Journey's Child

5

Drakes Harbor 2003

The town had only one exit off Hwy 1. That should have been our first clue, but desperation didn't set in until we got to Main Street.

"This can't be the town," my mother mumbled as she steered our car down a two lane road sprinkled with potholes. The buildings on either side were old and made of wood. The discolored paint that still clung to them was off white or ivory. The sidewalks were uneven and the curbs were built up at least eight inches high from the road. The windows in the stores were old fashioned, with small wood frames and foggy glass that at one time was clear. There was a market on the corner in a large two story building. It looked like it should have been a hardware store in an old farm community. There were several art galleries and an emporium that served as all the stores in a strip mall combined.

My shoulders slumped and my spirits fell. I wondered what I would do all summer in this Godforsaken dump.

"Well, this isn't so bad," my mother insisted. "We'll just have to make the best of it." She gave me a halfhearted smile. "It will be an adventure."

Looking over at her, I raised my eyebrows. I'd have to give my mom credit - she wasn't about to be put off.

We followed the road as it led past the two block town and turned to the right. In a short time, we were staring at the beach. A sandy road, more like a path, led us in front of a row of small cottages. This group was as sad, if not sadder than the town itself.

The cottages were all alike, with pointed roofs and aqua blue doors. The outside walls were the same drab off-white as the town. Each cottage had one small picture window facing the beach and the ocean beyond. Ours had yellow curtains. I thought my mouth must have been hanging open because my mother looked at me with a cross expression and cleared her throat. "At least wait until we see the inside before you judge too harshly, Gilly."

I thought that inviting my opinion at any point, was asking for trouble, but it got me inside.

"Well, we don't need a lot of space," my mother began in a quivery voice.

Picking up on her mood and not wanting to see her start to cry, as I had witnessed far too much of that lately, I lied. "It's not that bad. The kitchen has a table at least."

That didn't quite do the trick. My mom sat down on the threadbare maroon couch and started to cry. "It sounded so much nicer in the brochure," she said as she dabbed at her eyes. "Well, it is atmospheric," she said hopefully.

"And it does have a beachfront view," I added, starting to laugh.

To my surprise, my mom laughed too and that lightened the mood. It was almost like old times - for a minute.

There were two small bedrooms; one was blue and the other was that everywhere drab off-white. I took the blue one. Both bedrooms were barely furnished. Each had a double sized mattress on a wrought iron frame. When I sat on mine it squeaked. I was pretty sure my mothers would do the same. There was one bathroom. It stood across from my bedroom and next to my mom's. I thought it was pretty disgusting and old. The tile on the floor and walls was pale yellow with a thin turquoise trim. The tub had a permanent dirt ring around it and the shower head was rusty. The toilet was indescribable.

"We'll unpack later Gilly. Right now we're going to the store," my mother said in a determined voice that immediately told me we were staying. "Thank heavens I brought our own bedding," she muttered, not even bothering to lock the cottage door.

The market wasn't too bad. It was clean and had a big selection of items. It seemed even larger on the inside. The linoleum floor had squares in black and grayish white. The aisles were wide and the shelves were taller than I had ever seen in any grocery store before. My mother was all business, grabbing cleaning solutions, disinfectants, and air fresheners as well as some staples and meat, fresh fruits and vegetables, bottled water and four bottles of wine. She put several pots and pans in the basket as well. "I should have taken the time to go over the kitchen," she scolded herself. "Well, this will do for now.

At the checkout, she threw some candy bars on the counter and asked for a carton of Marlboro cigarettes. My mom never smoked before the accident, but she started when everyone left after the funeral.

She looked over at me with sad eyes and said, "If your father were here, he'd be so unhappy to see that I started smoking again."

Well maybe she did smoke before, but I never saw her.

Back at the cottage we unpacked our supplies and discovered that the kitchen was pretty well stocked with dishes and a dish rack, no dishwasher. I had to pull the handle down to open the heavy door of the small, ancient refrigerator. It had a bottle opener built in the front, making it seem to be a luxury model from the olden days. The chipped yellow Formica table had three padded vinyl chairs in an ugly red color. The cupboards, probably cheery once with bight yellow paint, were now marked up and peeling. Other than that, we were in paradise.