Chapter One

The drive to Grandpa’s home was quiet. Marlon and Daisy sat in the backseat of their parents' 1987 Vista Cruiser. The radio hadn’t worked since last spring, and after their father lost his job at the plant, conversations rarely happened. Mother said a few words, but only to check on their progress in school.

Harold drank like a fish. Martha drank after they went to bed. No one spoke of the elephant that haunted their home.

But then Martha received a phone call last night.

“Remember, behave for your grandpa.”

“How long will we be there for?” Daisy asked. “I have my recital this Friday, mama.”

Marlon kept silent. His eyes focused on the window as trees passed in a blur.

“It’s canceled. No more of it.” Their father’s voice boomed.

Marlon winced. Today was his sixteenth birthday, and neither parent acknowledged it. Now with Daisy’s ballet, the young teen curled against the door to ignore the world. Their parents never fought in front of them. They always kept their yelling behind closed doors. Unfortunately, their walls were as thin as the paper in his comics.

Daisy settled back in her car seat. She pulled her blanket over her legs and stared at the car door. He felt for his little sister, but arguing with Harold changed nothing.

“The turn is coming up, Harry.” His mother noted as she pointed at the map.

“I know.”

Of course, he knew. It didn’t matter the topic; Harold knew it all. Marlon shut his eyes. The familiar turn and bumpy dirt road brought nostalgia to the current nightmare.

The Vista Cruiser pulled to a stop. They remained seated as Harold opened his door and stepped onto the gravel. The crunch echoed through the silence. Once the trunk popped open, they exited the vehicle one-by-one.

He walked around the wagon and found his two beige suitcases already sitting on the ground beside Daisy's. The trunk door shut with a sharpness that caused Marlon to flinch. His father’s dark brown eyes met his matching set. He waited, but his father remained silent.

Harold walked around him.

He bent down to grab the suitcase while his mother lifted Daisy's beside him. The gravel etched itself into his memory for different reasons this time. They reached the dusty wooden porch with an old screen door with chipped white paint blocking the view inside. Two rocking chairs were to the right, and a swinging bench on the other side. He set the luggage down and caught a whiff of burning wood, mint aftershave, and stew.

“You’re late.” Grandpa’s voice reached them. His voice differed drastically from his father’s. Stern, raspy from years of smoking, but warm. Similar to an ember in a fireplace, unlike the roaring flame Harold’s tone carried. “You were supposed to be here two hours ago. Did you get lost, Harry?”

His mother cleared her throat as Daisy stepped up to her side. She played with the blonde ponytail before pushing his sister forward. “Let’s not start, Harry Sr. The kids are here, like we talked about.”

Marlon glanced back at his dad. He stood by the wagon, arms resting over the hood with a lit cigarette between his lips. The sunlight hit his father the same way it always did whenever they came here. For a moment, the shadows around his eyes looked deeper than usual. “We’ll let you know when things are settled after the funeral. Might be days.” He exhaled a puff of smoke, flicking ash over the vehicle. His eyes remained on Grandpa. The familiar expression he sure expected to find on his own.

“Might be weeks.” Martha added.

Or months. Marlon thought. He watched his father flick the cigarette, then enter the Cruiser.

“Grandpa!” Daisy rushed to pull the screen door open. She stood just to his hip as he towered over them.

He wore the old plaid jacket he remembered from all previous visits. The same tear in the right elbow from the same screen door snagging it when he was barely ten. Harold Sr. showed drastic changes from the last time he visited. His salt-and-pepper hair was fully gray, including his beard. Deep wrinkles framed his brown eyes. Even the black pants appeared faded with dust covering them from cutting wood.

Daisy clung to his legs before grandpa reached down to pick her up. The scowl was replaced with a warm smile as he hugged her. “You have grown so much, darling. What happened to my little pipsqueak?”

She laid her head on his shoulder. He cupped the back of her blonde curls. Marlon couldn’t remember the last time someone held him like that.

“We need to go, Harold Sr.” His mother tapped her foot. “Here is the number to reach us.” She handed him a slip of paper.

Marlon clenched his hand as he waited for her to say anything else. He spared her a glance, but she kept her eyes cast down. Her pinned up blonde hair, shallow blue eyes and withered skin stuck to him this time. The smell of her floral perfume lingered until she turned and walked away. Only dust remained.

“You’re not going to tell them good-bye?” Grandpa called out to them. His mother’s heel faltered against the gravel.

No. Marlon knew the answer. He turned to see his mother’s back. Her shoulders tensed. The wagon started with a loud rumble. She kept walking. Once the car door stood between them, she offered a half-hearted wave without looking back. His father turned around and drove off. A trail of dirt lingered behind the wagon until nothing remained but the empty road.

He listened to Daisy’s shoes hit the floor, but his grandpa’s presence remained. His sister ran off into the home with excitement about their stay. He stared at the dirt road until Grandpa's hand settled on his shoulder.

“Happy birthday, son.”

“It’s not my birthday,” he said, keeping his voice even.

Grandpa sighed. “We don’t lie around here. We celebrate.” Marlon turned around finally. “I don’t know where I went wrong with him.” His eyes drifted toward the road. Did his eyes look the same when he saw them leave?

“I made you a cake. It’s not perfect, but I tried my hand at grandma’s recipe.” Their eyes finally met, and Grandpa let out a low chuckle. “It’s that vanilla sheet cake you always liked.”

Marlon smiled. “I also smelled the stew.” He perked up. “Hog stew?” Grandpa nodded with a smirk, and his stomach rumbled.

“Come on, help me with these bags. I got both your rooms ready. Tomorrow we will go to the schools to enroll you both.”

