The Last House on the Street(16)

When we get to my father’s house, I sit on the bed in my childhood bedroom and have a one-sided talk with Jackson. I do this entirely too much. This room awakens all my early memories of him. Even though my personal things have been removed from the room—my yearbooks from high school and NC State, where Jackson and I met and became inseparable, the pictures of us at parties and concerts, when our future was wide open—the memories of our early years together still linger. They’re in the air of the room. In the walls. In my bed, where we first made love one night when my parents were out. It’s both painful and comforting to be in this room.

I remember our first big trip together. We drove ten hours to Pennsylvania to visit Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater, that cantilevered concrete and steel house situated directly above a waterfall. We were two months into our relationship and that’s when I realized I had a passionate man on my hands—and not just in our hotel room. While I could appreciate the beauty of Fallingwater and the architectural skill that went into its creation, I would have been satisfied with an afternoon’s exploration of the building. Jackson, though, insisted on a two-day visit, examining every nook and cranny, peppering the docents with questions as he researched the technical details of the house.

“So is this your dream house?” I asked him that second day, as we stood in one of the building’s living areas.

He looked around him, not answering right away. That was Jackson’s style, I’d learned. He always thought before he spoke. “Yes and no,” he equivocated. “I’m fascinated by the inventiveness. By the skill. But the interior is a bit too cold. I’d like more warmth.” Then he pointed to the massive corner window nearest us. “But oh my God, the windows!”

“Totally agree,” I said. The enormous window framed the snowcapped branches of oaks and maples and fir trees. “I love how he brought nature inside.”

Jackson smiled at me, a smile that made me feel as though I was the only person in the world. “Exactly,” he said. “And when you and I design our house together, that’s what we’ll do. We’ll bring nature inside.”

I remember him taking my hand then as we continued strolling through the house, while my face heated up from his words. When you and I design our house together. I should have felt insulted by his presumption that we’d be together forever, yet I realized, in that moment, that being together with him forever was exactly what I wanted.

Now I sigh, leaning back against the headboard of my bed.

How would you feel if I sold the house? I ask him.

He doesn’t bother to respond. He knows I know his answer.

Still, I call one of my good friends, Bets, who also happens to be a Round Hill Realtor, just to test the waters.

“Oh, don’t even think of selling it, Kayla!” she says. “It’s so beautiful and you and Jackson put your heart and soul into it.”

“I know, but—”

“And there’s not much suitable on the market right now for you and Rainie to move into.”

“We could rent for a while,” I say.

“I think,” Bets says slowly, “when the worst of your grief is behind you, you’ll really regret it if you’ve let the house go, Kayla.”

I sigh. Intellectually, I’m sure she’s right.

“Think of Rainie,” Bets continues. “What a beautiful gift Jackson’s left behind for her. Plus, you’d take a big loss. The house is truly gorgeous, but—and I’m so sorry for saying this—people know what happened there. Everyone knows about Jackson’s accident. It was in the news and everybody knows. So for some people, the house is already—” She hesitates, then finally says the word I know is coming. “—already haunted. Forgive me for saying that, Kayla, but I know you want the truth from me.”

I wince. “Not really,” I say.

“I see this kind of situation all the time,” she continues. “People make rash decisions when they’re grieving. Please don’t do that. My advice would be for you to live in it for at least two or three years. See how you feel about it then. Those Shadow Ridge houses are only going to go up in value. Like crazy. You watch and see.”

“My house isn’t haunted.” I seem to be stuck on that word.

“Oh, I know that. I’m sorry. Poor choice of words,” Bets says. “Look, Kayla, I’ve got an appointment waiting. If you decide you do want to sell, call me. Otherwise, once you move in, invite me over for a glass of wine, okay? I can’t wait to see that house with your furniture in it.”

I hang up the phone. I’m glad I called her. Glad Bets is a friend who can give it to me straight. Still, I feel shaken. Bets is looking at my situation with her brain. I’m looking at it with my heart. She’s right, though. I need to think of Rainie. We created the house for her. For our family. I have no idea what the future holds for my daughter and myself. All I know is that, right now, Rainie and I are going to move into that house.





Chapter 8



ELLIE


1965

I had to pull off the road twice on the drive from Round Hill to Chapel Hill to let poor Brenda open the door and heave up her breakfast. She was nearly in her third month and she said her mornings were miserable. Plus she was tearful over being separated from Garner. “I love him so much!” she pined. All I could think to say was that school would soon be over, she’d have her sophomore year behind her, and she’d be living with Garner every minute of every day, for the rest of her life. I was glad Garner was the kind of man who deserved all the love she was showering on him.