We drove all around Goblin today. Up Northsouth and back down Christmas. We talked to a man who worked at a Northwoods gift shop, we talked to a psychic on N eptune Street. We saw what looked like a bright- green forest and Mommy said I’d actually been to this place when I was younger. It used to be a “tourist trap” called the Hedges and Mommy said I didn’t remember it because I was a baby then and they carried me in a harness through the maze. Grandma said we needed to stop in every “headshop” and “lounge” we could, to ask who might know about these types of things. But in the end, nobody knew any more than we do. That’s how Daddo said it. Then Mommy and Daddo got angry at each other and Grandma sat on one of the green city benches a few times, once in a place called Perish Park. Once in a cemetery, too, where they bury the people standing up. I like Goblin. A lot. I asked if we could move here but Mommy and Daddo didn’t hear me and every time I looked at Grandma she still had a hurried look in her eyes. I played video games in an arcade called Goblin Games while Mommy and Daddo talked in a booth. I didn’t wanna hear them argue. I didn’t want to see Grandma ask another person if there was any “renowned occultists” in the city. I wanted to forget all about why we were there. I wanted to shove Other Mommy in a closet and lock the door and never think of her again. My family was falling apart. One minute Daddo was being funny and the next he’d gone quiet and upset. Mommy was “edgy” the whole time. She k ept saying “night is coming sooner than we think, we need to do something.” Daddo said that’s what he was saying, we needed a plan, and why was Mommy acting like he didn’t understand that? Grandma just seemed tired and impatient. Night did come sooner than we thought, and the four of us stood outside a closed bakery in the dark. It rained a little all day, but just then it got bad. Grandma said “the sky opened up” and I think she was right. I thought of closet doors parting when she said it. Daddo sat on a green bench in the rain and Mommy stood under the bakery awning and none of us knew what to do. It’s a bad feeling. I’m not used to my vote counting as much as theirs. I’m not used to them all being what Grandma called “desperate.” Either way, it turned out she was the one who found us a place to stay. She has a friend who lives “out at the edge” of Goblin. Her name is Evelyn, and Grandma called her and Evelyn said we could come over. After she hung up, Grandma told all of us to ke ep quiet about what was happening. She said she didn’t know how Evelyn would act if she heard the truth. Then Grandma put her hand on my shoulder and said, We’re living a storm of a story, Bela. We’re at Evelyn’s house now. We just entered. We’re all wet and we’re standing in what Grandma said is the foyer. It’s late and the house is really big and there are three floors and even a room just for reading. Evelyn has pictures of her family on the walls and on tables, too, but she says none of them live nearby anymore. She said it’s too rainy here for some people and Daddo said he liked the rain and I think Evelyn liked it when he said that. I made up three rooms after Ruth called, Evelyn says. I can show you them now if you like. I’m not saying you should call it a night yet. Feel free to stay up as late as you normally do. When people come into my home, I prefer they play house. I know Grandma doesn’t wanna tell Evelyn we wanna share one room, because then she might ask why. This is all above and beyond, Grandma says. I cannot tell you how much this means to us.
Is there trouble? Evelyn asks. No, Grandma says. Just weary travelers. The city can do that. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so pale, Evelyn says. You know how it can be with kids, Daddo says. Then he pretend smiles. But Evelyn really laughs. I do know, she says. And you’re right; children have a tendency to make it so we never look our best. Come on, let me show you your rooms. Evelyn and Grandma leave the foyer and Mommy says to Daddo, We’ll just thank her and sle ep in the same room. Right. We don’t need to tell her what we plan to do. Right. The house is really big. Bigger than Grandma said it would be. We follow her out of the foyer and into a big open space with wood walls and paintings, and there are two staircases on either side of the big room. Both sets of stairs look as wide as my bedroom. Second floor, Evelyn says. My January and July used to sle ep on this floor. There was always noise and action and running around. It used to drive me crazy but I miss it now. There are so many rooms. And each looks like a different world. Evelyn shows us one with all sorts of white blankets and chairs. January’s room, she says. A bit smaller but also gets the best sun. That is, when it’s not raining. Which is hardly ever. I see the bed is made up nice. There’s a little table next to the bed and a fan above it. The closet door is closed. You can pick whatever rooms you like, Evelyn says, but I imagine this one is good for the child. She smiles at me. Come on, she says. We follow her to the next room over. Much bigger, Evelyn says. But also a little stuffy. July never seemed to mind. He never complained about anything until he grew up and then it was all he did. There’s a big brown dresser that Evelyn calls a “wardrobe.” The walls are blue and there’s a nice old blue rug to match. The closet door is closed. This might be nice for a couple, Evelyn says. We follow her to a third room that’s all yellow and green and it’s got two small beds.
