Chapter 13 - We Left It on the Step and Walked Back
Dad turned onto Grandma's street just after two and my stomach tightened before I even saw the brick house. I knew the sound of that street. The way the tires went quieter on the old pavement. Mom had the small gift box on her lap with the seat belt pulled across it. She kept one hand on the lid like it might slide.
"Just past it," Mom said quietly. "Park past it so we're not blocking anyone."
Dad nodded and drove slow. The daylight was bright and flat on the windshields parked along the curb. I counted three cars I didn't know and Katie's gray SUV in the driveway. There were balloons tied to the mailbox post, maroon and gold, moving a little in the wind. I looked away fast and then made myself look back.
"That's okay," Dad said, glancing at me in the rearview. "Take your time."
I was wearing my jeans and my light sweater again because Mom said wear what feels like you. My hair kept sticking to my lip gloss. Mom reached back without turning around and smoothed it once. Her dark bob was tucked behind her ears. She was still in her dark green shirt from that morning, sleeves pushed up.
"You still want to do this?" she asked.
I nodded. "Yes. I don't want to go in. I just want to leave it."
"That's the plan," she said. "We don't go in."
Dad parked two houses down under a maple tree. For a minute none of us moved. A screen door slammed somewhere down the block. I could hear faint music from Grandma's backyard, and then kids laughing. High and quick. Probably Katie's kids. My hands went cold.
Mom turned and looked at me full on. "We can just drive away. You don't have to prove anything."
"I know," I said. "I want her to have the letter. Then we're done."
Dad cut the engine. The quiet filled the car. He got out first and came around to my side and opened my door. The air smelled like cut grass and charcoal. Someone was grilling a few yards over. The walkway to Grandma's house looked whiter than I remembered in the daylight, the bricks on the front all orange-red and clean.
Mom carried the gift box herself up the sidewalk. Dad walked on my other side, close but not touching. My sneakers made a soft sound on the concrete. With every step the backyard noise got clearer. Music with a steady beat. A woman laughing. A kid yelling, "My turn!" A paper plate scraping.
I stopped at the edge of her walkway. "You go," I whispered. "I'll watch from here."
Mom looked at me, then nodded. Dad stayed with me. He put his hand lightly on my shoulder. It was steady and warm through my sweater.
Mom walked up alone. She didn't hurry. I watched her dark green shirt get smaller against the brick. She set the small gift box right in the center of the front step, straightened it with two fingers, and checked the rolled paper letter tucked under the ribbon. She stood there for three breaths. She didn't knock. She didn't look toward the side gate where the party sounds were coming from.
Then the side gate creaked.
My heart jumped hard. A little boy ran out toward the driveway chasing a red ball. One of Katie's kids. He stopped when he saw Mom. He was maybe seven, hair damp, paper crown crooked on his head.
"Hi," he said.
Mom smiled, small and real. "Hi. Happy birthday party."
"Are you coming in?" he asked, looking past her at me and Dad.
"Not today," Mom said. Her voice didn't shake. "Can you make sure your grandma gets that box on the step? Don't open it. Just tell her it's from us."
He nodded and glanced at the box. Then the ball rolled and he chased it. The gate swung shut behind him. The music kept playing. Nobody else came out.
Mom walked back down the walkway to us. Her face was pale but calm. She took my hand. Her palm was dry.
"Okay?" Dad asked her quietly.
"Okay," she said.
The three of us turned together. I heard the kid yell again from behind the fence, "I got it!" and then a grown-up voice I didn't know saying something about cake. My throat burned for a second. I thought about maroon balloons and pasta plates and Grandma eating without looking up. I thought about my dress question hanging in the air. I squeezed Mom's hand harder and kept walking.
At the car Dad unlocked the doors and Mom set her empty hands on the roof for a second like she needed the cool metal. I got in the back and buckled. Dad started the engine. Nobody looked back as we pulled away from the curb.
Halfway down the street I breathed out. It sounded loud in the quiet car.
"I did it," I said.
May you like
Mom turned in her seat and looked at me. "You did. Steady the whole way."
Dad met my eyes in the mirror and nodded once. The brick house got smaller behind us until the balloons were just two dots of color. The music faded. My hands warmed up again.
