All the Dirty Secrets by Aggie Blum Thompson

Author:Aggie Blum Thompson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

* * *

Driving back to my house, I’m filled with a strange energy to do something. I’m not tired, and the thought of my empty house is utterly unappealing. My dad called this shpilkes, the Yiddish word for ants in your pants.

I think of the answering machine I left the message on. It was Awilda’s voice, wasn’t it? Or did I just want it to be so badly? As I approach the turnoff for my street, I keep going straight on Western Avenue, past Wisconsin Avenue, and then past Chevy Chase Circle. Without even really deciding, I find myself going the back way to Wheaton, taking Beach Drive past Meadowbrook Park and ending up on East-West Highway. At this time of night, it’s questionable whether the shortcut saved me any time, but it’s ingrained in me. One of my father’s greatest joys was teaching me all the secret ins and outs of the D.C. area. The little back ways that could shave just a few minutes off an afternoon drive and mean the difference between being stuck in traffic and getting home in time for dinner.

Soon I’m turning up Grubb Road, waves of nostalgia washing over me. All those weekends my dad and I spent at the Parkway Deli after my mom left and my brother went to college. Not half bad is what he’d say every time he bit into the latkes. He was born and raised in New York and only moved to Washington in 1972 to work at The Washington Post. One of his favorite hobbies was unfavorably comparing D.C. food to New York food.

Pizza? Inedible.

Bagels? What bagels? You call these hockey pucks bagels?

But the deli’s latkes were a solid metza-metz, which was a compliment in his book.

I choke back the emotions as I drive through a neighborhood of small, redbrick homes. I haven’t been back here since, well, since the day I picked Nikki up to take her to Beach Week. I’m surprised how it all comes back to me. Her block hasn’t changed much at all. I pull up in front of her old house and sit.

The grass is overgrown, and several newspapers, their bright plastic bags faded from the sun, litter the concrete walkway. When Nikki lived here, I remember annuals always lined the walkway—mums in the fall, pansies in the spring. Bright zinnias the last time I was here. We were so young and naive back then. Bad things happened to other people, not us. I wish Nikki were still alive. I’d give anything just to see how she turned out, what she ended up doing with her life. My chest tightens, and a sob escapes me. No. I don’t want to cry. I can’t.

I glance at the dashboard. It’s after ten. Even if someone did live here, it’s too late to knock on the door. Then a light goes on in the living room. A dark figure passes in front of the curtained windows. Someone is home. Someone is awake.

Without even thinking things through, I cut the engine and get out.

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.