“A kid!” Morgan squeals.
I smirk. It’s always a bonus when we rent a place with kids in the neighborhood—well, maybe not always. She’s met plenty of bad influences over the years. I’ve had to brush it off as opportunities for character building.
My exuberant daughter spins away from her bedroom window as I lean against the doorframe with my arms crossed over my chest. “It’s a boyeee! And he looks close to my age!” Fisting both of her hands at her mouth, she attempts to contain her excitement, but she fails.
“Boys are trouble.”
Her blue eyes make a full swoop with her dramatic eye roll. “You were a boy. Were you trouble?”
“Yes.” I pivot and head down the stairs. “The worst kind of trouble,” I mumble to myself.
I met a girl. Her name was Morgan. I called her Daisy because it was her middle name and she didn’t like it. She ruined me for eternity and every life beyond that. She still haunts my dreams. And I gave my daughter her name.
Nothing fucked-up about that.
When I get to the main room, I peek out the window to inspect the young lad that will stay far away from my little girl. With his nose shoved into the screen of his phone, he blindly follows a woman to our landlord’s, Mr. Hans’s, front door. We haven’t met Hugh yet. When he emailed me the lockbox code, he mentioned he lives in the house directly north of this one.
The woman with chin-length zebra hair (black with thick streaks of blond) stops midway to the front door and squints at the For Rent sign in his yard. Mr. Hans gave me the impression he lived there. What’s he renting?
*
Gracelyn
“The beach. Do you like the beach?”
Gabe shrugs without glancing up at me. I study the For Rent sign, the houses lining the long stretch of beach, and the solid dose of life that feels as deep and vast as the water reaching the horizon.
“If you don’t like it, we’ll keep looking.” The three wooden deck steps creak, announcing our arrival, as I approach the screen door. He told us to come around back. All of these beachfront homes have covered decks with lovely patio furniture and some with swings like this one. A wide and weathered boardwalk separates the decks from the sand.
After two knocks and ten seconds, the door opens.
“Hello! You must be Elvis.” The old man with white Einstein hair, who resembles Christopher Lloyd (particularly his role as Doc Brown in Back to the Future) smiles clear to the corners of his expressive, slightly psychotic eyes. If he weren’t a little hunchbacked, he’d stand at least six feet tall.
“I’m Gracelyn, not Elvis.”
“Ha! Yes, dear, but when you said your name on the phone, I imagined it’s a slight nod to Elvis.”
“That’s Graceland.”
“Potato potahto. Come in.” He steps aside.
I take a few extra seconds to consider my gut feeling.
The wide psychotic eyes.
His white, half-buttoned shirt with the bottom of it sticking out of his partially zipped fly.
Brown Birkenstocks.
Gray socks with his right big toe sticking out of a hole.
“My wife died five years ago.” He wiggles his naked toe.
My gaze shoots to meet his.
“Haven’t bought any new clothes since she died. She did all the shopping. I fixed stuff around the house. I can fix leaks and hang pictures, but I haven’t figured out how to sew holes in my socks … or maybe you patch socks? I’m not sure.”
“Uh, I think you just get new socks.” Gabe joins the conversation.
“Is that so?” He cocks his head at Gabe. “Hugh Hans. What’s your name, young man?” Hugh offers his hand to my nephew, my new and very unexpected responsibility.
These two months have not been easy. I pretend that Kyle and Emily are still on vacation and I’m simply watching Gabe. I feel confident as a babysitter. When I dwell on the tiny fact that I’m the sole person responsible for raising him … everything in my chest starts to constrict.
“Gabriel.” He shakes Hugh’s hand.
“Ah … Gabriel. Such a great name. It means ‘God is my strength.’ Bravo to your parents for giving you such a great name.” Hugh’s raspy, yet enthusiastic, voice seems to keep Gabe’s attention, eliciting a rare smile from him as he slides his phone into his pocket.
Incredible. He’s engaged, ready to give this stranger his attention. I need Mr. Hans’s secret spell. I’m not sure I’ve seen Gabe smile more than once or twice since the tragedy.
Gabe didn’t want to stay in the house any more than I did. That surprised me. I thought he’d feel comforted and close to his parents there. I thought wrong. The house sold yesterday. We have thirty days to find a place.
“My parents died.” Gabe follows me into the house.
“I’m very sorry.” Hugh shuts the door as Gabe and I slip off our shoes.