Clarity

“This can’t be right,” Liam said in disbelief. “Helen, I think you gave me the wrong address.”

  “No. This should be the right house,” I tell him with embarrassment.

  “Jesus. This is where you grew up?”

  “Yes,” I say shamefully. People often have this sort of reaction upon viewing my childhood home. I hear the men staring at the house in silence. Groaning, I unbuckle my seatbelt and fiddle with the handle of my backpack. I know that I should leave them and go inside, but I’m a bit apprehensive about the reunion with Carmen and my father.

  “How many rooms are in that thing?” Owen asked with a gulp.

  “I don’t know,” I say with a shrug. “Fifteen?”

  “Fifteen,” Liam repeats. “Fifteen!”

  “Something like that,” I mumble.

  “Why the hell were you living in a tiny cabin out in the middle of nowhere when you come from money like this?” Owen asks.

  “Money isn’t everything,” I respond glumly.

  “She’s crazy,” Owen tells Liam, “batshit crazy! But it’s okay to date a crazy chick if she’s rich and pretty.”

  “It’s just a fake date for the wedding, man,” Liam said in protest. “Stop taking it so seriously.”

  “But now you have to make it serious,” Owen told his friend earnestly. “You need to seduce her, so you can move into this house and I can come visit you. We could shoot pool. I bet there’s a billiards table in there!”

  “I’m not going to seduce Helen just so that we can play billiards in her fancy house,” Liam tells his friend sternly. Then he hesitates. “But I might do it for the tennis court and indoor swimming pool...”

  “Indeed,” says Owen. “Think of all the fun we could have! Maybe you could just quit your job and mooch off her.”

  “There are a few television shows I wish I had time to watch,” Liam says thoughtfully.

  “Guys,” I say with mock annoyance. “I’m right here.”

  “Sorry. Forgot all about you, little lady!” Owen said exuberantly. “I’m too distracted by this big, shiny mansion. Look at those skylights! And the balconies!”

  “Even the trees! Even the shrubbery!” Liam declares. “Owen, have you ever seen such perfect, nicely shaped bushes?”

  “Yes. Haven’t I been talking about porn for hours? I thought I mentioned those!”

  I chuckle to myself softly. “Okay, boys. Calm down. It’s just a house. You know, those things people live in? It’s not really that special.”

  “Just a house! Just a house!” Owen repeats. “Are you blind? Oh—wait. Sorry, it’s just a phrase. I meant, like—metaphorically blind.”

  I make a face at his lackluster attempt at humor. “Thanks.” I fiddle with my backpack some more, trying to think of something to say to stall leaving the car. “I just...”

  “What’s wrong, Helen?” Liam asks.

  Blinking, I shake my head. “I have a bad feeling,” I murmur, feeling stupid as the words leave my mouth.

  “Of course you feel bad,” Owen responds. “You feel bad that you’re a loaded super-millionaire while your new friends are just poor, struggling doctors who can’t even afford a one-bedroom apartment because of their astronomical student loans. You feel bad and want to share the wealth, don’t you?”

  Liam clears his throat. “Maybe if you had focused a little more in school, you could have gotten some scholar...”

  “No!” Owen shouts, plugging his ears. “How dare you speak that word in my presence?”

  “What word?” Liam asks with a chuckle. He raises his voice purposefully. “Scholarships?”

  Owen lets out a mournful wail. “Nooo! Shut up, Liam. No one wants to hear about you and your stinking scholarships.”

  Liam turns to me with a chuckle. “I believe someone watched too much porn when he should have been studying.”

  “If they’re playing doctor, it counts as studying,” Owen said defensively.

  My cheeks are hurting from smiling. These two men have kept me entertained with their outrageous banter almost consistently since we left my cabin. I haven’t smiled this much in as long as I can remember. But I know that once I step through the front door of my old house, my smile will disappear. I remember how the atmosphere hung heavy with death and despair, so thick that I could barely breathe. It was my father’s grief; he carried it around with him in a dark cloud that poisoned everything. Maybe things will be different now? Maybe now that Carmen is getting married, we can finally be positive and look to the future?

  “Are you going to go home, Helen?” Liam asks me. “Didn’t your sister need you?”

  I fold my hands together in my lap and press them together tightly. “They’re going to be angry with me for leaving,” I mumble.

  “Do you want to drive around for a few more minutes and gather the courage to go inside?”

  “No, I should be strong and stop delaying this,” I say with resolve. I am tempted by Liam’s offer. I would love nothing more than to spend just a little more time relaxing with the guys and making ridiculous jokes. I have only just met them, but they feel like old friends. However, I did manipulate the poor boys into driving me all this way. I can’t back out now. “It can’t be that bad,” I say, trying to reassure myself. “I’m sure things are different than when I left.”