Ruth? Evelyn says. I saw you sle eping in this room. It’s always been a guest bedroom. Once was, it was never empty. Friends of January and July, friends of my own and yours too. The great Wayne Sherman once sl ept in this room after a gathering downstairs to celebrate the city’s birthday. But even he’s dead now. Thank you, Grandma says. As I’ve said before, nicer than any hotel in town. Speaking of service, Evelyn says, would you four like something to eat? Yes, Mommy and Daddo say at the same time. They all laugh. Because it’s funny. And I see Mommy and Daddo look at each other like maybe they like each other again. Did Other Mommy make that happen? We all follow Evelyn back downstairs and I look back to the bedrooms and I wonder which one we’ll use. I can still see into the yellow room and I see the closet door is a little bit open. Bela, Mommy says, watch your st ep. She takes my hand and helps make sure I don’t fall down the big st eps. It’s the biggest house I’ve ever been in. For as much as I’d like to present a fancy dinner, Evelyn says, all I have tonight is frozen pizza. My God, Daddo says. That sounds perfect. Evelyn likes this. A man of high taste, she says. I’m practically refined, Daddo says. I think I prefer “practically,” Evelyn says. It’s the distance between instinct and manners where the fun lies. Come. We follow her past many rooms on our way to the kitchen and I say, It’s so big in here! A place like this needs people, Evelyn says. You are doing this house a favor. We pass something she calls a “butler’s pantry,” but Daddo says it’s a bar. There are a lot of bottles and glasses and a shiny metal ice bucket. I see us all reflected in the ice bucket and Evelyn says, You’re not in the car anymore. You don’t have to all stand together in one space. You can spread out a little here. But we don’t spread out a little here. The road, Grandma says, can make a tribe out of anyone. You live less than an hour away, Evelyn says. She eyes us for a second and then Grandma says, Show us that pizza, eh? Evelyn smiles. I can hardly wait. We follow her past the butler’s pantry and then past a bathroom and then down a hall with more family photos and then— Holy cow, I say. This is the biggest kitchen in the world! Evelyn goes to the biggest refrigerator I’ve ever seen and pulls open the freezer and takes out two boxes. Grandma goes to help.
Please, Evelyn says. Let me host. It’s been a minute. But Grandma ke eps helping anyway. Evelyn turns the oven on, then looks to Mommy and Daddo and says, Who wants a drink? I’d love one, Mommy says. Me too, Daddo says. And you? Evelyn asks me. Grape juice? Sure, I say. Thank you. She starts to get me that, but Grandma’s already doing it. Grandma even knows where the glasses are. She pours me some juice and hands it to me and she smiles and it’s the first smile I’ve seen on her face since long before we hurried out of the house where the man died. Follow me back to the pantry, Evelyn says to Mommy and Daddo. Mommy takes my hand on the way. Bourbon? Evelyn asks Daddo. Sounds incredible, he says. I’ll have the same, Mommy says. Thank you. You both like bourbon, Evelyn says. That’s a good thing. The couple that drinks together... usually splits up. But the couple that drinks the same drink, usually does not. Evelyn fills four glasses with ice from the bucket. I know what Ruth’s having, she said. And I’ll have the same. She makes four drinks and gives Mommy and Daddo theirs. They both drink. O, wow, Mommy says. The first sip, Evelyn says, is always the sweetest. Daddo lifts his glass, and he and Mommy look into each other’s eyes the way they do when they forget I’m in the room, and then Mommy raises her glass too and they touch their glasses together. Grandma comes up the hall. Pizzas are in the oven, she says. For you, Evelyn says. She hands Grandma her drink. And now follow me, everyone, she says. That oven takes forever no matter what the timer says. We follow her past the kitchen and then we’re in a big room with huge windows and a high ceiling and two brown couches and a record player and plants and— I’ve always loved this room, Grandma says. Evelyn turns on the record player. The Hollies, Evelyn says. Cheers, all. Now, tell me about your adventures. But Mommy and Daddo and Grandma don’t talk right away.
