Wiping my dirty hands on the seat of my old Levi's, I cut through the dining room and arrived in the foyer. Peeking through the glass panes at the top of the door, I could see a young man standing there. He was tall, brawny, with sun-bleached hair and an open, Midwestern face. Wishing Steve was home, I cautiously opened the door, placing one leg across the opening to keep the dog from getting out.

"Hi."

He looked down at me...he was tall...and frowned. He smiled slightly, sheepishly, and looked at the green minivan in the driveway. "I'm sorry. I thought...I'm looking for a family that used to live here. Summers. Their name is Summers."

He seemed nice enough. Shelley had stopped crying and the dog had chilled out, so I stepped out on the porch and pulled the door shut behind me. "What's your name?"

"Riley Finn."

He was dressed in jeans and a military-looking green sweater. Tension radiated off him in waves, like the surf. The Realtor had told me what had happened to the family that had lived here before, although it sounded at the time like she was glossing over a more tragic event.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Finn. My family and I just moved in here this week."

His expression deepened and he glanced away for a moment. "Oh. I...um...I had no idea that they were planning on moving. Do you have any idea where they moved?"

Under normal circumstances, I would never tell a strange man someone's forwarding address, even if there was a forwarding address to give. But, the circumstances weren't normal and I dreaded like hell telling this nice young man what had happened to the people he sought.

"I really hate to be the one to tell you this...you mean, you don't know?" I asked, hoping, I guess, that he would have a flash of memory and save me from the trouble.

But, his green eyes and gentle smile faltered and became unsure. He took a breath and held his hands out, as if he were apologizing to me.

"I've been out of the country. I was in the military. It's been almost a year since I was here last, so I've lost touch with my friends."

His friends. The Realtor had told me about Joyce Summers, the owner of a local art gallery, and her two beautiful daughters. So tragic.

"Jeez..."

"Pardon me, ma'am?"

"Well, Mrs. Summers, the previous owner, passed away last March. I guess she had been pretty ill..."

He took a step back, his face suddenly slack with shock. I gripped the doorknob behind me, hating this.

"Oh, my God...Joyce...she was fine when I left...she was going to be fine!"

"I don't know...I guess she was sick."

"She'd had a...a brain tumor." He stared at the house, a strange look on his face. "My poor Buffy..."

I bit my lip and rubbed my sweating palms on my jeans. God! I should've never answered the door.

His eyes were on me again, manic, scared. "She had two daughters, Buffy and Dawn. Do you know where they moved? Are they still in town?"

Buffy. I'll bet she was the pretty blonde one in that picture Steve found in the basement. Young and gorgeous, dressed in a pink strapless formal, flanked on either side by a pretty redhead and a tall dark-haired young man. Buffy. What a name.

"Um...that's not all...maybe you'd better sit down." I wanted to kick myself. Sit down? I wanted him to leave!

But, he wasn't sitting down. He was lurching forward, grabbing my upper arms in a grip that was going to leave bruises. I squeaked and scanned my new neighborhood, wondering who was going to come to my rescue when I started screaming in about three seconds.

"Sit down? I don't need to sit down! Tell me...where is she? Where's Buffy?" A shake that made me stumble. "Where is she!?"

"She's dead!"

Oh, Christ on a flaming stick, I didn't mean to scream that. I watched in horror as this young man's face crumpled in on itself, desolation crashing in like a rockslide. "I...oh, jeez...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to tell you..."

"Dead? No...I just left for a little while...I never meant to leave her. She's not dead."

He let me go and I unconsciously rubbed my arms. His grief was as thick as a wool blanket and I felt my eyes prickle. "I'm not sure what happened, just what Eve told me..."

"E-eve?" he stammered.

"Oh, um, my Realtor. She said that something happened out at a worksite, there were some explosions...or...or...maybe she said earthquake...I don't know... Anyway. She fell. Really far. Like a hundred feet or something like that. She died."

He was in shock. I was in a car wreck one time and the old woman that hit me had went into shock and it looked a lot like Mr. Riley Finn did right now. White, bloodless. Blank. Empty. I just had the honor of destroying something in this handsome young man in the green sweater and I wanted to take back every word.

"I'm sorry. Can I get you something? A glass of water? Something?" He managed to find the muscles that allowed him to smile, but some of them must have gotten mixed up, 'cause it came out more like a grimace. "Water. That would be nice. Thank you."

I escaped into the dim coolness of my new home, shutting the door behind me. I leaned back against it and looked up the oak staircase. Had he kissed her in this house? Made love to her in the sunny bedroom on the left? Had he made promises to come home to her, marry her, make her the happiest woman on earth?

Suddenly, I wanted to help. My own problems faded...the house could wait. After looking in on my sweetly dozing child, I ran downstairs to the basement, wondering where my husband had put that picture of the pretty blonde girl in the pink prom dress. God, I hoped he hadn't already thrown it away!

There! On top of the shelf above the dryer. I took it down and wiped away the dust with the hem of my tee-shirt. They looked so happy, these three friends. Not a care in the world. Their lives ahead of them. Probably college, maybe a trip backpacking in Europe. Best friends.

I forgot his water in my haste to get back to the man waiting on the porch. He hadn't moved, not a centimeter. He had tears in his eyes when he looked up at me.

I closed the front door behind me and handed him the picture.

"Steve, my husband, found this when we moved in. You should have it."

He took the frame with shaking hands and his face turned red from the effort to keep his grief hidden. I was right...one finger traced over the blonde's face, gently, as if he were touching satin skin, instead of scratched glass.

"Thank you. You've been so kind."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you." And, I really was and not just for myself. I hated bringing pain to this sad young soul. "You loved her?"

"More than she ever knew. She was everything to me."

I smiled and touched his hand, the one that was touching her image. "I'm sure she knew. How could she not? Love just kind of...shines off you. I'm sure she knew."

He nodded slowly, through his tears. Without another word, he turned and walked away. I waited until he got in a rental car and I waited until the sound of the engine faded in the distance.

I had a whole kitchen's worth of boxes to unpack, so I went back inside the house on Revello Drive.

 

The End

 

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