A Song of Life: A Fictional Memoir (Song for You Book 2) by Megan Rivers

Author:Megan Rivers [Rivers, Megan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2017-03-08T16:00:00+00:00

XII.

Fires that Mold the Future

“Anchor” – Mindy Gledhill

The entire ride from Boston's airport to Camden, Maine was mostly spent in silence. Kevin would sneak glances at me in the rear view mirror and Galvin kept his hand tightly molded to mine. I didn’t know what to expect when I met my aunt Odilia, but I hoped she would understand the pain this transition caused me and not let it effect our first impressions of each other.

Finally, we passed below a sign that crossed over the road reading “Welcome to Camden.” After passing blocks of large multi-story houses we started seeing smaller houses. Meadow held the directions Kevin got off the internet and was giving him step-by-step instructions as we crossed a small bridge and turned down a street with a parking lot on the corner that held only large mountains of plowed snow.

Kevin pulled up in front of a small, flat, white stucco house with peeling, weather-bleached red trim. The snow sat hard and packed in front of the house, not punctured by anyone’s snow boots or shovel. When closer, I noticed the stucco was crumbling and the branches of the tree on the side of the house scraped against the roof in the wind. If I didn't know any better, I would have thought no one lived inside.

When my gloved finger pressed the doorbell, whose bulb flashed dully―grasping onto life, we heard the chimes reverberate through the house. We stood in the biting wind without words, waiting for an answer. We had just about given up when the wooden door pulled ajar. Through the screen door her raspy voice asked, “You Richard's kid?”

“Yes. I'm Christie.” She stood unmoving, still hiding behind the shadows of the large wooden door. “This is Kevin and Meadow,” I realized introductions to the strangers behind me would be polite. “And this is Galvin.”

She grunted. “Richard said he wasn't bringing you. Come on in, but quickly. I don't want to heat the entire state of Maine.” Large plastic bracelets framed her red fingernails as she unlocked the screen door for us.

My aunt Odilia was much older than I expected, at least in certain lighting. She dragged her feet down the hallway so slowly that it took a great deal of patience to follow behind her. Her tiny frame seemed to support a cloud of faded copper hair that didn't budge when she bent down, turned her head, or (I assumed) got caught in a wind storm.

She frequently wore stirrup pants with a large colorful sweater. Her ensemble was often spattered with costume jewelry and held up with shoulder pads. Bright pink lipstick coated her lips and blue eye shadow crumpled into dusty shadows that I wasn't sure was from aged eyeliner or cheap mascara.

It was very dark inside the house. Yellowing blinds and shades held back the daylight from the windows and heavy brown drapes hung to the side ready to defend the dark interior that smelled like tobacco and mildew. My aunt shuffled herself

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