I shake my finger at him. “Don’t you waste my eggs.”
“Aww Mom.”
“Don’t ‘aww Mom’ me.”
Gran turns down our drive and the Mustang bumps over the pitted gravel. Up ahead, I see my home in a different light than I did this morning.
When I left this morning, it was home. It needed a lot of fixing, but it was home. Now I see it the way Gavin Williams would see it. The way Ms. Crum likely sees it.
It’s an A-frame with moss and grass growing from the roof. The cedar log walls are a bit green, a lot dingy, one of the windows is broken and patched (temporarily) with duct tape. The house is tiny, the squat stone barn is nearly as big. The yard has never been mowed, tall grass and weeds grow wild, until they butt against the encroaching mountain woods.
Tanner’s contraptions litter the yard. To us it looks like imagination, but to a stranger it’d look like piles of junk. The chicken coop takes up most of the side yard, and the grass is gone where they’ve scratched down to the dirt digging for grubs and bugs. Our dog Scooter, a twelve-year-old bloodhound-Lab mix, rests like a muddy puddle next to the coop, not bothering to lift his head more than an inch at our arrival.
The laundry I put out this morning hangs on the line between two trees. There’s socks, shirts, underwear, towels, all clothes pinned close together, with not enough space for an ant to slip through. Under the clothesline, Tanner and Elijah’s bikes lay in the grass.
Finally, parked under the rusted metal carport is the old station wagon we bought when Elijah was born. “Hollow Creek Taxi Service” is painted in neon blue letters on the wood paneled door.
Looking at my home, all I can see are the weeds, and the junk, and the rust, and the broken down. The ugliness and the drabness.
Gran pulls to a stop and parks at the front door.
“Go on then.” She waves the kids off. They spring out of the back. Tanner and Elijah run for their bikes and Shay heads over to pet Scooter.
When they’re gone, Gran taps her fingers on the steering wheel. “What really happened? Don’t you tell me a story.”
“I’m not gonna lie.” I sigh and shift in my seat. When I do, Grandpa’s tobacco scent drifts to me.
“Tell me then.”
I take a deep breath and tell Gran everything Gavin Williams did and said, ending with, “It hurt. There’s a part of me that thinks he was right. I know I’m not beautiful, or traveled, or as la-di-da as him. But Gran, just because I’m not those things doesn’t mean I don’t feel and don’t dream. I can imagine the things he talks about. I have dreams too. When my glass broke, it felt like my heart broke. I worked so hard.”
I taste the salty sadness of tears, even though they’re not falling.
Gran clucks her tongue. “Oh Jamie Lynn. If I could skin him, I would.”
I nod and watch Tanner and Elijah speed past on their bikes. They’ve almost outgrown them.
“I was counting on that commission. I was going to fix the house. Get the kids new clothes. Find a tutor for math and reading.”
“Well, you know what they say.”
“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch?” Or in Tanner’s case, don’t count your chickens because all the eggs are going to be smashed with a robotic arm.
“No. No.”
“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride?”
“No. Not that one.”
“What can’t be cured must be endured?”
Gran purses her lips, her wrinkles pulling tight. “Jamie Lynn, haven’t I taught you anything?”
I bite my fingernail to keep from answering. This seems like a trick question.
Gran rolls her eyes. “They say, the Lord works in mysterious ways. Trust me. It’ll all come out in the wash.”
“Ohhh. That one. Okay.” I nod. I’m not so sure, but I’ll give Gran the benefit of the doubt.