  “Give me your phone,” Liam requests.

  I reach down beside me to Owen’s leather seats, and feel around for a moment before grasping my cell. I extend the small device toward Liam. He takes it from my hand, and immediately begins pressing buttons.

  “I’m putting my number in here so you can tell me the details of the wedding,” he explains. “You can call or text to let me know when and where I should meet you later today.”

  “Thank you,” I tell him quietly, accepting the return of my phone.

  “You can also let him know if your house happens to be infested with giant mutant cockroaches,” Owen says with a chuckle, “and he can come to your rescue. Seriously, Helen. From the look on your face, you’d think you were heading into an alien war-zone.”

  “That’s exactly the way I feel,” I say with a grimace. I sling my backpack over my shoulder and run my hands over the car door, looking for the handle. “Thanks for driving me, guys. It was really nice of you.”

  “Well, we made a bargain that helps our careers!” Liam says in a positive tone. “It’s a win-win situation.”

  Finally managing to unlatch the car door, I place one foot outside on the ground. “It was great meeting you, Owen. Thanks for educating me on the wonders of porn.”

  “Once we get your vision working, I’ll have to make popcorn and schedule a movie night,” Owen says gravely. “It will blow your mind.”

  “I can’t wait,” I say, half-sarcastically and half-enthusiastically. Yes—being able to see anything at all would be a blessing; even porn. The popcorn doesn’t sound terrible either, I realize, as my stomach growls eagerly at the idea. My mouth begins to water in yearning for the fluffy, buttery kernels. It is my appetite that finally motivates me to step out of the car; even if there is nothing pleasant or welcoming in that house, at the very least, there will be a delicious meal waiting for me. Not protein shakes, granola bars, popsicles, or potato chips. Real food.

  A smile finally comes to my lips. “Well, I guess it’s time to go in there and face the music! Will you pop the trunk, Liam?”

  “Sure. Let me come out and help you,” he says.

  “No, no. I’ll be fine,” I assure him as I walk around to the back of the car. I place my hand on the trunk of the car to lift the lid, but I feel another hand rest lightly on top of mine. I am momentarily startled, but I do not pull away this time. I have grown more comfortable around Liam in the past few hours of chatting.

  “Allow me,” he says gently, as he removes my hand from the car. “I insist.”

  A feeling of warmth flushes my neck as I feel his thumb brush against the palm of my hand. His touch is gone as soon as it
came, and I hear him lifting the heavy suitcase onto the ground. The sound of the metal sliding against metal is heard as he extends the handle, followed by a loud click.

  “I’ll walk you to the door,” he says.

  Reaching out, I firmly take the suitcase from his hands. “You’ve been a real gentleman, Liam, but I can take it from here. If my sister sees you, she’s going to attack you with all sorts of questions. You should probably go home and get some rest.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t mind a few questions...”

  “Liam, there’s something worse than mutant cockroaches in that house,” I warn him ominously. “There’s a fearsome creature that no man can ever hope to vanquish: the neurotic Bridezilla.”

  He laughs lightly. “Do you think you can survive her reign of terror?”

  “Sure,” I say softly. “It’s only one day. I owe her this much, at least—especially after abandoning her for so long...”

  “Don’t feel guilty for that,” he assures me. “It sounds to me like you needed to get away for your sanity and your career. Sometimes, the best thing you can do for another person is to leave. You need to take care of yourself before you can hope to take care of anyone else—you have to shake off all the negativity that’s smothering you so that you don’t drag others down.”

  “But I don’t know if I’m at that place yet,” I confess. “This is so sudden. I was uprooted from my home before I really got a chance to decide that I was ready. I don’t know if I can handle this—being in the city again. The air smells different, and it’s so loud—even all the way out here in the suburbs.”

  “Just take it slow,” he says. “Take it one day at a time. If you hate it here, you can always go back. I’ll drive you myself, if you need a ride.”

  “Everything’s a mess,” I mumble. “I don’t know where to begin. How do I repair the relationships I ruined?”

  “Just try,” he tells me. “All you can really do is try.”

  Although his words are simple, I feel a little bolder. I realize that I am having trouble ripping myself away from him. Kicking the bottom of my suitcase while tugging the handle toward me, I set the heavy luggage at an angle that is easier to roll along the cobblestoned path to my front door. “Thanks,” I call over my shoulder, as I begin to walk away. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Good luck!” he shouts after me.

  “Liam’s really easy when he’s drunk!” Owen yells from the car. “Just wear something nice, and make sure he has a few drinks later—you’ll definitely get lucky.”

