Boiler Room

We live in an old house in western New York. The library is large, all hardwood with brass fixtures. My late father had a thing for dark wood and strong looking things. His library is smack dab in the middle of the house. The stairs to the second floor swoosh around it, almost as if the house remembers and follows guests who walk by. The library itself is almost as wide as the house. One wall is all books, the other has large French doors that open up to the patio and grounds out back. It is like a hallway, with the fireplace at one end, and a chair where my father died at another. He was waiting for me when it happened. I was up in my room, at work on my smartphone. It happened with such a crack that it made the whole house shudder and groan.

It was late afternoon, and not a soul was in the whole place. Not even the maid or cook were there. I came running down the stairs, out the French doors, past the library, and out into the alley between the house and the garage. The French doors were facing that way, and my father had opened them to be able to hear people coming up the back steps.

That is where I saw him. He was lying there in front of the doorway to the back yard. I can still see him lying there in his favorite chair, the one with the wing back and built in stool. My mother picked that out and had it specially made. He was sitting there, his elbows on his knees, with a fire place poker in his hand.

He had broken down the fire place screen and was leaning into the fireplace looking at something up the chimney. No matter how much I say I was coming fast, the scene played like it was slow motion. The house groaned and moaned as I neared, and the wind outside was beating hard against the trees and weather worn stones that my mother hand picked out. The air smelled like rain and the weather was turning cold. My dad looked warm and content.

He was smiling at whatever he found when the screen gave way and he fell forward, catching himself with his hands. It looked like he was emptying the fire place out, when his chair tipped forward and he fell forward, the chair catching on the rug as he fell.

His smile was still there as he fell. I'll never know if the smile was because he found what he was looking for, or because he was going to land on the chair. Maybe it was both. He never got the chance to find out. I found out both things by following him down. I didn't see what he saw, but I knew what he was looking for.

This is the story of a girl, her overprotective big brother, and her best friend.

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It was all my mother's idea. She was so sure that being around other people would be good for my father. He wasn't as young as he once was, and she liked the idea that we would get to see people close to Mom and Dad's age. Dad didn't really have any friends, and Mom's friends were mostly people from church. Both sets of friends were all our parents friends with the exception of one family. The couple in our house had one child. Their daughter was about my age and I never really paid much attention to her. Even now, looking back, I can't really call her "friend".

We had already been there a month when Dad died. It wasn't sudden. He had been getting ill for a while and it had been getting worse. Little things that he would never have let slide before were giving him problems and slowing him down. He could get up the stairs on his own before, now he was leaning on Mom's arm. You could tell by the way the place smelled that he wasn't doing the stairs, or the entire house for that matter.

Momma had gotten us packed up ready to go so I was more than ready to leave. I had my backpack with me and I grimaced as it dug into my shoulders. Of course Mom took her time deciding to get packed up. She was the one that got Dad in the chair. He wasn't his old self anymore and she was sure that going out to rest would be good for him. She would be gone for a few days, but she would be back. She would be safe in the city and no one person could take care of two people. It was madness.

There were hugs and last minute things to think over and talk about. I looked at the rest of the family members and my mother. Dad was sitting there, his head drooping. He had his eyes closed. He looked like my mother when she was out and no matter how I looked at him, I couldn't imagine him ever looking like that again.

"What are you thinking about?"

I jumped. Mom was standing right behind me. She had been reading my mind, something she wasn't usually good at. She smiled and wiped some tears from my face. "We'll be back."

"We'll be back," I said back. It did not matter how many times she said it, it was still like I was being thrust back into reality, like she was pulling me.

We all went out the door at once, but I was the last. I went to get my packed. The chance that she would change her mind was not something I wanted to take for granted. I didn't want to leave in case she changed her mind.

Somehow, I had gotten away from everyone and I was pulling my pack out of the closet before everyone's eyes were on me.

"What are you doing?" the maid asked. She looked at my pack and pursed her lips like it violated some rule or perhaps the rule was against packs.

"I'm leaving the house," I said. "I'm going to be fine. It will not be for long." I wasn't sure I was talking about the house, and her face finally registered it. He eyes were wide and she began stuttering, "Ya, uh, I'm sure you'll be back before long." She paused, and her voice was louder and stronger, like she was determined now to be heard, "Ya, I'm sure you'll be back before long."

I was counting on it. She didn't know that; she just knew my mother was gone.

There were more hugs and confused looks before we got out the door. We would be fine. She would be fine. Mom would want me to go care of myself. I had to go.

"You're leaving early," the maid said as she motioned me out the door.

I pushed it one step further, "Do not worry." George was snoring in his chair and my pack was resting on the other with my lunch and books in it. I got more settled in my pack before I turned and said, "I am sure I will be back in time. I am going for a walk."

"You're going to walk to the city?"

"I am going the short way," I said and smiled at her before I left.

George's snoring became a rushing anger behind my back as I left the stables and walked up the dusty road. I didn't really look around, but I saw Olaf hitch up his carriage. He had heard George wake and he was leaving. George was shouting for him to stay when he caught me.

I walked past George and said, "I will be back in time."

I walked toward the mountain. It was the only place I could think to be alone with my thoughts. I could think of what I was going to do. I knew what I wanted to do. I wasn't sure it was the right choice.

I passed by the river. I could see movement on the bank.

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