stand there for a while and look at each and every
thing, no matter how small or
how insignificant it
might first appear. Everything had some sentimental
significance and touched me in some way, even the
view from my windows. I would never have a view
like it or look out on what they looked out upon again. Goodbye to all my childhood fears and my
childhood fantasies, I thought, for all of it still lived
somewhere within these walls, every cry, every sob,
every laugh somewhere within them, resting, touched
only by a dream or by a fleeting memory. This was a
house with history, and mine was part of it. Years and years from now someone else surely would live here, and she might wonder about a chip in the wood, a scratch in the window, a piece of wrapping paper
inside a closet. Perhaps my dreams would invade hers. Forgive me, room, I thought. You were Hever a
disappointment, but what I seek NOW is outside and I turned and hurried out before anyone came
home. In minutes I was walking quickly down the
driveway, and moments later I was outside the gate.
Heyden was there on his moped. He held up his hand.
and I took a deep breath and hurried to him. "I was getting worried," he said. "You're almost
fifteen minutes late."
"Am I? Sorry."
"Good work," he said, holding my pillowcase.
He tied it securely to the moped and patted the seat
behind him. "Let's go. We have a lot to do." I got on and placed my feet carefully. He
started it, and we rolled forward.
I looked back once even though I had made a
pact with myself not to look back. I just couldn't help
it. Joya del Mar had its own powers. I could almost
hear the flowers, the trees, the house itself calling to
me, begging me not to go.
Or was that just the voice inside myself, tiny and frightened, soon to be drowned out by the roar of the wind passing my ears and the thunder of my own heartbeat?