The Last House on the Street(106)

KAYLA


Rainie runs into the kitchen, where I’m icing Christmas cookies. She grabs my hand.

“Mama!” she says. “They have a little girl!”

“Do they?” I ask. “That’s wonderful.”

A new family is moving into Shadow Ridge. That will make four houses inhabited and I hope Rainie’s right about the little girl. She thought the last family had a girl as well, but it turned out to be an eight-year-old boy with hair down to his shoulders. All of the children who’ve moved into Shadow Ridge so far have been too old to be her playmates.

I cover the icing with plastic wrap. “Let’s go meet them.” As the first residents of Shadow Ridge Estates, Rainie and I have appointed ourselves the unofficial welcoming committee.

We bundle up and walk down Shadow Ridge Lane. All of the houses are finished now, and without the constant noise of construction, the neighborhood has become the quietest place I’ve ever lived. I’d be lying if I said it’s the most peaceful place I’ve lived, because there are still nights when the call of an owl or a fox can send chills up my spine, but that’s getting better.

The new family is three houses down from ours. Even from a distance, I can see a girl Rainie’s age. She looks lost in the midst of the muscular moving men who are lugging furniture between their van and the house. A woman wearing a navy-blue parka and pink scarf is pointing and directing.

“Hi!” Rainie begins to run when we’re a house away.

The woman turns at the greeting. “Hi!” she calls back. She looks frazzled—blond hair up in a messy bun, cheeks pink with the cold—but she smiles. She’s a bit older than me, but not by much.

“We won’t keep you,” I say when we reach her. “We just wanted to say hi. I’m Kayla Carter, and this is my daughter Rainie.” I look to my side for Rainie, but she’s already deep in conversation with the little girl, who appears to be quietly listening to her chatter. “We wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood. Let us know if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” the woman says. “I’m Paula and my daughter’s Tara.” She looks at the moving van. Rolls her eyes. “This is overwhelming,” she says.

“I know.” I glance at our daughters. It looks like Rainie’s telling little Tara her life story, expressive arms flying through the air, brown eyes wide with excitement. “There are no other kids my daughter’s age in the neighborhood so far,” I say. “She’s thrilled to meet Tara.” I look past Paula toward the house. “Is the rest of your family inside? Do you have other kids?”

“Just Tara,” she says. “And newly divorced.” She wrinkles her nose at that, as if it’s hard to say, but I think, This is some kind of miracle. Another single woman and little girl. “I’m widowed,” I say. I’m getting more accustomed to the word.

Her face falls. “I’m so sorry.”

“Ma’am?” one of the movers asks. He’s carrying a small dresser as if it were made of cotton. “Which bedroom you want this in?”

“The front corner.” She points.

“You’re swamped,” I say. This is not the time for deep conversation. “I’m going to let you go.”

“Which house did you say is yours?” she asks.

“The one at the end of the street.” I point behind me.

“Oh, that’s the most beautiful house in the neighborhood,” she says. “I love how it’s nestled in the trees.”

I have to smile. If only she knew how long it’s taken me to fall in love with our house. Maybe someday, I’ll tell her. As I head toward Rainie, I call to Paula over my shoulder. “Have Tara come over anytime!” I say. “We have a fenced yard!”

I have to practically drag Rainie away from her new friend, who apparently did more talking than I thought, because Rainie tells me they’re getting a puppy named Lily.

“Can we get one, too, Mama?” she asks. “Please, please!”

“Maybe,” I say. “Let me think about it.” Maybe a rescue, hopefully housebroken, would work out. “You’d have to help take care of it.”

“Yes!” Rainie says, swinging my arm. She knows I’m already on board. Maybe in the spring.

I imagine two little girls and two dogs playing in our vast forest. They could have all of it except the one spot that will be my private oasis. I hired a landscaper to do something with the empty circle in my woods. He had no idea how much history I was asking him to erase with his horticultural skills. “This is going to be your favorite place on your property,” he promised when he handed me his colored-pencil sketch. He’s already put the two black cast-iron benches in place at opposite sides of the circle, their curved backs matching the circle’s arc. He did some planting in the late summer and fall and will do more this spring. The ground will be covered with moss, and I’ll have hostas, colorful astilbe, Lenten roses, ferns, and anything else he can think of that will grow in the shade. A path of decorative stepping-stones will run through the circle. I picture myself sitting on one of the benches with a book. I hope he’s right about it becoming my favorite spot. We’ll see.

When we get home from meeting our neighbor, Rainie helps me finish icing the cookies. We’re running late. I want to make lasagna, my father’s favorite dish, for dinner. I think he’s going to be a bit down tonight, since Ellie left for San Francisco this morning. He and Ellie rekindled something the past few months, although he balks at the word “rekindle.” “Nothing was rekindled,” he said with a laugh when I spoke with him on the phone that morning. “This was just two sixty-something-year-old folks enjoying each other’s company, knowing it was really never meant to be. I’m a bit too staid for Ellie,” he added. “I think I always was.”