Livvie Owen Lived Here (17 page)

“Bye, buddy,” I whispered.

“Bye, buddy,” Lanie echoed like the child she was, and we patted the cold earth together.

The stars were starting to fade by the time we stood, dusting the dirt from our pajamas, to begin
the walk home. Hand in hand, we walked slowly, not nearly as worried as we should have been about being caught or getting in trouble. We had simply let go of too many things tonight to worry about anything else.

It began to rain and my second set of pajamas started to get ruined. My one remaining sock was getting muddy and I knew my sneakers would be crispy for days. There was a thick kind of sadness in my head, and a lot of responsibility that came with Lanie's hand in mine.

There was no pressure, though. I had buried all that with Orange Cat's collar and my sister's little mouse. At least for now.

“I'm cold,” Lanie said as we passed Probart and started up Main. So I told her about the gas furnace, the way you lit it with a switch on top, the way I'd recorded my name on the blackened metal because it was the warmest spot in the house. As we shivered our way through the dark air, I told Lanie all about the start of our lives, in the warmth and the safety of the Sun House. I had been waiting for ten years to tell somebody the whole story, and the words poured out almost all in the right order. As our toes grew colder in the frozen grass, I drew the Sun House all around us. The sun itself had started over the mountains by the time we came in sight of home.

“Now, now Livvie's left something even better than a name on the wall,” I boasted proudly, humming a little. “Now Lanie and Livvie each left something wonderful.”

We stopped talking as we crept past the mailboxes into the trailer park. Janna's trailer was the only one lit, and I heard her TV faintly as we passed. Miraculously, our trailer was still. We climbed the frosty steps, crisscrossing our outgoing footprints with our incoming ones, and I showed Lanie how to lift the front door so it wouldn't creak. A glance through our parents' bedroom door revealed that they were both still asleep, exhausted from all the worry last night.

“When it's later,” I whispered to Lanie as I walked her to her door, “I need your help with something, okay?”

“Okay.” Her eyes got smaller. I think the look there was called
suspicion.
Another one I had some experience with. But she was too tired and sad to ask about it.

I tucked her into bed and kissed the top of her head the way Karen was always doing. She shivered at my cold touch and sniffled.

“Hey, Liv?” she asked just as I was about to slip out the way I'd come.

“What is it, Lane?”

“Do you want me to come fix your blankets?”

I giggled, not quite sure why. Then fixed Lanie's blanket instead, tucking it in so it would be heavy. She sank down under it and her eyes started blinking. I started thinking I could make her go to sleep all cozy, just like Tasha had done for me earlier. Sliding a book off the shelf, I struggled through a few words and drew up short.

“It's okay,” she mumbled, shoving the book away. “Just tell me instead.”

So I told her my newest plan.

This time the house was peaceful, and someone had swept up the clutter off the floor. There was nothing hot or wet about the place. Everything was dry and pleasantly warm. The floorboards shone with a sweeping and a mopping and the sun poured in at all angles like it used to. There were moons in the shutters, though. No one had fixed those yet.

We were little, and I knew this was right for this house. I was so little I couldn't reach the counter, and Lanie was a baby in a crib. But Orange Cat was there, as usual, stalking silently through the house, glowing as bright orange as I had ever seen him.

He led me to the bedroom, his purr so loud I could have followed it with my eyes closed. The familiar food dish in the corner of the room was overflowing, and Orange Cat sat gently on his haunches to eat a few
bites. His purr stayed loud, wavering a little with his crunching. I knelt on my bedroom floor and reached out a hand to stroke him.

He let me, and I knew that this was it. This was the last time I would see him.

“I'm sorry,” I whispered, but the way he looked at me, I knew there was no need. He didn't blame me.

Leaving his dish, Orange Cat hopped lightly onto my knees the way he used to. Bumping his face against my cheek, he happily claimed me.

Then he leapt delicately from my lap and returned to his food dish. There was laughter in the house and I knew it was time for me to go. The laughter and the yellows and the oranges I had missed would still be safe here, even after I was gone. Even though I would never come back.

