Gravel kicks up from the tires of my mother’s old hatchback as the poorly packed boxes creak and sway in the trunk. I clench and unclench my jaw, nervously waiting to see the new house on the horizon, but the trees lining this narrow stone driveway seem to only grow thicker the further we go. I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. Mom reaches over and places her hand on the back of mine, flashing me a childlike smile and giving my hand a reassuring squeeze.
“This is going to be fun, I promise,” she says. I glance at her and nod with pursed lips. Nerve wracking maybe, but fun? Fat chance.
I was never particularly fond of Manhattan, so I can tell she thought I would be more excited to be out of there. I sigh and raise her one nervous mock smile. I know the only reason she let me drive here was to keep me distracted so I wouldn’t overthink the whole way from the passenger seat. Little does she know, I’m a great multi-tasker.
A college professor turned home school instructor; Mom has been granted the opportunity to be a live in teacher in a place so unheard of that I couldn’t even find it on a web map without zooming in. Even then, the picture was so grainy that it wasn’t even worth the trouble to investigate it any further. I’m excited to have a yard, if I’m being honest, it’s been a while since I’ve been able to walk barefoot on grass without worrying about stepping on someone’s forgotten dog poop bag or a pile of runny, sun warmed ketchup covered in ants.
I swallow hard as the trees continue to get thicker. Where is this place and why does it feel like I’m not supposed to know it’s here? Should I be looking for a moose crossing sign? Or maybe a Wendigo?
Bless her heart, but Mom should not have been answering job postings online without my approval. According to her, the family is “ecstatic” and “positively delighted” to have us here, and even called us a “perfect fit.” I personally think that that is a bit of a red flag, but she is excited, and if this will bring her peace, then that’s all that matters.
“And you said they’re doctors?” I ask as we approach a large wooden gate.
I stare at the wonderous farmhouse as I roll to a stop. Mom is beaming as she opens her door, dancing out of her seat. An older man with combed back salt and pepper hair comes trotting down the porch steps, waving at us, his own smile big enough to challenge hers. I note that he’s wearing a jean jacket and overalls, and an overwhelming realization that I’m not in New York anymore consumes me. I swallow hard one last time before plastering a smile of my own to my face and sticking my arm out of the window to wave back at him. Mom runs up to meet him at the gate and they chat for a moment, and she points to me before throwing her head back with a laugh and some arm gestures that I don’t think express any human emotion I’ve ever experienced.
I stare skeptically at them and wait for instructions. I pull my sleeves down over my hands as a sunbeam creeps its way through the windshield. The clock says 4:04pm. Typically I have no qualms about going outside after 4, but there is so much open sky that I feel better off just slouching down in my seat, pulling my baseball cap down over my eyes, and waiting to find out where I’m supposed to park the car.
I notice a boy in a red flannel and sunglasses half hidden by the shadow of a small tool shed in the yard just beyond the fence. With a cigarette hanging from his lips, he plucks the strings of an acoustic guitar, nodding along to a song I’m too far away to hear. That must be Harker.
I don’t know if it’s Mom’s nervous influence or if it’s secondhand paranoia that leeched off her and on to me, but I’m not about to let myself start scabbing over from the sun right before I meet this boy. I mean, meet this family. My anxiety begins to boil behind my eyes as the sunbeam creeps across the dashboard closer to me. What could they possibly be chatting about up there that they can’t discuss when I am safely inside the house? Did they suddenly forget that I’m here?
I let out a frustrated sigh that has been building up inside of me and I look out the window to my left. The woods surrounding the driveway abruptly end at the gate, how peculiar. The house itself is set in a beautifully large clearing, at least 10 football fields long and twice as wide, before the trees start to accumulate and cluster again, surrounding the perimeter like armed guards. They’re so thick that you can’t even see into the darkness beyond the branches. A real smile finally makes its way on to my face at the thought of walking through those thick trees, not a sunbeam in sight. Mom must have noticed the scowl having left my face without surgical removal and practically skips back to the car.
