when we head back to Philly.”
“That’d be nice.”
“It’s nothing like that staircase is; was.”
His family photos, hung in ascending order up the mansion’s two-tiered staircase, had beguiled me on my first visit. I wondered where they’d all gone, now that the Forrester’s, truly split, had leased their semi-furnished home to a German businessman who had plans to open a new economy department store on the outside of town.
Unable to break with the source of their family traditions –Everett’s grandfather had the house built to his exact specifications decades before– his father had managed to hold off on selling their house.
I had returned, at least near it, on my first spring break after the Forresters had all moved to various new homes. Sitting at the corner of the lawn, until a few cars drove by too slowly to ignore, the mansion seemed to loom. The Forresters’ lives had moved to the city and glistening new buildings.
“Do you miss it?” I asked.
Everett shrugged. “Sort of. But the last few years, with just me and Mom and Helen, were kind of vacant.” Helen, his mother’s housekeeper, had found work with another family in Forrestville.
“I mean, she filled up her days with, I dunno, those women’s groups, and the country club and all,” he continued. “But really. All those rooms, all that maintenance.”
“But do you wanna go see it?”
“Have you gone back?”
“Once.”
While hoping to find the nerve to retrace each step in and around his former home, out of some kind of instinctual trail sniff, I’d merely stood at the curb for a few minutes.
“I do, and I don’t,” he said. “I mean, we were already falling apart. It’s just a natural…”
“Shedding.”
Everett huffed, pretending insult. “Well! If you want to get all botanical about it.”
Feeling that I should keep him entertained during his visit, and having run out of things to distract him, I suggested we go for a visit to one of the nearby parks out of town. He rolled his eyes, taking it as a hint of some probable outdoor lechery.
“Aren’t your parents coming home soon?” he asked.
“Well, yeah, but we don’t have to–”
“I need to get cleaned up. We reek of sex and I need a shave.”
He’d already begun hoisting himself off the sofa and into his chair, and rolled down towards the bathroom when I jokingly called out, “But I like you fuzzy!”
“Plenty of time for fuzzy at the camp next month!”
I understood, though. Despite any casual situation, Everett’s life had been one of protocols and dress codes. As familiar as we had become, he still addressed my parents as Mr. or Mrs. Conniff, and gave them a respectful attitude.
“Can you get my shaving kit?” he called out from the bathroom.
Foraging through his backpack in my bedroom, I found the smaller pouch with a few toiletries. I noticed a few prescription bottles as well, something I’d never noticed during all those months at the Temple dorm. Why had he hidden them?
“Here you go.” I handed him the pouch, hung out in the doorway as he ran some hot water over a disposable razor.
“Does your dad have–”
“Here.” I opened the cabinet, found a canister of shaving cream.
“Thanks.”
“So, what are those medications you take?”
He stopped. “Why?”
“Well, since we’re going to be at the camp, I just thought I should–”
“You should what?”
“Ev, I just… In case something happens.’
“Nothing’s going to happen. They’re just antibiotics and an antidepressant, which I haven’t been taking because it kills my sex drive, and I’m perfectly happy, and you should be too.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. I just never saw them before.”
“And now you have. Do you want to watch me shave now, too?”
“Um, yes?”
“Get in the shower,” he commanded as he lathered his face. “You stink, and you might as well entertain me, too, nosy.”
Chapter 7
July 1980
Everett surveyed our tiny
“That’d be nice.”
“It’s nothing like that staircase is; was.”
His family photos, hung in ascending order up the mansion’s two-tiered staircase, had beguiled me on my first visit. I wondered where they’d all gone, now that the Forrester’s, truly split, had leased their semi-furnished home to a German businessman who had plans to open a new economy department store on the outside of town.
Unable to break with the source of their family traditions –Everett’s grandfather had the house built to his exact specifications decades before– his father had managed to hold off on selling their house.
I had returned, at least near it, on my first spring break after the Forresters had all moved to various new homes. Sitting at the corner of the lawn, until a few cars drove by too slowly to ignore, the mansion seemed to loom. The Forresters’ lives had moved to the city and glistening new buildings.
“Do you miss it?” I asked.
Everett shrugged. “Sort of. But the last few years, with just me and Mom and Helen, were kind of vacant.” Helen, his mother’s housekeeper, had found work with another family in Forrestville.
“I mean, she filled up her days with, I dunno, those women’s groups, and the country club and all,” he continued. “But really. All those rooms, all that maintenance.”
“But do you wanna go see it?”
“Have you gone back?”
“Once.”
While hoping to find the nerve to retrace each step in and around his former home, out of some kind of instinctual trail sniff, I’d merely stood at the curb for a few minutes.
“I do, and I don’t,” he said. “I mean, we were already falling apart. It’s just a natural…”
“Shedding.”
Everett huffed, pretending insult. “Well! If you want to get all botanical about it.”
Feeling that I should keep him entertained during his visit, and having run out of things to distract him, I suggested we go for a visit to one of the nearby parks out of town. He rolled his eyes, taking it as a hint of some probable outdoor lechery.
“Aren’t your parents coming home soon?” he asked.
“Well, yeah, but we don’t have to–”
“I need to get cleaned up. We reek of sex and I need a shave.”
He’d already begun hoisting himself off the sofa and into his chair, and rolled down towards the bathroom when I jokingly called out, “But I like you fuzzy!”
“Plenty of time for fuzzy at the camp next month!”
I understood, though. Despite any casual situation, Everett’s life had been one of protocols and dress codes. As familiar as we had become, he still addressed my parents as Mr. or Mrs. Conniff, and gave them a respectful attitude.
“Can you get my shaving kit?” he called out from the bathroom.
Foraging through his backpack in my bedroom, I found the smaller pouch with a few toiletries. I noticed a few prescription bottles as well, something I’d never noticed during all those months at the Temple dorm. Why had he hidden them?
“Here you go.” I handed him the pouch, hung out in the doorway as he ran some hot water over a disposable razor.
“Does your dad have–”
“Here.” I opened the cabinet, found a canister of shaving cream.
“Thanks.”
“So, what are those medications you take?”
He stopped. “Why?”
“Well, since we’re going to be at the camp, I just thought I should–”
“You should what?”
“Ev, I just… In case something happens.’
“Nothing’s going to happen. They’re just antibiotics and an antidepressant, which I haven’t been taking because it kills my sex drive, and I’m perfectly happy, and you should be too.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. I just never saw them before.”
“And now you have. Do you want to watch me shave now, too?”
“Um, yes?”
“Get in the shower,” he commanded as he lathered his face. “You stink, and you might as well entertain me, too, nosy.”
Chapter 7
July 1980
Everett surveyed our tiny
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