The Last House on the Street(40)

“Thanks.” I walk into the living room. It’s a gloomy room, the sunlight outside not quite making it in, the walls an indeterminate color, the floor covered by a large braided rug. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust. A woman with fuzzy gray hair sits in a rocking chair close to the television. I see her in profile, but she doesn’t seem to notice me, her gaze riveted on the game show she’s watching. The room smells like lavender, and I guess the scent comes from an oval-shaped essential-oil diffuser sitting on the mantel. A man sits on the couch, attached by a tube to one of those boxy oxygen concentrators like my mother needed to use toward the end of her life. He wears a plaid shirt, denim overalls, and dark socks. No shoes. His belly looks bloated. Even lying there, hooked up to the machine, he’s familiar. Buddy Hockley. I’ve seen him here and there in Round Hill all my life.

“This is my brother, Buddy,” Ellie says, as Buddy struggles to get to his feet.

“Oh, don’t get up!” I raise a hand to stop him, but he’s determined. He grins at me. Holds out a hand, and I step forward to shake it. His hand feels spongy in mine.

“Reed’s little girl.” He smiles, as I step back. “I’ve seen you around town since you were a little thing. Had no idea Reed’s girl is the new neighbor.” He looks at Ellie with an expression I can’t read. Ellie’s own face remains flat, her lips a thin line. “Sure are a beauty,” Buddy adds.

I’m not a beauty, just your average twenty-eight-year-old grieving widow scared to death about her future, but he’s a sweet old guy and I can’t help but return his smile. “Thanks,” I say.

“Look more like your mama than Reed, though, don’t she, Ellie?” Buddy asked.

Ellie gives me a patient smile as if she’s only tolerating this conversation, waiting for me to leave. “I never knew your mother,” she says. “I left before Reed … before she and your father … got involved.”

“Well, Mr. Buddy’s right,” I say. “I do look like her.” I want to tell Buddy to sit down again. I’m worried about him. He’s starting to huff and puff a bit. Ellie picks up on it, too, and she walks over to the couch and gives him a tap on the shoulder to inspire him to sit again, which he does.

“And this is Mama,” she says, guiding me a few steps to the left so I can look down at the old woman. “Mama, this is Reed Miller’s daughter, Kayla. Do you remember Reed?”

The woman has her daughter’s clear blue eyes. She nods to me. “Hello,” she says. “Ellie, make her some of your tea,” and with that she returns her attention to the game show. I remember Ellie saying that she’s been in an assisted-living place for several years.

I look at Ellie. “I don’t need any tea, thanks,” I say with a quiet smile. I’m sure I’ve interrupted something. Ellie has her hands full and doesn’t want my company today. She’s not exactly throwing me out, but her body language seems to be moving me toward the door.

“How you likin’ that fancy new house of yours?” Buddy asks.

“Oh, I’m just getting used to it,” I say. “My daughter and I were exploring and I found an old tree house out in the woods behind the house. My father mentioned something about it being a place you used to—”

“That ol’ thing still up there?” Buddy asks. “Don’t you go climbin’ it, sweetheart. Do you know how old that thing is? I haven’t seen it in … I don’t know … prob’ly forty years, you think, Ellie?” He looks at his sister, who has completely lost whatever smile she had.

“It should come down,” she says. “Seriously.” She looks at me. “You should have someone take it down.”

“I think it’s totally safe and solid,” I say. “My husband replaced some of the old boards and built new steps going up to it.”

“Don’t know why anyone’d want to build a house in them woods anyhow,” Buddy mutters. I have the feeling he’s not talking about the tree house any longer. He means my house.

Ellie looks down at the bag of za’atar in her hand and for a moment the only sound in the room is the voice of the game show host. The silence isn’t benign, though. There’s something going on in this room I don’t understand. Awkwardly, I speak up.

“I’ve been thinking about your offer to practice yoga with me,” I say to Ellie. “I’d really like that. I think I can use it.”

She doesn’t answer. She stares at me and I see the wheels turning in her head; I just don’t know why. “Do you have time with your work and your daughter and fixing up your house?” she asks. She doesn’t sound enthusiastic. As a matter of fact, all in all, she is a different woman than she was the first time I met her when she’d warmly invited me into her kitchen for tea and conversation.

“I can make time,” I say. “I need to do something physical. And peaceful. But I understand if you’re too busy,” I add. I soften my voice. “I know you have your hands full.”

“She ain’t too busy,” Buddy says from the couch. “And she needs someone to talk to besides me and Mama, don’t you, Ellie?”

Ellie’s lips form a tight line. “Let’s go out front,” she says to me, walking toward the door.