“Hey sweetie, that’s mister Scott Turner, he’s the groundskeeper here and he’s going to open the gate for us, okay? Just follow the driveway to the right and park the car in front of the house. Isn’t this so fun? They have a groundskeeper!” she squeals.
“The most fun,” I say, and allow myself to keep smiling. This time I can’t even pretend its fake. I’ve never lived anywhere that has a groundskeeper before, even if he is the master of denim.
I do as I’m told and drive the car down the driveway to the right. The gravel turns to pavement that loops around a large flower garden and looks to have another stretch that leads to a big red barn. I pull the car right up to the front of the house, wondering what kind of animals they keep in the barn. Mom and Mr. Turner walk around the garden, still chatting. He opens the car door for me, and motions for me to join them. I steal a quick glance in the rear-view mirror, looking for Harker by the shed, but he’s gone.
“Good evenin lil lady, you must be Eleanor,” Mr. Turner says, still grinning. He doesn’t speak with a southern accent, but he most definitely sounds like he wishes he did. Maybe this is just what Pennsylvania people sound like. And why is everyone so smiley? Am I the only person here that’s awkward around new people?
“Scott Turner,” he says, holding his hand out for me to take.
“Ellie, please,” I reply, giving his hand a loose shake. I slide out of the car and stand between the two of them. I must have been sitting for too long because the head rush I get almost knocks me back down into my seat.
“Well, Ellie, the Drake’s will be arrivin home a lil later this evenin, so how bout’ we getcha inside and settled while we wait. Musta been an awful long drive here from the city, you must be exhausted.”
“I’m okay,” I assure him. “Right now, I’m just curious about what kind of animals you’ve got down there.” I nod my head towards the barn, trying to see if I can catch a glimpse of anything in the yard. “I’ve never seen a farm animal in person before.” I can feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment, though I don’t know why. It’s not my fault that 90% of my life has been restricted to city apartments and hospital beds.
Mr. Turner lets out a laugh and claps me on the shoulder. “I hate to break yer heart so early on, but there’s no animals down there jus yet. We usually have a few horses, but we hadda put down our last one yesterday. He wasn’t doin so well, didn’t want em to suffer, but we’ll probably be gettin a few more in the comin months or so, see how things go. Maybe I can even teach ya to ride!”
My eyes widen at the thought of me sitting on the back of a horse. Mom stifles a giggle, biting her lips as she looks at my expression.
Mr. Turner climbs the porch steps and waves us on to follow him inside. This place is just like every photo of a typical farmhouse I’ve ever seen. Equipped with water spigot by the garden and a two-seater wooden swing, the porch extends across the whole front of the house. Part of me wants to see if there’s any wicker furniture to complete the scene. Hopefully he lets me explore a little before the Drakes come home.
The inside of the house looks like a painting. Everything is spotless and in its perfect place, which seems odd for a farmhouse. I don’t know what I was expecting, but muddy boots and a golden retriever come to mind. The dark hardwood flooring almost glistens without a spec of dirt or dust in sight.
“Feel free to get acquainted with the house, as I’m sure you’ll be spendin a lotta time in here,” Mr. Turner says with a wink. Just how much did my mom tell him about my condition? “I’ll go start unloadin yer boxes. Won’t be too long, by the looks of it, you gals pack light.”
“We move around a bit,” Mom says, which is a lie. Just tell him that between dad’s funeral and my hospital bills, we now live just along the poverty line. “Hard to accumulate material possessions when you never know where you’re going to put them down.” She follows him back outside, and this is just the break I’ve been looking for.
I’m not sure where to go or what to do. Everything is so clean that I’m almost afraid to touch any of it in fear of leaving a smudgy fingerprint. I look at the staircase in front of me and then at the two large glass doors to my left. I’ll start there.
