiti on the white siding that covers the exterior. The curtains are all closed.
It almost looks like someone lives here.
I reach for the door handle and…
“Don’t do it, Grace,” Bebe calls out. “Don’t go in. It’s locked, I bet. We’ll have to break a window. And that will open it all up again. Just leave it alone.”
I turn back to her. She’s half in and half out of the car. One foot on the ground. The wind is blowing her hair sideways and a chill runs up my spine.
I rub my arms and hug myself to stave off the cold. “I need a coat,” I call back.
“There’s no coats in there, Grace. We had it cleaned out, remember? There’s nothing in there.”
I look back at the door, at my hand still reaching for the handle. “What if… I open that door and they’re still in there?”
“They’re not in there, Grace.” She’s right up beside me now. “They’re not in there.”
“I know that. But can’t a girl hold onto a little hope?”
“That’s not hope, Kinsella. That’s denial.” I look over at her and she shrugs. “Truth.” And then she hops down off the stoop and picks up a rock and climbs back up. “But if you really want to go inside, I’ll help you. I don’t think it’s a good idea, but I’ll—”
Her words are cut off as a car comes slowly down the gravel driveway. A maroon sedan covered in a layer of dust and dirt.
“Who’s that?” I ask. But I already know. “Aunt Rachel.”
The car parks next to Bebe’s and idles there. I stare into the eyes of a living blood relative for the first time in ten years and my heart goes wild with fear. Her hair is hidden by a wool hat, but even through the window I can see a few straggly strands of gray peeking out. She was pretty when I was a kid. At least, that’s how I remember her. She and my mom used to look alike, but the woman I see through the glass does not look like the mother I have in my memories.
Maybe it’s the frown?
I only let myself remember my mother as happy. Because my last memory of her was the horror that took place the night she was killed.
Aunt Rachel leaves the engine running and then opens the door of the car and places a hesitant foot outside. Just like Bebe did a few moments earlier. It’s like this place makes everyone pause before getting out. “What’re you doing here?” she yells over the wind.
I look at Bebe and she’s squinting her eyes at my aunt, but she stays silent.
“Visiting,” I call back from the stoop.
“You have no right to come back here and disrupt the quiet. No right.”
My eyebrows go up. “I own this farm.”
“I own this farm. This is my farm. I grew up on this farm. Your mama got it in the will and that’s how you got it. But this farm is mine.”
“Wow,” Bebe says. “She wants to talk about property rights.”
“No one wants you here, Daisy.”
“Grace,” Bebe says with a snarl. “Her name is Grace.”
“I don’t care what her name is. Nobody wants her here.”
Bebe hurls the rock at Aunt Rachel and it hits the hood of her car with a thunk. “Fuck off, you bitch.”
Aunt Rachel is screaming at her, but Bebe provoked is a force of nature. She storms down the front stoop, yelling right back. They get up in each other’s faces and start pushing. Jesus Christ, we’re going to jail today.
“Right back at you, bitch. Now get in,” she says, opening the passenger side of her black Porsche Macan. “I’ll drive and you talk. Oh,” she says just as my door closes. She jogs around the front of the car and gets in before she picks up her sentence again. “I mapped out all the Starbucks from here to Holyoke!”
“They don’t have Starbucks in eastern Colorado, Bebes.”
“I know,” she pouts. “It’s like the apocalypse already happened out there.”
People make fun of small towns. And I guess they deserve it for being so backwards and slow. But I never minded them. It was nice to be in a place with no traffic and no crime.
Well, I guess that’s not true. My whole family was murdered in our home, so obviously every town has crime.
I still wonder why that freak fixated on me. Why me? I’m not ugly by any means. I’m cute. I have my beautiful moments. But why me?
Bebe chats all the way into Parker to pick up coffee, we use the drive-through, and then we get back on the freeway that will take us out into no-man’s-land. It’s a long drive up. Probably boring for most people. But it’s been while since I saw hay baled up neat and lining fields. And the farther away from Denver we go, the more I feel the tug of home. Whole flocks of turkeys wander around the side of the roads. Herds of antelope stare at us as we pass. Snow begins to fall as we make our way north. And before I know it, Bebe stops talking and we drive into town.
