The Weight of Memory by Jennifer Paddock

Author:Jennifer Paddock [Paddock, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: M P Publishing Limited

CHAPTER 24

LEIGH

Most of the houses on Free Ferry Road are old and grand and hemmed with ivy. It’s why, growing up, I was proud to say where I lived, because everyone knew Free Ferry Road was one of the nicest roads to live on, and partly that was true, is true. But there is also this other part, the ignored part, under the interstate, a pocket of smaller houses and duplexes with flaking paint and faded shingles and crooked shutters and leaf-clogged gutters, where my mom lives and where I lived most of my life.

After thirteen hours, I’m happy to be turning into the driveway of my mom’s duplex, until I find the driveway empty, and suddenly I’m unsure why I’m here. Perhaps I shouldn’t have come. Mom warned me that she wouldn’t be home much because of her new job as a cashier at the Cherokee casino just over the bridge in Oklahoma. She said she was making good money there because when people won big and cashed out, they gave big tips. But I insisted on coming, wanting to go somewhere at Christmas where it was my family—not Sarah’s—and possibly finding out my father’s name.

Ever since the hurricane, I’ve been thinking more and more about my father. It was all the talk about Trey and our memories of him and Walker with his amnesia. Most of my life I’ve just blocked my father out, pretended that it was not important to know him, or to know myself. But that is changing.

I’ve brought most of my stuff from Sarah’s. She tells me I can stay as long as I want, but it feels weird, living with her when Ryan will be there soon, and then the baby. I may have to go back to the Sea Oats motel until I find a place of my own.

Home looks just the same, maybe a little worse. The front yard is a bunch of mowed-down weeds, while the flower garden is overrun with them, no flowers at all, no bushes, just weeds in a zigzag brick border. Suzanne still never plants anything, still never tries. I haven’t been home since I left for Florida. I haven’t seen my mom in four years.

I grab my smaller suitcase out of the trunk and lock the car. A sad, fake Christmas wreath with a wrinkled red ribbon hangs on a nail on the door. At least she’s trying. I’ve never taken my duplex key off my key ring, and I wonder briefly if it’s still going to work. But it does, and I open the door to a cold, dark room that smells of cigarette smoke. I feel for the light switch and flick it on.

The place looks like it always has: dingy shag carpet, wood paneling, couch against the wall, nicked end tables on each side, coffee table in front where a small fake Christmas tree sits. I recognize some of the ornaments from when I was a child. Same old ornaments. Same old no packages under the tree.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.