if Carl had ever opened it, there was no sign. Perhaps today I’d look inside, take possession of it and make it my own.
First, though, I needed a shower and a clean change of clothes. I ducked into my bedroom, rescued the last clean pair of boxers from my travel bag, and took a pair of jeans and a shirt to go with them. Socks I’d find later, I decided, after I’d had a chance to walk on the grass barefoot. I’d need to do laundry today, I realized, andthat was not something I looked forward to. The washing machine was ancient but serviceable, but the dryer had the look of a fire waiting to happen. Best to hang up a line out back, I decided, and let nature do its part.
The shower refreshed me further, hot water washing the last of the night’s worries away. I wouldn’t even call Carl for a ride, I decided. I’d walk toward town and hitch, and maybe meet another of my neighbors that way. I needed someone besides Carl to talk to. That much I knew, and hitching a ride seemed as good a way as any to find some conversation. My friends in Boston had mostly melted away when the business had, and no one had called me since I’d left. I had expected that to continue, even before I’d lost my cell phone in the underbrush. So, if I wanted to hear human voices, I’d have to find them here.
The air dried me off almost as fast as the towel did. It was promising to be a hot day, unseasonably hot, and dry as well. I shrugged into my jeans and buttoned down my shirt, ran a comb through my hair and a brush across my teeth, and pronounced myself fit for human company. I took a pair of socks from my dresser—too small for a grown man, both the clothing and the furniture that held it—and my shoes from the floor, and then I went outside to feel the grass between my toes.
Forty-five minutes went by before I’d had enough of that to declare myself ready to go. Father had always frowned on walking barefoot on the grass, though he’d loved to do it himself. Snakes worried him, and so did ticks and chiggers and every other biting creature on God’s green earth. Mother was more practical and often talked him into going without shoes so he couldn’t caution me when I did, too. The grass was thick and tight, with no bare patches or dandelion stands. Carl had been doing good work, it seemed, and it felt like heaven under my feet.
Enough was finally enough, though, especially if I wanted to make good progress toward town before the day’s full heat came up. With one last look down at my toes, I sat on the porch and pulled my socks onto my feet. I wiggled my toes one last time, then slipped the tennis shoes on over them. They were scuffed and old, but with the laces pulled tight, they fit my feet well. I’d used them for just about everything except tennis back in Boston, and they’d been the first things I’d packed. They were dirty and worn and softer than cotton, and somehow they belonged here.
I locked the door behind me, a big-city habit I suspected I wouldn’t be able to break. Fortunately, I’d kept the house keys on a separate chain from the ones for the car, so they hadn’t vanished along with it. Even if they had, I still had the keys Carl had left, but I was just as glad not to need them. I’d tucked them in a kitchen cabinet and fully expected never to need them again.
And so, with the sun coming up over the tree line behind the Tolliver farm, I took the long walk down the drive to the road. When my feet hit gravel, I turned to the right, toward town and all the wonders it might hold. With a last look back at the house—just in case, though I couldn’t see the damn door from where I stood—I started walking.
Town had in fact gotten closer since my last visit, moving out into the countryside in bites and chunks. Still, it had mostly advanced on a line that hadn’t taken it straight in my direction. What that meant for me was that my property values had gone up a bit, but that my walk into town had stayed long.
First, though, I needed a shower and a clean change of clothes. I ducked into my bedroom, rescued the last clean pair of boxers from my travel bag, and took a pair of jeans and a shirt to go with them. Socks I’d find later, I decided, after I’d had a chance to walk on the grass barefoot. I’d need to do laundry today, I realized, andthat was not something I looked forward to. The washing machine was ancient but serviceable, but the dryer had the look of a fire waiting to happen. Best to hang up a line out back, I decided, and let nature do its part.
The shower refreshed me further, hot water washing the last of the night’s worries away. I wouldn’t even call Carl for a ride, I decided. I’d walk toward town and hitch, and maybe meet another of my neighbors that way. I needed someone besides Carl to talk to. That much I knew, and hitching a ride seemed as good a way as any to find some conversation. My friends in Boston had mostly melted away when the business had, and no one had called me since I’d left. I had expected that to continue, even before I’d lost my cell phone in the underbrush. So, if I wanted to hear human voices, I’d have to find them here.
The air dried me off almost as fast as the towel did. It was promising to be a hot day, unseasonably hot, and dry as well. I shrugged into my jeans and buttoned down my shirt, ran a comb through my hair and a brush across my teeth, and pronounced myself fit for human company. I took a pair of socks from my dresser—too small for a grown man, both the clothing and the furniture that held it—and my shoes from the floor, and then I went outside to feel the grass between my toes.
Forty-five minutes went by before I’d had enough of that to declare myself ready to go. Father had always frowned on walking barefoot on the grass, though he’d loved to do it himself. Snakes worried him, and so did ticks and chiggers and every other biting creature on God’s green earth. Mother was more practical and often talked him into going without shoes so he couldn’t caution me when I did, too. The grass was thick and tight, with no bare patches or dandelion stands. Carl had been doing good work, it seemed, and it felt like heaven under my feet.
Enough was finally enough, though, especially if I wanted to make good progress toward town before the day’s full heat came up. With one last look down at my toes, I sat on the porch and pulled my socks onto my feet. I wiggled my toes one last time, then slipped the tennis shoes on over them. They were scuffed and old, but with the laces pulled tight, they fit my feet well. I’d used them for just about everything except tennis back in Boston, and they’d been the first things I’d packed. They were dirty and worn and softer than cotton, and somehow they belonged here.
I locked the door behind me, a big-city habit I suspected I wouldn’t be able to break. Fortunately, I’d kept the house keys on a separate chain from the ones for the car, so they hadn’t vanished along with it. Even if they had, I still had the keys Carl had left, but I was just as glad not to need them. I’d tucked them in a kitchen cabinet and fully expected never to need them again.
And so, with the sun coming up over the tree line behind the Tolliver farm, I took the long walk down the drive to the road. When my feet hit gravel, I turned to the right, toward town and all the wonders it might hold. With a last look back at the house—just in case, though I couldn’t see the damn door from where I stood—I started walking.
Town had in fact gotten closer since my last visit, moving out into the countryside in bites and chunks. Still, it had mostly advanced on a line that hadn’t taken it straight in my direction. What that meant for me was that my property values had gone up a bit, but that my walk into town had stayed long.
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