“Yes, sir.” He grabbed his luggage while grandpa grabbed Daisy’s.

For the next hour, Marlon helped arrange Daisy’s room with his sister twirling around to show each dress, toy, and shoes she brought. He placed her nightgown and slippers on the bed and headed down the hall closet to retrieve a towel and wash rag.

“Daze, did you pack your toothbrush?”

“Yes!” She dug into her smaller bag and pulled out her pink toothbrush. “And my brush, and my toys.”

“Good. Come on, let’s get your bath started before dinner.”

While she bathed, Marlon walked through the home. He knew every corner of this home. The creak in the hallway when someone walked near the master bedroom. Family portraits lined one wall, while framed artwork from his childhood covered the other. He stood in front of the elongated crayon drawing of a car with him and grandpa beside it. ‘Marly’s First Picture’ printed on a placard sat above it.

He touched the frame and dust covered his fingertips. Grandma kept their home spotless, but times changed.

He noticed the fireplace with soot covering most of the stone. His fingers traced a dark stone with an etching carved into it. ‘Grandpa + Marly’. Grandma went on about the stone breaking, but grandpa only hugged her. He chuckled at the memory. Even now, her quilts and knitted blankets covered most of the furniture, like she never left.

He spent most of his childhood here. Some years, he practically lived with Grandpa during the school year. The only thing he hated was the grandfather clock in the dining room. Every night it ticked loudly until—ding, ding, ding! He swore to end that clock’s life on many occasions.

“Don’t forget your slippers in your room, Daze.” He reminded as he went back to flick the light on. After grandma passed, her sewing room became a third bedroom for his sister. Her yarnballs, tapestries, and sewn dolls still occupied the corners of the room. They sometimes smelled like her, but he wondered if his mind played tricks.

“I’m already done.” She popped up beside him in her pink robe.

After he helped her get dressed, combed her hair, and slipped her shoes on, he headed to the dining room. The stew permeated every inch of the home in its aroma. He patted his stomach and prepared to set the table. Except the cloth napkins, utensils, and bowls weren’t where he put them.

“Grandpa?”

“Yeah, kiddo?” His voice carried from the living room.

“Do you know where the stuff went? I can’t set the dinner table without them.” He checked the China, but every item he grabbed wasn’t in there.

“I brought them to the living room.”

Marlon frowned and curiously headed to the living room. “We always eat in the dining room. Grandma would have our heads.”

“She’ll haunt us tonight, I’m sure.” Grandpa grinned.

Steam curled from each bowl of stew arranged around the coffee table. Miniature cornbread loaves sat in the center of the coffee table. While Grandpa added more logs to the fire, his sister pushed her cushions closer to the table.

She sat on her knees then patted the cushions beside her. He smiled and sat down. They watched grandpa head back to the couch. “You’re not allergic to beetles or snails, are you?”

“No?” Marlon frowned and turned to his sister. She shook her head with a shared frown.

“Oh good, because that’s the gravy.” He winked.

Daisy gasped. “Eww!”

“Got to eat it all up, pipsqueak. You’re too small to chop wood with your brother.” He continued to tease.

Marlon laughed, “He’s joking, Daze.”

“Are you sure?” She swirled her spoon in the stew.

Grandpa leaned forward to inspect with her. “Oh, there’s a beetle right there.” He pointed at nothing. “It’s saying, ‘eat me, Daisy’. You gotta, pip. Protein will be good for you.”

He watched his sister’s eyes widen before they both joined into laughter.

“You’re tricking me!” Her mouth dropped. When grandpa nodded, she gasped. “Then you have beetles in your soup, too, grandpa!”

He laughed harder when Grandpa took another sip of broth and Daisy began swatting at his arm. He joined the chaos by dipping his miniature loaf into the stew and took a large bite.

After a few more laughs, Marlon glanced at the front door. His eyes lingered until grandpa brought his attention back. “Did you know your uncle Sidney?”

“No.” Daisy answered with a mouth full of cornbread.

He shook his head. “I only met him a few times. Mom said he didn’t have kids and wasn’t married. She didn’t want him around a lot.” He shrugged.

Grandpa nodded after taking another bite. “He went to school with your dad. Sid liked drawing, too.” He placed his bowl down, then reached over to grab the Sunday’s paper. He flipped through the stack then pulled out the Sunday Comics. “He drew Marly and the Falcon.”

Marly? He took the comic and studied the strip. “I never knew he drew this.” The strip was all about a small boy with his imaginary friend going on adventures. “Marly?”

“You’ll understand more when you’re older.” He smiled. “Go on and keep that one. The others are in the bottom bookshelf where grandma’s knitting sticks are.”

“Thanks, grandpa.” He folded the comic and set it beside him.

“Reminds me,” he finished his bowl then grabbed a second loaf. “Did I ever tell you how I met grandma?”

Daisy perked up. “Is this the one when dad was a baby?”

“This is before that, Daze.” He swirled his spoon in his stew. “I think grandma told me but I can’t remember.”

“Was it the prom?” When Marlon nodded, he cleared his throat and sat forward. “We barely knew each other. She was the head cheerleader, and I was nobody. I asked her to dance, and I knew she was the one.”

“Then daddy showed up?” Daisy pressed.

“No.” Grandpa smiled as his gaze drifted. “A carnival came into town that summer.” He finished the cornbread. The fire crackled beside them.

Daisy moved closer and set her bowl to the side. She leaned onto the coffee table with wide eyes. Marlon shifted closer. Their grandpa seemed lost in thought until his brown eyes found them again.

“It was our first date.”