Sophie Love - For Now and Forever

“Actually, I’ve come all the way from New York. It’s held out fine for eight hours,” she replied, failing to keep the dryness out of her tone.

The old man whistled under his breath. “New York? Well, I never… What brings you all this way?”

Emily didn’t feel like divulging her story, so she just simply replied, “I’m heading to Sunset Harbor.”

The man didn’t question her further. Emily stood there watching him, her fingers quickly becoming numb as she waited for him to offer some kind of assistance. But he seemed more interested in pacing around her rusty old car, kicking its tires with the toe of his boot, flecking off the paint with a thumbnail, tutting and shaking his head. He opened the hood and examined the engine for a long, long time, muttering occasionally under his breath.

“So?” Emily said finally, exasperated by his slowness. “What’s wrong with it?”

He looked up from the trunk, almost surprised, as though he’d forgotten she was even there, and scratched his head. “It’s busted.”

“I know that,” Emily said, testily. “But can you do anything to fix it?”

“Oh no,” the man replied, chuckling. “Not a thing.”

Emily felt like screaming. The lack of food and the tiredness caused by the long drive were starting to affect her, making her close to the edge of tears. All she wanted was to get to the house so she could sleep.

“What am I going to do?” she said, feeling desperate.

“Well, you’ve got a couple of options,” the old man replied. “Walk to the mechanic’s, which is a mile or so that way.” He pointed the way she’d come with one of his stubby, wrinkled fingers. “Or I could tow you to wherever it was you were heading.”

“You would do that?” Emily said, surprised by his kindness, something she wasn’t used to experiencing having lived in New York for so long.

“Of course,” the man replied. “I’m not about to leave you out here at midnight in a snowstorm. Heard it was going to get worse in the next hour. Where is it exactly you’re heading towards?”

Emily was overwhelmed with gratitude. “West Street. Number Fifteen.”

The man cocked his head to the side with curiosity. “Fifteen West Street? That old, beat-up house?”

“Yes,” Emily replied. “It belongs to my family. I needed to spend some quiet time to myself.”

The old man shook his head. “I can’t leave you at that place. The house is falling apart. I doubt it’s even watertight. Why don’t you come back to mine? We live above the convenience store, me and my wife, Bertha. We’d be happy to have a guest.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Emily said. “But really I just want to be by myself at the moment. So if you could tow me to West Street I would really appreciate it.”

The old man regarded her for a moment, then finally relented. “All right, missy. If you insist.”

Emily felt a sense of relief as he got back in his truck and drove it in front of hers. She watched as he removed a thick rope from his trunk and tied their two vehicles together.

“Want to ride with me?” he asked. “At the very least I have heat.”

Emily smiled thinly but shook her head. “I’d prefer to – ”

“Be alone,” the old man finished with her. “I get it. I get it.”

Emily got back into her car, wondering what kind of impression she had made on the old man. He must be thinking she was a little mad, turning up underprepared and underdressed at midnight as a snowstorm was about to descend, demanding to be taken to a beat-up, abandoned house so she could be completely alone.

The truck ahead of her rumbled to life and she felt the pull as her car began to be towed. She sat back and glanced out the window as they moved off.

The road that carried her the last couple of miles ran beside the national park on one side and the ocean on the other. Through the darkness and a curtain of falling snow, Emily could see the ocean and the waves crashing against the rocks. Then the ocean disappeared from sight as they headed into the town, past hotels and motels, boat tour companies and golf courses, through the more built up areas, though for Emily it was hardly built up at all compared to New York.

Then they were turning onto West Street and Emily’s heart lurched as they passed the grand red brick, ivy-covered house on the corner. It looked exactly the same as it had the last time she’d been here, twenty years earlier. She passed the blue house, the yellow house, the white house, and then she bit her lip, knowing the next house would be hers, the gray stone house.

As it appeared before her, Emily was struck by an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. The last time she’d been here she was fifteen years old, her body raging with hormones at the prospect of a summer romance. She’d never had one, but remembering the thrill of possibility hit her like a wave.

The truck pulled to a stop, and Emily’s car did too.

Before the wheels had even finished turning, Emily was out, standing breathlessly before the house that had once been her father’s. Her legs were shaking and she couldn’t tell if it was from the relief of having finally arrived or the emotion of being back here after so many years. But where the other houses on the street seemed unchanged, her father’s house was a shadow of its former glory. The once white window shutters were now streaked with dirt. Where once they’d stood open, all of them were closed up, making the house look far less inviting than it used to. The grass of the sweeping lawn out front where Emily had spent endless summer days reading novels was surprisingly well kept and the small shrubs either side of the front door were trimmed. But the house itself; she understood the old man’s bemused expression now when she’d told him this was where she was heading. It looked so uncared for, so unloved, falling into disrepair. It made Emily sad to see how much the beautiful old house had decayed over the years.

“Nice house,” the old man said as he drew up beside her.

“Thanks,” Emily said, almost trancelike, with her eyes glued to the old building. Snow fluttered around her. “And thank you for getting me here in one piece,” she added.

“No problem,” the old man replied. “Are you really sure you want to stay here tonight?”

“I’m sure,” Emily replied, though really she was starting to worry that coming here had been a huge mistake.

“Let me help you with your bags,” the man said.

“No, no,” Emily replied. “Honestly, you’ve done enough. I can take it from here.” She rummaged in her pocket and found a crumpled bill. “Here, gas money.”

The man looked at the note then back up at her. “I’m not taking that,” he said, smiling kindly. “You keep your money. If you really want to pay me back, why don’t you come down to mine and Bertha’s some time during your stay and have some coffee and pie?”

Emily felt a lump form in her throat as she stashed the bill back in her pocket. This man’s kindness was a shock to the system after the hostility of New York.

“How long are you planning on staying here anyway?” he added as he handed her a little slip of paper with a phone number and address scrawled on it.

“Just the weekend,” Emily replied, taking the paper from him.

“Well, if you need anything, just give me a call. Or come to the gas station where I work. It’s by the convenience store. Can’t miss us.”

“Thank you,” Emily said again, with as much heartfelt gratitude as she could.

As soon as the noisy engine faded to nothing, the stillness descended over her again and Emily felt a sudden sense of peace. The snow was falling even more now, making the world as silent as silent could be.

Emily returned to her car and grabbed her stuff, then waddled up the pathway with her heavy suitcase in her arms, feeling emotion rising in her chest. When she reached the front door she paused, examining the familiar worn doorknob, remembering her hand turning it a hundred times over. Maybe coming here had been a good idea after all. Oddly, she couldn’t help but feel that she was exactly where she needed to be.