The Between Years

antiquarians who wanted to boast their wares. But potential meant so little. The poor man had been depending on an inheritance from the house to provide for his retirement years and now all was lost.

    He sipped his coffee and said, “I know everyone's real hurt over what happened, but I know that you've got it worse than anyone, so any time you need help or a shoulder to cry on, I want you to call me. Day or night.”

    The single comment he'd spoken told me everything I would ever need to know about that man. And I was reassured to know that I had an ally in him, particularly with the scorn that I faced in the weeks and months after.

    But something dawned on me: he knew exactly the kind of pain Randy and I had felt when we'd lost. He'd experienced an extension of that grief as a grandfather, but hadn't known what it meant to lose a son. Now he knew what misery and heartbreak was. I'm sorry that it happened to him of all people and not just because I'd also lost a husband. I also worried that he would experience the rollercoaster of emotions that Randy had, which led to his downfall. No matter what, I knew I would need to be strong enough to support him too.

    He pulled up a lawn chair and finished the last of his coffee. “I've learned a lot from this experience though. Nothing is forever. Sometimes the best thing you can do is let go.”

    Wiser words have never been spoken, so far as I'm concerned. That was what Randy and I should have done with Kenny's nursery. And what Randy's family should have done with his grandparents' house. Randy might have helped them with the last part, intentionally or otherwise. But still, that was easier said than done.

    Throughout our conversation, we said nothing of the strange circumstances that surrounded the explosion or Randy's departure either. I still wasn't sure that I hadn't lost my mind in spite of having had witnesses, and I'm sure it would have been hard for him to believe too, especially since he hadn't witnessed the great event. For the time being, the house was rubble due to an undetermined cause; he was without a son and I was without a husband.

    Then he stood up and lifted his broom. “Maybe we can just have this place torn down. Start from scratch, you know? Not much else we can do with it the way it is.”

    I slid my arm around him. “Too bad; it was such a pretty place.”

    “ I'm sure there'll be some rich Toronto people or Americans who'll want to build a nice new waterfront house here. They can have new memories to build upon. But if they do, I don't want to see it. I just want to remember the place the way it was.”

    Hearing that made me feel even worse for the man. Someone as kind and caring as him deserved a few basic things in life, chief among them the right not to face such disappointment. I decided right then that if I ever owned a genie in a bottle, the ability to change the whole scenario for him would be my first wish. Still, I understood that life isn't fair and that good people sometimes had to shoulder a miserable load.

    When he resumed sweeping, his broom became caught under what looked like an antique china hutch that's seen better days. He shoved the remains back to find a small stereo busted into several pieces. Then he found a flattened Spiderman Halloween costume. He crouched down and surveyed them like they had no business being there.

    “ Where'd that come from?” I asked.

    “ Don't know.”

    “ You don't think there were any squatters in this place, do you?”

    “ If there were any before the explosion, I'm sure Randy would've noticed that they'd been here and let me know.”

    He rolled a wooden, round table back and found the smashed bits of a DELL laptop (Randy hadn't owned one), and wrappers for more junk food than I wanted to imagine. Maybe Randy had succumbed to binge eating while we were apart, but I suppose I'll never know. We dug even further to find wallpaper with cars on it, stuffed animals, plastic professional wrestler action figures, and children's books.

    Maybe there had been no squatters, but one couldn't say that the house had been empty save for Randy. To me-and to Randy's dad too, I'm sure-this proved that someone else had been living in the house with Randy. Neither of us wanted to jump to any conclusions, but we couldn't ignore the evidence. Like the subject of Randy itself, we remained silent about it. We filed it under 'mysterious things happen'. I have my own ideas about what might have gone