Thea Lewis is a native of Burlington . An author with Arcadia Publishing , she previously spent two decades as a writer / producer for Vermont ’ s CBS television affiliate , getting to know people from all corners of the Green Mountain State .
He stayed in L . A ., writing and doing session work . A few of his songs charted for other artists . His mother came to visit a few times , but he never went home until word came that she was ill .
He flew back to Vermont , where doctors spoke in measured tones of assisted living and hospice . Leaving the hospital that first night in a jacket too light for the season , he felt emotionally depleted but somehow comforted by the familiar , cold air that bit his cheeks .
His mother ’ s house went on the market . He needed a place to live . City rents were steep , so his leasing agent cast a wider net . One possibility , a Craftsman that had seen better days , was in his hometown , up the hill from the old farm . He balked , but it was a deal , so he signed the lease . He installed a basement studio , sending samples of his music to a few contacts . He scored a TV project , then another . Sporadic work , but it paid the bills . He saw John in town and avoided him .
What was there to say ?
One day , picking up bread and mouse traps at the general store , he met the owner , Alyssa . With her sparkling eyes and fishtail braid she was like something from a fairytale . Flirting over the hundred year old counter , he asked if she liked ice cream . “ Doesn ’ t everybody ?” she laughed . They met that night for creemees , and a few days later , for breakfast . He asked her to the movies . She suggested the drive in . She was light where he was heavy . She was sensible and kind . He realized he was in love . She moved in with him . A year later they bought the bungalow and got married in the yard .
She hadn ’ t grown up in town . When he told her about the farm , she was bemused . “ It was all so long ago . And they ’ re such good people .”
She loved the LaFlammes , who ran dances at the Grange Hall . Whenever they went , Graham avoided them like the plague . One recent night Alyssa laid into him when they got home .
“ All these years with you shunning them for no reason ! If you ’ ve got enough energy to keep dragging your cross around , there ’ s plenty of projects around here that could use your attention .”
“ Like the dishwasher ,” he thought now .
“ Damn , Clara . Why ’ d you have to trip over that dog ?”
He got dressed .
John seemed surprised and pleased when he answered Graham ’ s knock . “ Well , look at you !” he beckoned him in . “ Clara ’ d want to say hello , but I just checked on her . She ’ s asleep .”
“ Please don ’ t disturb her ,” Graham settled in at the kitchen table . “ We heard , Alyssa … and I . I wanted to offer you help with the animals .”
“ Kind of you . We could use it .” They fell into silence accentuated by the ticking clock over the sink . An old yellow Lab ambled in , melting the awkwardness .
“ Here ’ s the culprit ,” John exclaimed , “ Canine non grata .” Graham laughed , rubbing the dog ’ s ears .
“ Want lunch ?” John asked . “ There ’ s bean soup . I didn ’ t make it . VFW ladies did , so it ’ s edible .”
Graham chuckled . “ Sounds great .”
John ladled out steaming bowls and set one in front of him . Their spoons clinked .
“ You look like you mother .” John offered , “ She was a great lady .”
“ She was ,” Graham said , then observed , “ The place looks the same .”
John shrugged , “ We ’ ve done a few things , but we loved it like it was . Roy had ideas , but he got bored . He never was one to stick . We bought him out .”
“ Where ’ d he go ?” Graham had always like Roy , until he didn ’ t .
“ North Dakota , last we heard .” They lapsed into silence .
John gestured to Graham ’ s empty bowl . “ Little more ?”
“ That was plenty , thanks .”
John stood , “ Come see the rest of the place .”
Graham followed him through the dining room and upstairs , admiring the new wallpaper , surprised by the addition of a bathroom on the second floor .
His old room was Clara ’ s sewing room , model planes replaced by racks of thread and cubbies full of yarn . Without asking he walked to the window and moved the curtain aside , revealing scars in the wood .
“ G . P . loves L . S .” John recited , startling him , “ I always wondered about L . S .”
“ Lucy Simpson . Owns the dance studio on Park Street now .”
“ I ’ ll be damned ,” John chuckled , “ If I was your dad you ’ d caught hell for that .”
“ I did , believe me .” They laughed .
“ Got to tend to those goats if you ’ re still willing .” John led the way downstairs . “ We never had goats , just sheep , but I ’ ll do my best .”
“ Goats are rascals by comparison ,” John advised , “ Problem is they ’ re too smart for their own good .”
“ Aren ’ t we all ?” Graham thought . n
Thea Lewis is a native of Burlington . An author with Arcadia Publishing , she previously spent two decades as a writer / producer for Vermont ’ s CBS television affiliate , getting to know people from all corners of the Green Mountain State .
Look for Thea ’ s books from the History Press ’ True Crime , Wicked , and Haunted America Series at your local bookseller , at barnesandnoble . com , amazon . com , and arcadiapublishing . com
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