“You want to talk about it?” Natasha was sitting on the end of my bed, holding Gray Cat and scratching her chin, when I woke up the next morning.

I stretched and yawned, feeling a slight ache in my back from my tantrum last night. It seemed a million years ago. I knew that was what Natasha meant, though.

“Do
you
want to talk?” I asked uncertainly. “We haven't done much talking lately. I think that Livvie is on your last nerve.”

Natasha slumped a little. “No, she isn't. I'm just scared for her because I don't know why she's been so stressed out lately.”

I stretched my feet comfortably to the end of the bed and arched my back. With a long sigh, I shook my head.

“I'm not stressed out now,” I said.

“Well . . . good, then.” She looked confused, but not unhappy, and when I smiled, she giggled out loud. “You're so funny.”

We sat for a minute, petting Gray Cat between us. Then I sat straight up in bed as my plan came flooding back.

“Hey, Tash,” I said. “Has the trash run yet?”

She gave me a puzzled look. “I have no idea.”

Ten minutes later, we sat on the end of Lanie's bed, spreading real estate ads between us. This time it wasn't the For Sale section we looked at. And it wasn't in Nabor-with-an-A. The crinkled sections of paper I usually threw away, we now smoothed so my sisters could read them.

“Here's a good one!” Lanie squealed, and Natasha and I shushed her.

“Do you want Mom to hear?” Natasha whispered. “Keep it down!”

“But look at this!” Lanie whispered excitedly. “That's a good price, isn't it, Natasha?”

Natasha looked, then circled the ad. “I'll get the phone,” she whispered.

The door opened before she could move, and I flung myself sideways to hide the classifieds. I also hid Lanie's feet by smashing them into the bed, and she shrieked and started tickling me.

Natasha plunked a pillow down on top of both of us, muffling our giggles. “That takes care of that,” she said firmly.

Karen smiled from the doorway for a long moment before she spoke. “I hate to break this up,” she prodded gently, “but if we're still going, Liv, we have to
go.
”

Obediently I slipped out of the bed and headed for my room. I had nearly forgotten the invitation. Slipping my hand into Karen's, although I was too old for this, I cast my sisters a small wave and followed my mother out of the house.

Twenty minutes later, we sat on soft chairs, looking nervous at each other.

“I'm so glad you could come,” Mrs. Rhodes said with a smile to my mother, offering her a plate of biscotti.

“Oh, thank you.” Karen took one and dipped it in the hazelnut coffee Mrs. Rhodes had given her. I had a mug, too, surprisingly comforting though it
wasn't made of mud, full of mostly milk and enough coffee to make it the right color.

I took a biscotti, too, and dipped it in my hazelnut milk. It tasted crunchy, so I soaked it longer and a piece of it fell off. Having soggy biscotti floating in your coffee is extremely unappetizing. I started to set my mug on the table, but I caught Otis Andrews watching me closely and I suddenly thought it would be rude not to finish my drink. Lifting it again, I took a slow sip. The soggy biscotti slipped onto my tongue and wriggled its way down my throat. I squished my eyes shut and hummed very quietly.

When I opened them, Otis Andrews was still watching. He leaned in close.

“I don't like soggy stuff in my coffee, either,” he whispered as though we were classmates trying to keep from getting caught by the teacher. He took my mug to the kitchen and returned a minute later with a fresh batch of hazelnut milk for me.

“Oh. Thank you!” I smiled at him uncertainly and took a sip of the drink. It was warmer than the one Mrs. Rhodes had made and I liked how it felt slipping down my throat. I felt instantly warm.

Mrs. Rhodes's home was very like her, matter-of-fact, yet warm and inviting. There was nothing extra
or frivolous, but only because Mrs. Rhodes made each thing she owned seem like it served a purpose. The knickknacks of kitty cats, the framed photos she got from the antique store, the wall hangings that looked like a kid had crocheted them, each item in her home was equally loved and needed.

I was pretty sure Otis Andrews felt that way, too. I also thought maybe he made Mrs. Rhodes feel that way. It was a very balanced home and I liked it very much.