I pad softly across the floor, avoiding any type of noise in such a quiet house. An uncomfortable feeling crawls down my spine, like I’m being watched, but when I look around no one is there. Must be my own awkwardness.
A large L shaped suede couch fills most of the room, piled with thick, comfy pillows. I enter cautiously, running my hand along the back of the couch, feeling just how expensive it is. My eyes immediately find two large, fluffy plush blankets, perfectly folded on top of an ottoman, and I can’t help but sink my fingers into them too. These may be the softest blankets I’ve ever touched in my entire life. I spy a record player and a large piano, but no television. Maybe this room is where Harker and I will be doing our schoolwork.
Another set of double doors, wide open, lead to a dining area attached to the biggest kitchen I’ve ever seen outside of a magazine. I see the entryway where I came in and realize the rooms connect in one big loop.
“It’s big isn’t it?” a sharp voice snakes through my ears. I turn around and leaning against the door frame is the boy with the red flannel. Mom said he’s 18, but he looks a little older. His illness must have aged him.
Suddenly I’ve forgotten every word in the English language.
“Unnecessarily large,” he says, enunciating every syllable. He removes his sunglasses and stares at me, masking his own curiosity with an essence of disinterest. “Elizabeth, was it?” He holds his hand out to me, I think he’s expecting me to shake it. I grab it slowly and a quick shock runs through my palm and into my forearm. His hands are both clammy and freezing. He grips my hand firmly for one second, two, and then retracts it, stuffing it back into his pants pocket. My hand still hovers there in midair for a moment before it floats back down to my side.
“Eleanor,” I correct him, my voice sounding dazed and nervous all wrapped into one. “I mean, Ellie.” My tongue practically sticks to the roof of my mouth.
His appearance is captivating. Skin greyish white bordering translucence, like I might be able to count every vein and ligament that runs through his hands and up his arms. And I thought I was pale. His black shirt clings to his too thin frame and his red flannel hangs around him, at least two sizes too big. I wonder if he bought it that way, or if it’s just an outcome from being sick. Strands of tousled black curls shower his forehead, ending just above his eyes. His burgundy eyes. Is that even a real eye color? Must be a side effect or something. Or this is just how normal teenage girls react to meeting boys their own age. He stares firmly at me, looking me up and down. I hold his gaze briefly before he puts his sunglasses back on. His eyes were definitely burgundy.
“Well, cool talk Ellie,” he says, turning to leave.
“Wait,” I say, harnessing every drop of saliva I can find in my mouth. I clear my throat as he turns back around, sliding his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, staring at me with amusement dancing on the corner of his lips. “You must be Harker?” Is it really a question? Obviously, he’s Harker. Why is it that every time I open my mouth only stupidity falls out?
“Well, I’m most certainly not Elizabeth,” he replies, hand to his chest, like he can’t believe I would ask him such a thing. And before I can figure out any other words that could possibly exist or help save this interaction; he’s gone so quickly I could have sworn he simply vanished into thin air.
I peer around the corner back into the sitting room with the soft, fluffy blankets, but he has completely disappeared. Way to make a first impression, Ellie. I wonder if he’s always this snarky or if it’s just this morning that something crawled up his pant leg and bit him on the ass.
I wander around the big house, still too afraid to touch anything. On the other side of the kitchen is a laundry room, plain and basic, not coin operated, thankfully. There’s an office with a conference desk and a wipe board on wheels, curtains drawn over the windows. This is probably where we’ll be doing lessons. The other room must be one of those sitting only rooms. Attached to the office is a hallway with two closed doors. I wonder if one of them is my new bedroom.
Maybe the Drake’s are just never around and that’s why they need my mom to school Harker. Maybe he’s one of those angry rich kids that’s sarcastic and a little bit mean to nice girls they meet for the first time because mommy is never home. Maybe I have been watching too many movies.