I played video games, I say. O, nice, Evelyn says. I haven’t been downtown in a couple weeks now. Did you win your games? Win? I ask. Mommy laughs, and it’s the first time I’ve heard her laugh in a while. Rain strikes the big windows. The house creaks. We drove all over the city, Daddo says. We saw the Hedges are overgrown now. Someone needs to buy that place, Evelyn says. Start it over again. Were you looking for anything in particular? Particular? Daddo asks. You said you drove all over the city... She looks to Grandma like she knows. Grandma looks back like she knows she knows. Let’s us go check the oven, Evelyn says. Fine, Grandma says. Visit the pantry as often as you like, Evelyn tells Mommy and Daddo. Now it’s just Mommy, Daddo, and me. Mommy looks through the other records. You like this house? Daddo asks me. Yeah. Want a house like this? I don’t know what we’d do with it. Well, let me know once you do. Mommy laughs at that. Daddo winks. Come here, Daddo says to Mommy. They stare at each other for a second. Then Mommy goes to him and they hold each other and sip their drinks. I look to the high ceiling. You could fit two families in this house, I say. Mommy and Daddo smile again. They say you could fit ten and they drink more of their drinks and then Daddo calls out to Evelyn if it’s okay to make more of them and she calls back that she already told him to drink her “out of house and home.” One day you’ll like this stuff, Daddo says to me. Because it makes big scary houses less scary. Russ, Mommy says. She watches him go to the butler’s pantry. Come here a sec, Bela. It’s just the two of us now. She’s leaning against the back of one of the couches and so I do that too.
We’ll sle ep in the room with the two beds, she says. You and Daddo in one, me and Grandma in the other. Okay. And if you have to go to the bathroom, or go anywhere at all, you get me. Okay. I love you, Bela, she says. And I’m sorry I’ve been so far away lately. You’re right here, I say. Right now, yes, she says. And I really am sorry. I look up to her face and see tears in her eyes. Daddo comes back with two drinks. You hear that? he asks. Mommy stands up straight really fast. What did you hear? I heard a party going on in my hands. Russ... But she’s not mad. Daddo carries the drinks to her and I’m happy they’re happy. Rain strikes the huge windows. Above us, the house creaks. When I think back to when I was your age, Bela, Daddo says, it’s all wood-panel walls and weird plants and yellows and browns and my parents entering and exiting rooms. I was a little person amongst thousands of legs. I remember a lot of legs. Yes. Mommy laughs. Legs and pants. Right? Daddo says. A forest of pants. How did we even know who our real parents were? They sit next to each other on the couch. They look more like Mommy and Daddo than they have in a long time. Daddo kisses her neck. Mommy pretends she didn’t like it. Vacations were a nightmare, Daddo says. Grocery stores too. I’d be walking with Mom and Dad, up and down the aisles, and I’d be talking to them, telling them what I wanted to eat, what I wanted to do when we got home, and I’d reach up and hold their hands and some other woman would be looking down at me, out-of-her-mind confused. I look out the entrance to the huge room, down the hall where the butler’s pantry is. Someone is standing at the far end of the hall. Dad got mad about it one time, Daddo says. Because back in those days there was all this stuff in the news about kidnappings and just... crazy stuff. Doesn’t it seem like that kind of thing isn’t as around as it used to be? I don’t know. Anyway, Dad got mad and actually slapped me once and told me not to talk to strangers. But the point is... The point, Russ, Mommy says. The point, Daddo says, is that when I think back on those days... It’s a woman. I think. The lights are dim. She’s walking up the hall. Toward me.
... it’s all a hazy mystery to me, Daddo says. It’s not like a film, but there is a film over it. Like the fog in a gothic painting. Purples and blues... I can’t see her face. ... and it’s hard to know my exact location in it all. Know what I mean? Do I make sense? Definitely, Mommy says. Childhood was an actual nightmare. They’re leaning back into the couch. Talking over the music. The rain is hitting the windows hard. The woman is halfway up the hall. Know what I think? Daddo asks. I almost say something, I almost yell about the woman in the hall. But Evelyn st eps into the light. It was just Evelyn. O my, she says. Is it ever nice to hear voices. Daddo raises his drink to her. The pizza is about ready, she says. She eyes me like she knows I’m haunted. The song on the radio ends and we all stand there for a second before Evelyn says, Come on. Unless you don’t want to eat anymore. If you’re anything like me, you worry the food will eat back. Eat right into that buzz you’re getting. I’ll chance it, Daddo says. Food’s up! Grandma calls from the kitchen. She sounds so far away. In this big house. Order up! We all go to the kitchen and Mommy takes my hand and I’m afraid to look up. Afraid to see some other woman’s face looking back down at me. Too bad the drinking age is twenty-one, Mommy says. It’s doing wonders for me right now. It smells funny, I say. Yeah? she says, smiling. Well, it used to smell funny to me too. Then I found out one day that’s because there’s fun in it. Grandma has the pizzas on the kitchen table. Time to eat, she says. Because no matter what’s going on in your head, your heart, your life, it’s always wise to remember to eat. Mommy and Daddo sit down at the big table. Then Evelyn eyes Grandma when she says,
Yes. No matter what. And if I fix enough of these drinks, maybe we can forgo wisdom altogether. I’ve been alone here so long I’ve forgotten what living dangerously is like.