Page 78 of The Vacancy In Room 10

“I have somewhere I need to be. I made a promise to someone. Sorry,” I say, and I take my heels off and rush out of this house. I literally sprint out of this life I know I’ll never see again, and I thought I’d feel the heavy weight of loss and mourn the life I thought I wanted, but that’s not how I feel. I feel free.

I drive back to The Sycamores thinking about Frank and how I made a promise to him I forgot to keep, so I park in the back of the office, change into a hoodie and jeans, and come out to the pool deck with all the supplies.

Rosa sees me and throws an arm around my shoulder, pulling me into her for just a moment before running after one of the kids, who’s taken off with an open can of Budweiser from a table. I sit next to Mary on a lawn chair and pull up a cooler, setting my things on top, when Frank comes over.

“You’re back.”

“Of course I’m back. I live here,” I say.

“What are you doing?” he says, looking at my basil and olive oil and bowls.

“I’m making pesto. I don’t know what you’re doing,” I say, and he beams. I pull up a chair and tap it. He sits down, and I begin showing him how to chop garlic.

Rough around the edges. That’s what Reid said I was. And I guess he’s right. I guess that’s why I fit right in. I don’t know how the stars aligned this way, but this is what I was given.

Crystal hands me a beer that she opened with her teeth and sits down in her daughter’s Rainbow Brite chair, which she doesn’t even remotely fit into. Rosa winks at me as she holds a bucket between her knees and peels the veins from a bowl of green beans, Jackie sings “End of the Road” along with the music, in an emotional rendition with impressive interpretive dance, after a few too many wine coolers.

I think about what I’ll do and if the Egg Platter would give me another shot, but now that I’m locally famous, at least for a few more weeks until the next headline commandeers everyone’s attention, maybe I can do better than that. Maybe I could really do something on my own.

I give Sinatra an approving nod as he pulls basil leaves from the herb plant he’s helped care for. He beams and carefully mixes the ingredients the way I showed him. The kid needs me. How could I go anywhere?

The sounds of evening at The Sycamores that I’ve grown used to hum all around me—kids laughing, a dog barking in the distance, meat loaf wafting from someone’s open kitchen window, a motorcycle revving down the boulevard, and Barry showing Tiffany and Amber how to samurai sword fight with pool noodles.

And I smile because I found my family. Because I’m home.