  I make a face and shake my head as I march along the path to my front door. The wheels of my suitcase rattle and jangle against the cobblestones with a rhythmic drumbeat. It makes the perfect soundtrack for my impending doom. I hear the sound of rushing water to my left, and I am surprised that the fountain in our front yard is running in the winter. It must be because we have family from out of town staying at the house for the wedding. This thought makes me even more anxious. I have never fared well in large crowds.

  When I feel the ground become smoother beneath my feet, and my suitcase becomes quieter, I know that I am walking on the concrete closer to the stairs. I slow down my walking a little, and slide my feet along the ground tentatively until my toes collide with the stairs. It occurs to me that I haven’t heard Liam and Owen drive away, so I try to be as graceful as possible when I reach down to lift my suitcase, and drag it up the stairs. I count the five steps up to our porch, and place my suitcase down on the flat ground. I suppose the men are waiting to see me enter the house before leaving, and I turn to send a wave in the direction from which I came. If they aren’t waiting, or even paying attention, this might look silly—waving at nothing like a fool. However, I would rather risk looking like an idiot than seeming impolite or ungrateful in this moment.

  I hear an engine start, and the sound of the car pulling away. I breathe a sigh of relief. It looks like I was waving closely enough in the right direction, and they were actually still waiting for me. It’s so hard to follow social protocol when you have no idea what’s going on around you. So many assumptions need to be made.

  Turning back to the front door, I move forward with a hand outstretched. Beneath my boots, I can feel the fabric of the large welcome mat. When my fingers collide with the stylish beveled glass panel set within the door, I feel the contours in the design for a moment. Compared to my tiny cabin, this house really was filled with a gorgeous tactile landscape. My mother made a point of making sure that the décor was not only aesthetically pleasing to the eyes of our sighted family members, but also pleasing to my senses. I am surprised when the door shifts under my hand; I am able to push it open without much effort.

  Without any warning, a divine scent assails my nostrils. Releasing my suitcase, I walk into the foyer in wonder. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, turning my body around slowly in a 360 degree spin.

  Flowers.

  I can imagine the softness of the petals and the glorious colors, in tender pastels or vibrant, rich reds. I have no idea what these words mean, but if the flowers look anything close to the way they smell, they must be unbelievably enchanting. I breathe in again, sifting through all the different aromas in the room; I feel like I am pulling apart a piece of fabric and examining each thread. I can just make out the delicate, intoxicating fragrance of jasmine, along with the spicy sweetness of gardenia. Finally, an unmistakable musky aroma; the dizzying and deeply refreshing aroma of roses.

  The perfumed air invades my sinuses and lungs, filling me with memories. I recall springtime picnics in the grass, and my mother holding my hand as we walk barefoot through a gurgling brook. I remember my sister laughing and dumping dozens of fresh, velvety blossoms into my arms. I remember pressing my face into the cool softness of the petals, and feeling happy to be alive.

  When I was younger, I would rub my fingers over the dresses in my closet, trying to feel the difference in their color. I hoped that there was some kind of special energy in each color that I could grow to sense, if I tried hard enough. But flowers are different—they are alive! They are exuberant to the touch, and they sing loudly to boast of their beauty; you can’t not see the flowers in your mind when you smell them.

  I hungrily inhale the fragrant air, trying to drink in the memories and squeeze every last drop of beauty out of this aroma. It’s completely overpowering, and I stand there in the middle of the foyer, looking around in a daze. Have I really stepped into my old house, or did that doorway lead into a different dimension? It has been years since I have encountered a remotely nice smell. I have been content with merely agreeable aromas. But to be immersed in such hypnotic and mesmerizing natural perfumes, all mingling together in the perfect combination for my palate! It’s almost unbearable. I almost want to cry at the loveliness of this moment.

  I wish I had invited Liam and Owen in to see—but at the same time, I’m glad I did not. The fragrance is so uplifting that it’s almost spiritual, and I would not want them to make fun of me; not in this moment. I wouldn’t want anything to taint my enjoyment of the lush blossoms. I am almost trembling with gratitude for this moment alone with the posies. I feel like it was designed as a special gift, just for me. I stand in meditative silence for a few seconds, just breathing. I savor every breath.

  When I am finally able to form coherent and practical thoughts, I realize that these must be decorations for the wedding. Carmen must have chosen to get married at home! This idea is both comforting and nerve-wracking. I am happy that the big event will take place in an environment that I know like the back of my hand; I won’t need to rely on anyone, for I could never forget the precise number of stairs in every staircase, or the angles of every twist and turn of every passageway.

  “Meredith?” says a man’s voice questioningly.

