where someone had repeatedly bounced a ball enough times to leave rings on the wall and an impression on the hardwood floor.
Sara loved basketball, according to the letters, and at the time of William’s departure was hoping to grow tall enough to play with the boys who met every afternoon at the park on the corner.
Suddenly reminded of her own childhood, Adrienne sprang from the bed and flipped on the light.
She examined the doorframes. Her long fingers slid up one doorjamb, scanning as she went, and down the next, looking for the telltale markings she hoped to find.
Children were always intrigued with how much they’d grown. Adrienne’s father used to hold a ruler to her head, stand her against the wall, and make a tiny mark, dating it, and she would read each date in awe of how much taller she’d become. At first, Adrienne’s mom had been angry that her father was marking up the doorframe. But she’d quickly softened as she watched her child grow up before her eyes. Within a year, it was Adrienne’s mom who was calling her over to study the makeshift growth chart.
After working her way around the room and finding nothing, she thought about Sara’s mom. She would have been furious if she’d discovered her daughter had written on the wall. Adrienne’s eyes fell on the closet.
She pulled the closet door open and tugged the string on the solitary light. The dusty bulb threw a muted glow into the small empty space. Adrienne had to step completely inside to find the notches she was looking for. Standing where Sara’s clothes once hung, there they were.
The marks contained no years. Instead, each scribbled line denoted a day and a month. Sara had grown between January and March. But after April, her growth seemed to slow. Then a jump in July. That mark put her close to Adrienne’s height. She ran her fingers over the lines, then dropped her weight against the back wall of the closet. The stillness closed around her. She thought about life in the forties. What was it like to be a girl who loved to play ball and fish with live worms? Sure, that was accepted behavior now, but had not been as much back then.
Sara’s mom probably hated it. From all Adrienne could gather, Sara’s mom wanted girly girls with ribbons and bows and lace. How did she handle having a tomboy for a daughter? Probably not well at all. Adrienne pulled in a breath, tugged her weight off the back wall, and wished she knew more about Sara. As if some great power heard her plea, the rusty nail found its way into her foot.
Adrienne felt the raw sensation of tearing flesh at the same time she tripped. She caught herself by the doorjamb, fingers tight over Sara’s growth marks. She glanced down at her bare feet, already knowing by the pain in her left heel what had happened.
The bathroom door was only a few hobbles away. She walked on her toes, bearing as little weight on the injured heel as possible. With her foot propped against the sink and counter, she cleaned the fresh cut. It wasn’t deep, so Adrienne poured on rubbing alcohol, sucked in air through her teeth, and wondered how sore it would be the next day. A square bandage covered the wound.
Leaving the bathroom, she discovered a neat red trail of dots from the bath to the bedroom. “Great,” she muttered, and snagged an old towel from beneath the sink. She kept a good stash of ratty towels there because she was constantly filthy from the remodel. She’d ruined a set of expensive ones by thinking her hands were clean after refitting a pipe in the kitchen. Blue gunk still decorated that washcloth and hand towel.
Adrienne dropped to her knees at the first bead of blood. She scrubbed each as she moved along, her heel throbbing its own conga beat as she went and her knees screaming for kneepads. At least she didn’t have to get a tetanus shot. That little journey had taken place one week after arrival, when a loose nail in the shutters ripped her arm open.
When the last droplet was
Sara loved basketball, according to the letters, and at the time of William’s departure was hoping to grow tall enough to play with the boys who met every afternoon at the park on the corner.
Suddenly reminded of her own childhood, Adrienne sprang from the bed and flipped on the light.
She examined the doorframes. Her long fingers slid up one doorjamb, scanning as she went, and down the next, looking for the telltale markings she hoped to find.
Children were always intrigued with how much they’d grown. Adrienne’s father used to hold a ruler to her head, stand her against the wall, and make a tiny mark, dating it, and she would read each date in awe of how much taller she’d become. At first, Adrienne’s mom had been angry that her father was marking up the doorframe. But she’d quickly softened as she watched her child grow up before her eyes. Within a year, it was Adrienne’s mom who was calling her over to study the makeshift growth chart.
After working her way around the room and finding nothing, she thought about Sara’s mom. She would have been furious if she’d discovered her daughter had written on the wall. Adrienne’s eyes fell on the closet.
She pulled the closet door open and tugged the string on the solitary light. The dusty bulb threw a muted glow into the small empty space. Adrienne had to step completely inside to find the notches she was looking for. Standing where Sara’s clothes once hung, there they were.
The marks contained no years. Instead, each scribbled line denoted a day and a month. Sara had grown between January and March. But after April, her growth seemed to slow. Then a jump in July. That mark put her close to Adrienne’s height. She ran her fingers over the lines, then dropped her weight against the back wall of the closet. The stillness closed around her. She thought about life in the forties. What was it like to be a girl who loved to play ball and fish with live worms? Sure, that was accepted behavior now, but had not been as much back then.
Sara’s mom probably hated it. From all Adrienne could gather, Sara’s mom wanted girly girls with ribbons and bows and lace. How did she handle having a tomboy for a daughter? Probably not well at all. Adrienne pulled in a breath, tugged her weight off the back wall, and wished she knew more about Sara. As if some great power heard her plea, the rusty nail found its way into her foot.
Adrienne felt the raw sensation of tearing flesh at the same time she tripped. She caught herself by the doorjamb, fingers tight over Sara’s growth marks. She glanced down at her bare feet, already knowing by the pain in her left heel what had happened.
The bathroom door was only a few hobbles away. She walked on her toes, bearing as little weight on the injured heel as possible. With her foot propped against the sink and counter, she cleaned the fresh cut. It wasn’t deep, so Adrienne poured on rubbing alcohol, sucked in air through her teeth, and wondered how sore it would be the next day. A square bandage covered the wound.
Leaving the bathroom, she discovered a neat red trail of dots from the bath to the bedroom. “Great,” she muttered, and snagged an old towel from beneath the sink. She kept a good stash of ratty towels there because she was constantly filthy from the remodel. She’d ruined a set of expensive ones by thinking her hands were clean after refitting a pipe in the kitchen. Blue gunk still decorated that washcloth and hand towel.
Adrienne dropped to her knees at the first bead of blood. She scrubbed each as she moved along, her heel throbbing its own conga beat as she went and her knees screaming for kneepads. At least she didn’t have to get a tetanus shot. That little journey had taken place one week after arrival, when a loose nail in the shutters ripped her arm open.
When the last droplet was
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