Karen chatted easily with Mrs. Rhodes about everything from Mrs. Rhodes's curtains to my schoolwork, and when we walked home later it was with a peaceful silence sliding back and forth between us.

“That was nice of her,” she said at last, “to ask us to visit.”

“It was nice of you to come,” I said.

“Her brother's an awfully sweet guy,” Karen said. “Talented, too. Did you see the murals?”

“Mm-hmm. Mrs. Rhodes has pictures of them above her desk at school.”

“She decorated? Hmm.”

“What?”

“Well, maybe that means she's going to stay for a while.”

“I hope she's going to stay for a while,” I said quickly. “She's a real nice lady.”

“Really,” Karen corrected me absently. She was still an English major, somewhere deep down under the Walmart apron.

“Mom,” I said suddenly, serious enough that I started with what she preferred to be called, rather than her proper name. “Are we moving to Neighbor-with-an-E?”

“Baby, I don't know. I know the house on Pendleton Street was rented to a couple with one child. I'm not sure that landlord was ever truly comfortable with us.”

“Because of me?” I ventured.

“Because of
us.
” She cupped my face for an instant. “A family of five, with pets, is a gamble for any landlord. They don't know what good kids we have.”

I snorted, even though it was bad manners. Then started us walking again. It was cold out and I wanted to get inside and hug my warm Gray Cat.

“Mom, what if we
do
move to Neighbor-with-an-E? Will things be better?”

Mom looked at me in surprise. “I thought you were dead set against it.”

“I used to be.”

“But . . . ?”

I turned us spontaneously onto Main Street and led us toward downtown, wondering if I could say
all this while looking it in the eye. If I could make eye contact with the courthouse and still tell my mother what I meant to tell her, well, then it was meant to be.

The soft clatter of the clock above the hardware store made me sigh. I turned my gaze to the courthouse with its prideful dome-shaped windows.

“But Lanie and Tash shouldn't have to share a room anymore, and nobody should have to drive that far every day just to work at the stupid Walmart.”

Karen kissed me on the hair and urged me to walk a little faster, zipping my coat as we did. “We're okay, Liv.”

“Livvie is, too.”

She looked at me for a long time when I said this, like she was willing it to be true.

“Not at first,” I admitted. “I was upset at the idea of leaving Orange Cat's grave and I didn't want to leave my school or G. And this town. We grew up in this town. It is our childhood home.”

She smiled softly. “You're still a child, Liv.”

“Not as much of one as Lanie. And Lanie's not half as upset about leaving this place as Livvie is.” I slipped safely back into third person, but even with my eyes on the courthouse, seeing the disappointment in its windows, I was able to finish my thought.

“I want Lanie to have her own room,” I said, “like Otis Andrews does. All painted. Only hers would be painted with science stuff.”

Karen smiled. “That's a sweet thought,” she said, and she smiled at me in this Mom sort of way. “You're getting so grown-up, Olivia.”

As we walked on down Main Street, I watched my mother's eyes. She took in the gas station where we had gotten ice cream every summer, and a few Octobers, as long as I could remember. She took in the courthouse lawn where Natasha performed violin, back before she stopped doing anything except reading. Took in the hardware store with its bell above the door, a bell that rang, much quieter than the factory whistle but nonetheless just as reliable, every eight a.m. and five p.m. for longer than my life.

“I have a secret,” Karen confessed, looking at me with bright eyes. “It wasn't just for you I didn't want to leave this place. I grew up here, too, Livvie.”

“You grew up in Ohio,” I protested.

“No. I was a child in Ohio. I grew up here.” She smiled sadly around her at the town. “I married my husband here and I watched my children learn to walk here. This is my home.”

I placed my hand very firmly in my mother's. “
This,
” I said, very gently, “is Livvie's home.”

Looking at me with misty eyes for longer perhaps than I would ordinarily let her, she smiled at last, this time not quite so sad.

“You're getting so grown-up,” she repeated. We fell silent then and sort of peaceful.

“Be careful!” Karen called after us, and the three of us, just barely overlapping, hollered back, “We will!”