Twisted Roots (DeBeers 3)

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?