It’s quaint, I’ll give it that. It’s well-kept and colorful with the fall decorations. The downtown is small, just a block really. But it’s bustling with busy people.
No one looks at us and yet… everyone looks at us. I mean, a Porsche SUV is not something you see every day in Holyoke. Luckily it only takes us about thirty seconds to drive through town and then we turn east. I look over at Bebe.
“You want to see the farm, right?”
I nod. She knows me so well. And the fact that she knows how to get there without asking me for directions… well, that’s something too. It’s a maze of dirt roads and dead ends. And every field of winter wheat or fallow ground looks like the next. But sure as shit, she finds the house.
Bebe pulls her e-brake as soon as we stop but she doesn’t turn off the engine. “I’m not going inside.”
I look over at her and she turns her head to meet my gaze.
“I don’t want to go inside,” she repeats.
I swallow down my fear and open my door. I step out into the muddy driveway and close the door quietly behind me and then take a few tentative steps towards my home.
I still own it. Which is why it’s still standing, I suppose. No one farms this land. The barns are all empty and the only sound is the slight hum from Bebe’s car and the wind whistling through the trees.
My courage builds as I take a few more steps and then I’m just walking up to the front stoop. The windows aren’t broken. There’s no graffiti on the white siding that covers the exterior. The curtains are all closed.
It almost looks like someone lives here.
I reach for the door handle and…
“Don’t do it, Grace,” Bebe calls out. “Don’t go in. It’s locked, I bet. We’ll have to break a window. And that will open it all up again. Just leave it alone.”
I turn back to her. She’s half in and half out of the car. One foot on the ground. The wind is blowing her hair sideways and a chill runs up my spine.
I rub my arms and hug myself to stave off the cold. “I need a coat,” I call back.
“There’s no coats in there, Grace. We had it cleaned out, remember? There’s nothing in there.”
I look back at the door, at my hand still reaching for the handle. “What if… I open that door and they’re still in there?”
“They’re not in there, Grace.” She’s right up beside me now. “They’re not in there.”
“I know that. But can’t a girl hold onto a little hope?”
“That’s not hope, Kinsella. That’s denial.” I look over at her and she shrugs. “Truth.” And then she hops down off the stoop and picks up a rock and climbs back up. “But if you really want to go inside, I’ll help you. I don’t think it’s a good idea, but I’ll—”
Her words are cut off as a car comes slowly down the gravel driveway. A maroon sedan covered in a layer of dust and dirt.
“Who’s that?” I ask. But I already know. “Aunt Rachel.”
The car parks next to Bebe’s and idles there. I stare into the eyes of a living blood relative for the first time in ten years and my heart goes wild with fear. Her hair is hidden by a wool hat, but even through the window I can see a few straggly strands of gray peeking out. She was pretty when I was a kid. At least, that’s how I remember her. She and my mom used to look alike, but the woman I see through the glass does not look like the mother I have in my memories.
Maybe it’s the frown?
I only let myself remember my mother as happy. Because my last memory of her was the horror that took place the night she was killed.
Aunt Rachel leaves the engine running and then opens the door of the car and places a hesitant foot outside. Just like Bebe did a few moments earlier. It’s like this place makes everyone pause before getting out. “What’re you doing here?” she yells over the wind.
I look at Bebe and she’s squinting her eyes at my aunt, but she stays silent.
“Visiting,” I call back from the stoop.
“You have no right to come back here and disrupt the quiet. No right.”
My eyebrows go up. “I own this farm.”
“I own this farm. This is my farm. I grew up on this farm. Your mama got it in the will and that’s how you got it. But this farm is mine.”
“Wow,” Bebe says. “She wants to talk about property rights.”
“No one wants you here, Daisy.”
“Grace,” Bebe says with a snarl. “Her name is Grace.”
“I don’t care what her name is. Nobody wants her here.”
Bebe hurls the rock at Aunt Rachel and it hits the hood of her car with a thunk. “Fuck off, you bitch.”
Aunt Rachel is screaming at her, but Bebe provoked is a force of nature. She storms down the front stoop, yelling right back. They get up in each other’s faces and start pushing. Jesus Christ, we’re going to jail today.
