They're Calling You Home

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen Two days pass, and Browder leaves me again for Susana. at night, in my brother’s home, we review the photos Susana and Browder have taken. There’s the old Kranston Mill Brewery, the Shanty Falls, and the faces of old people at Thompson’s Merry Manor home. These new photos though have taken a turn, and Browder is seen in some of them, posing in front of a brick wall where two rusted beer signs look as if they might fall on his head; then standing at the edge of the cascading creek, hand dipped into the silver cold water; and finally Browder with Pascal and ruby in the old folks’ home, a group of elderly people smiling, reaching from wheelchairs to pet our dogs. I’m ashamed I once thought Susana was shallow; she’s clearly grown more mature, volunteering, while I’ve been the one who’s let fear stifle growth. last night, Katherine and evan, Ike’s kids, joined us for dinner, both of them free for only one evening. They are lean and beautiful, and I can see my father in evan’s eyes, the flicker of intensity when someone says something he doesn’t agree with. he doesn’t talk much, but when he does, it almost breaks my heart; his voice, or rather the cadence of it, sounds so much like his grandfather. now, back in the file room at the courthouse, I feel trapped, cut off from my daughter, from writing, from our town. as I photocopy yet another stack of transcripts, I peek out the window and see Ike heading for the wing café. I can’t stand being here anymore and decide right then to make a break for it, hit the road again and hopefully inject some real-life energy into the story. I put the papers down and walk to heather godshalk’s office in the adjacent building. In the waiting area, I have to sit for fifteen minutes while her secretary briefs her on one gabe Burke sitting on the mauve love seat near the ficus tree that may or may not be real. The weather outside has completely left They’re Calling You Home 123 behind the ice storm of nearly a week ago, and I can see the clear blue sky behind the shimmering shamrock leaves. I stand up and walk to the window and peer down at Smallwood. Sunlight is glinting off cars and the flat window fronts. The circus used to winter here back in the early 1900s, and someone has employed the theme in the downtown renovation. I spot elephant statues on each block, and a colorful mural of men on stilts, two smiling lions, and a legion of intelligent-looking clowns performing for a crowd of jubilant faces, cheeks red, hands in mid-clap. on top of the old Witchell loan Building there’s a replica of a big top, and even a moving miniature Ferris wheel. Ike could have all of this, become the next Mayor of Smallwood Past. When we’re dead and gone, what will they use as a metaphor to revamp the town in a hundred years? The renovation just feels like a dying animal’s last kick, although it’s likely that it’s just me feeling this way. everyone else is too busy with life to sit around thinking about what a clown mural means. “Mr. Burke,” the voice calls. “Mr. Burke?” I turn from the sunny window and stare at the receptionist. She smiles. “Ms. godshalk can see you for a few minutes.” I feel like my niece, Katherine, as I sleepwalk my way into the lawyer’s office, deep walnut decor, forest-green paint, the crown molding the color of avocado pulp. “hi,” says heather. “Sit down.” I feel too low in front of her desk and try to push myself higher, but it’s as if I’m in quicksand that’s pulling me deeper into the leather lounger. “I thought you might come see me.” I must look perplexed, as she folds her hands together, smiles politely, and explains. “I saw Becca this morning. They’re building our new house out near richvalley ,” she adds. “oh,” I say, now feeling even sillier than the chair has made me look. If they’re close, did Becca tell her I made a move? But the thought quickly recedes ; Becca is a loyal friend. I speak up. “okay, so there was some...