  I was so distracted by the flowers that I had not noticed the quiet footsteps of house slippers on hardwood. I turn toward the source of the sound, and I find myself facing the direction of
the library. My father’s favorite room. My father’s voice. I feel my chest swell with nostalgia and tenderness. I remember the diligent man who was always up at the crack of dawn, working dutifully in that library before any of us had even considered getting out of bed. I remember him reading the best articles in the newspaper to me each morning over breakfast—and sometimes the comics, to cheer me up when I was down. My heart leaps a little, in hope that this could be a normal, happy morning. Like the way things used to be. I have a delayed realization that he has called me by my mother’s name. I swallow before speaking, to make sure that the emotion is cleared from my voice.

  “No, Dad. It’s me.”

  “Helen?” he says softly. “Heavens, child. I could have sworn you were your mother’s ghost. You look just like she did on the day I met her.”

  I struggle to fight back tears. “Didn’t Carmen tell you I was coming?”

  “Yes. I haven’t been able to sleep since she mentioned it to me,” he admits. “But I have also been expecting your mother’s ghost to show up for the big day, so I hope you’ll forgive me for mixing up our party guests.”

  Even through my sadness, he is able to coax a smile from me. He seems better than when I left—still wistful and brokenhearted, but in higher spirits. “I missed you, Dad,” I whisper, and this time the emotion does cause my voice to break.

  “I missed you too, sweetheart.” His gentle gait is almost noiseless as he crosses the room toward me. He places two big, warm hands on each of my shoulders. “Let me look at you. My little Helen! You’re all grown up.”

  I nod, lowering my chin to look at the ground. “Dad, I’m sorry that I left...”

  “None of that,” he tells me kindly. “You were unhappy, and your happiness is the most important thing in the world to me. Now stop moping and let your old man give you a hug.”

  I don’t need to be offered twice. I dive forward, burying my face against his shoulder. His arms encircle me, and for the first time in years, I truly feel like I have a home. I smell his familiar fatherly cologne, mingling with the flowers all around us. I am filled with such a deep joy, that I am almost sure I must be daydreaming.

  “Are you going to stay with us, Helen?” he asks me in a quiet voice.

  A pang of sorrow strikes my heart, and I remember how miserable and melancholy he was when I left home. I suddenly realize that the man I am hugging does not feel anything like the man my father used to be. His frame is skeletal and gaunt. His arms and shoulders are no longer large and firm with muscle, but wiry with bone. His skin is paper-thin, stretched over his bones like saran wrap.

  I am stricken with the knowledge that I could lose him, just like I lost my mother. Carmen mentioned that he had suffered a heart attack. Has she been taking care of him? The big house suddenly feels very lonely. I realize that my father has no one. Even if Carmen hasn’t been neglecting him, now that she is getting married, Dad will be even less of a priority to her. He needs me.

  “I would like to stay,” I tell him softly. “That is—if you’re not too upset at me. If you want me to stay.”

  “Of course, I do!” he says, tightening the hug. “Who else is going to keep your sister from driving me mad?”

  I smile. A pair of timid footsteps distract me, and I pull away from him and look in their direction. “Carmen?” I say with anticipation, but I know that the footsteps sound nothing like my sister’s.

  “No, no,” my father says. “That’s our new housekeeper, Natalia. She’s here to help out with the wedding.”

  “Oh,” I say in disappointment, realizing that I am actually eager to see my sister. “Hello, Natalia.”

  “Good morning, Miss,” says the housekeeper.

  “This is Helen, my youngest daughter,” my father says, introducing me with a hand on my back. “She’s a writer. She is blind, but don’t let that fool you—she’s the smartest person in the family, and she will give you much less trouble than Carmen.”

  I hear the tone of pride in his voice, and I am pleasantly surprised. This homecoming has been a lot less painful than I expected.

  “Natalia, will you please take Helen’s suitcase up to her room and unpack for her?” my father requests. “I want to have breakfast with my daughter and catch up on the last few years.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Winters!” says the housekeeper. “It was nice meeting you, Helen.”

  I nod, following her footsteps with my eyes. I turn back to my father. “So, where’s Carmen?”

  My father laughs, a deep-throated rumble. “I don’t know what’s going on with that girl. She’s probably just hung over from drinking too much last night at her bachelorette party. I guess it’s just you and me, kiddo.”

  I frown at this news. When Carmen called at 5 AM, she did not sound drunk or hung over to me. But it would explain her crying and sharp mood swings. I shrug, and decide to question her later about the strange behavior.

  “I went to the bakery last night and got some delicious red velvet cupcakes for you,” my father says. “Will you join me for a completely unhealthy, sugary breakfast?”

  My mouth begins to water, and my legs begin moving toward the kitchen. “Heck, yes!” I am still wearing my winter coat and boots, but I don’t even care. I want those cupcakes.

  Chapter Nine