They parked on the street and got out of the car, none of them saying a word, and he looked up at what used to be the window of his bedroom, recalling how he and Robbie had stood there and spied on the passersby. He wondered what had happened to Robbie and whether his friend still lived in town.
His gaze moved to the right, to the garage. What had happened to the salvaged items they’d left in the loft when they’d moved, those furnishings and knickknacks he and Robbie had scavenged for their headquarters? Probably the people who’d bought the house from them had thrown everything away, thinking it junk.
It was junk, James supposed.
To everyone except two twelve-year-old boys planning to start a detective agency.
He was filled with an almost overpowering sadness as he thought about the time his dad had helped them bring the broken exercise bike up the wooden ladder through the trapdoor.
He looked around. Memories of his dad were all over the house and yard. He’d known that already, of course. It was one of the reasons they were here. But he hadn’t expected it to feel so immediate or so emotional.
He remembered the time Megan had told him that his dad was ashamed of him because he didn’t like sports. In his mind, he could hear his dad’s voice, telling him, “You are who you are. And whatever you like or don’t like is fine with me. Everyone’s different.” It had been the perfect thing to say, and he recalled how his father had smiled and said, “If I didn’t know by now that you hate PE and like playing video games, I’d be a real moron.”
He had not thought about his dad’s voice in years, was not sure he would have been able to call it to mind before this moment, but now it was as clear to him as if he’d heard it yesterday. In his mind, he could see every detail of that scene: the way his dad had been sitting at his desk, the clothes he’d been wearing, the light in the room, the smell of the house. He was transported back all those years, and the feeling was at once wonderful and awful.
“You’re my son,” his dad had said. “I love you no matter what.”
James wiped the tears from his eyes.
His mom grabbed one hand, Megan the other, and, grateful, he squeezed both.
“Should we go up to the door?” Megan asked. “Tell them we used to live here and see if they’ll let us look around?”
“No,” their mom said, “this is fine,” and her voice was calmer than James would have expected, as calm as he had ever heard it. Content, he thought, and that was not a description that usually applied to his mother. Coming back here, seeing the house, had done something for her, and he was glad that they had made the trip.
“We’d better get going,” his mom said a few moments later, after they’d had time to take it all in. “Your grandma’s waiting for us.”
“Okay,” Megan said.
They got back into the car. James was the last one in, and he looked out the window at their old home as his mom started down Rainey, watching it recede until they turned onto another street. He knew that, in the years to come, he would return to this place, where so much had happened.
And he would think about the time when he was a boy.
And remember his dad.