I take a seat at the kitchen table and pull out my phone. No messages because anyone that would actually text me is already at this house, aka my mom, and Abby wasn’t even conscious the last time I saw her. I don’t even know if she’s capable of texting anymore. I have about half a bar of service and none of my apps will load so I guess this is a Wi-Fi only household. What was I thinking that I’d get a signal in a place like this?
The sliding glass door across from the table shimmers as the sky transitions from afternoon to evening. I spy a stone patio complete with lounge chairs and a large black grill, the small tool shed just a few yards away. I crane my neck to see if Harker is smoking again, but there’s nothing but green grass.
My phone flashes 4:58pm as I click the side button, turning it back off and shoving it in my pocket. I should probably go help Mom and Mr. Turner with the boxes in the car, but to be honest after that interaction with Harker I kind of just want to find my new room and hide. Worst first impression ever.
I see a glowing orange dot in the distance outside. It moves slowly up and down. I watch it for a moment before I realize that Harker is out there, perched on the edge of the fence surrounding the yard, and he’s staring directly at me. At least, I think he is. I’m not completely sure because his eyes are still outlined with sunglasses. Where did he come from? He wasn’t there a second ago. I don’t even know him and he’s already frustrating me. I wonder if anyone has informed him about my whole cancer thing, or if he’s just being deliberately annoying.
“Miss Ellie,” Mr. Turner calls through the house. I look as he rounds the corner and spies me at the table. “I got yer room all set up for ya,” he says, “Hope ya don’t mind bunkin upstairs. The Drakes tend to be more active down here so I thought the upstairs would suit ya more peacefully.”
I smile. I just met this man an hour ago and he’s already shown me more kindness than I deserve. I follow him up the stairs, the banister making a tight squeaking sound as my hand slides up it. I pull away quickly, grimacing.
Mr. Turner laughs and says, “Givin a new meanin to the phrase ‘squeaky clean.’” I giggle and try to hide my ever-growing embarrassment as he guides me down the hallway. We walk past a door painted all black. It stands out obnoxiously against the off-white walls, not matching any of the other doors.
“Harker’s room,” Mr. Turner says with a nod towards the door. “You don’t need to worry ‘bout him much, he rarely comes out. But this,” he says while approaching the next door over, “is your room.”
I walk into the room and its three times bigger than the one I had in our apartment. My jaw slacks and my lips part as I look at the giant queen-sized bed, fully made up with blankets and large squishy looking pillows. One of the soft blankets that I saw in the sitting room downstairs drapes over the foot of the bed, and I must contain myself before I full on girl squeal out loud. There’s two doors in the room, one closed and one open revealing a walk-in closet. I’ve never had a closet before. I blink away the tears welling up in my eyes and turn back to Mr. Turner.
“Thank you so much, you didn’t have to do all of this,” I say, gesturing to the whole room behind me.
“Oh, yer more than welcome sweetheart,” he says. “We even set ya up with yer own bathroom." He points to the closed door, and I run across the room to check it out. I have a room that I can literally run across. Mom was right, this is exciting. “Figured, we’ve never had a young lady stayin on our farm before, might as well give ya the room with the most privacy.”
The bathroom, fully stocked with towels and toiletries, is just as spotless as the rest of the house. A waterfall shower glistens with small, black square tiles, and it looks brand new and unused. There was a bathtub with a shower in our apartment, but it had some stains in it from the previous tenants and I hated seeing it every time I had to bathe. I breathe in my nose and out my mouth, trying my best not to full on cry in front of Mr. Turner. No need to keep adding to the list of reasons as to why I can’t look anyone in the eye here.
“Thank you so much, I don’t even know what to say. I don’t think there’s enough word options in the English language to express just how thankful I am for this.”
“No need to say anythin more, Ellie. We’re glad to have ya here. In a couple of days, once ya get settled, I’ll take you and yer Ma into town, and you can go and pick out all yer personals for the bathroom. Lady things and whatnot,” he chuckles. “The Drakes want you two to be as cozy here as possible.
