I sat at the table and finished my coffee. With a couple of packets of sugar added to it, it was OK. Besides, I'd paid for it, so I was going to drink it. When the cup was empty, I stayed where I was, looking out the window. The door opened and a couple of older women came in. They placed their orders and then glanced over at me. They wanted the window table. I stood up, pushed in the chair, tossed my cup into the trash, and headed for the door. "Come again," the guy behind the counter called out as I left.
Usually I walk down to the sailboat along Sixty-fifth Street, but that day I went three blocks south to Sixty-second. Just past the community center is the little house where I used to live.
It had been a long time since I'd walked by that house. All over Seattle, new owners have rebuilt older homes, making them so big it's hard to recognize the original house. But other than the bushes being a little taller and a fresh coat of yellow paint, my old house looked the same as it had on the day I'd left it.
I stopped across the street from it and raised my eyes to the second story. Behind a tall, thin window was my bedroom—or what had been my bedroom. It was small, with steeply pitched walls. I had a dartboard on the door and a Star Wars poster tacked to the wall. Hidden beneath that poster was a hole in the wallboard about the size of an orange. My dad always said he was going to fix it, but he never did. I wondered if the new owners had done anything about it. For some reason, I hoped they hadn't.
It didn't seem as if anyone was home, so I crossed the street, walked down the driveway, and peered over the chain-link fence into the back yard. The yard looked the same, too, though it was smaller than I'd remembered. The laurel bushes where I'd built my forts were still there. So were the plum tree and the patch of grass where on hot days I'd run through the sprinkler.
It was on that patch of grass that my mom had told me. I didn't understand what she was saying at first. "I'm dying here," she said, and I thought she was sick with cancer or something like that. I guess my fear showed in my face, because she pulled me close to her then, held my head against her chest. "Not my body, Chance. My heart. My soul. I'm dying. I've got to start my life over. Away from your father. You understand why, don't you?"
I shook my head no, but I did understand. I'd heard them arguing at night. I knew my dad drank way too much and worked way too little. "You won't leave me too, will you?" I said.
"No, Chance. I won't ever leave you. I promise."
I was still staring into the yard when the front door of the house opened and a little red-haired girl about nine years old stepped out, her mother right behind her. The little girl's eyes caught mine, and she immediately smiled, but her mother didn't.
"I used to live here," I said quickly. "I was just curious about the house and the yard."
The woman reached out and grabbed her daughter's hand. I backed away from the yard, then turned and walked quickly down the street. I didn't have to turn back to know the woman's eyes were on me.