Ashes to Ashes.

ashes to ashes.

Luke pulled his old 4Runner off the barely paved road into a break in the thick evergreen tree line. He’d missed it on the first pass and had to double back. Once he’d made the turn, he could see the memory of a well-worn driveway. He cut the engine and sat, staring through the blanket of fog, but he couldn’t see anything. He got out of the truck, popped the hatch, and considered his gear. He grabbed what he needed, closed the truck, and walked away from the road, up the lane.

He liked to go the last little bit on foot. There was something about going to these places that called for silence. It only took a few minutes for her to rise from the mist, all angles and cedar shake bones. That moment never got old, the first look, the sudden sight, the near-silent awe. It happened to him every time. And today was no exception.

*

“Thank you for seeing me.” Luke said, sitting down on the faded floral sofa. The woman across from him smiled, her shaking hands clattering the china as she set down a tray on the table between them.

“Of course! I have to admit I was a little surprised when you called.”

“I hear that a lot.” Luke laughed. “I guess what I do is a little abnormal.” He reached into his bag and felt around until he felt the hard sides of the cigar box. “I know I explained it a little bit on the phone but let me show you.”

He opened it. Inside there were a few small items which he placed on the table. A small metal thimble, a faded photograph of a little boy and girl standing side by side, and a copy of The Story of Babar, the pages beginning to dust at the edges.

Luke didn’t usually talk much when he showed the trinkets. In the silence that usually followed the reveal, he let the memories speak. He watched Ms. Antionette with reverence as the memories whispered to her. Her mouth popped open in the smallest astonished “Oh!” and she reached one hand hesitantly forward. Her hands hovered, unsure of what to touch first, not sure if she should.

Her hands fluttered a moment longer and then settled on the book with the small gray elephant on the cover. She picked it up and brought it close to her. Luke thought for a second that she was going to hug it to her chest. Instead, she opened it gently, a soft smile on her face.

“My mother used to read this book to us.” She wasn’t really talking to Luke, he knew. He smiled.

*

Luke pulled over on the side of the road to check his map and his notes. He’d plugged the address into his GPS, but he wasn’t getting much of a signal out here. He grabbed his worn black notebook and flipped it open. He passed ink and coffee-stained pages, full of notes, and landed somewhere near the middle. The spine of the book was so broken in that it seemed to fall open to the list of addresses almost effortlessly.

Some were old and faded, others new and bold. Some had a line drawn through them— those houses had been lost. Fire, development, or just the passing of time— there seemed to be almost as many ways to lose a house as there were houses to begin with.

The paper map didn’t help much, but after a few more passes down the same winding stretch of road, Luke noticed an old lane marker that had fallen over. He turned and drove slowly through the tall grass, trying to trace the shape of a driveway. After a few minutes he stopped the truck, killed the engine, and hopped out.

The house was small and if he hadn’t been looking for it, he might have missed it entirely, the way it nestled into the trees. He crossed the small yard and carefully took the two cracked concrete steps to the old screen door that lay closed, the screens fallen inward. Behind it, the solid wood farmhouse door was open. He pulled the screen door gently, just wide enough to fit through, and walked inside. He always went slowly; some of these houses were a sneeze away from complete collapse, so the less he disturbed, the better.

He’d found this house during an internet deep dive, somewhere between public records and an unofficial looking website advertising “tax liens for sale – CHEAP!” He didn’t regret it.

This house was one of the closest to being lost for good that he’d ever been in, and he was glad he’d wound up here, no matter how suspicious the website. It had brought him here, and he was confident there wouldn’t be a here to visit very soon.

He made a slow pass through the few small rooms – a hallway, a kitchen, a living room – touching a few things as he went, waiting for something to whisper to him. There were a few old shreds of newspaper on the kitchen floor, and a dish in the sink. The two bedrooms had a few pieces of furniture between them, and empty metal hangers hung skeletal in the small closet. There were clothes strewn across the floors.

Back in the living room, something about the fireplace called him. Maybe it was the way some of the bricks were scattered in its mouth, or maybe it was the idea that at one time Christmas stockings had probably hung there but never would again. He crossed the room and crouched low to look up the chimney. He could smell the earth, the air outside, dirt; he held his breath and squinted, wondering if he could see the sky. He tried not to make too much noise— he didn’t want to cause an avalanche of bricks.

The chimney was dirty and there was an old bird’s nest at the top, and tons of other debris, but he could actually see the smallest shock of blue. He laughed softly to himself.

Just as he was about to crawl back out of the fireplace, something sparked his attention and he paused, squinting. It was stuffed into the back side of the chimney wall, about a foot a half up. He scooted in closer and stretched to reach it. His fingers brushed stiff fabric. He pinched and pulled until whatever it was came reluctantly loose. It slipped from his hand and landed with a soft thud on the brick. Dust plumed up around what he could now see was a pillowcase with a knot tied in the top of it. He tried to loosen it, but it was caked with soot and dirt. He pulled a knife from his pocket and cut carefully along the top just enough to see inside.

It seemed to be filled with crumpled newspaper and he wondered what the purpose of that could be in a chimney. He considered how hard the case had fallen and wondered if maybe there was something a little weightier underneath. He pulled out a few balls of paper and swore.

Under no more than six or seven sheets of crumpled newspaper pages were uneven stacks of cash. A lot of them. Luke picked up a few, examining them. It looked to be mostly tens and twenties, but there were some other smaller bills, too. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen so much cash.

*

Back in the truck on his way into town, Luke agonized over what he wanted to do. He’d counted the money—twenty thousand dollars— he could really use it, and he was sure no one was missing it.

When he pulled into the diner, he sat in the truck for a few extra minutes before stashing his rucksack under his seat.

He sat at the counter and was greeted by a very polite waitress in a bright teal uniform with hard plastic nametag that said her name was Gladys.

“Hey there, hunny.” She said, “What can I getcha?”

“Uhh…a coffee please.” He said. “And— what’s your special today?”

“Turkey club with coleslaw.” She said.

“I’ll take that, too, please.”

“You got it.” She smiled and walked to the window to put in his ticket. She was back in no time with a glass of ice water and a steaming cup of coffee, both of which he drank greedily. His sandwich came out a few minutes later. After he’d taken a few bites his waitress came back to check on him.

“Everything is great. Hey, can I ask you – are you from around here?”

“Born and raised.”

“I was wondering if you knew anything about an old, abandoned house in the woods, about seven miles from here?”

“Oh, there’s tons of those.” Gladys said. “Gonna have to be more specific.”

“It’s down an overgrown dirt driveway off of Kingsbridge. Looks like it hasn’t been occupied in at least twenty years.”

“Actually, I do know where you mean.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know who lived there, do you? Or if there’s any living member of that family, next of kin, you know that sort of thing?”

Gladys cocked her eyebrow and regarded him as a potential outsider for the first time.

“What’s your business?” She questioned, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“This is going to sound weird, but I, well—I’m kind of like, the house version of a ghost whisperer. Anyway, I found some memories that mean something to the family.”

“Well, I don’t know how much it helps, but I can tell you the name of the last person I know that lived there. He passed quite some time ago, but—”

“Anything helps.”

“It was Jacob Spencer.”

“Thank you so much.”

*

Luke could never have predicted the number of Jacob Spencers who the internet claimed had lived within a ten-mile radius in the last forty years. After two weeks of searching for some next-of-kin he was beginning to wonder if one existed. It wouldn’t be the first time one of his boxes of gathered memory had gone without a new home.

Just as he’d decided that if, after five more phone calls, he would just give up and keep the money, and the memories, he found himself talking to a young woman who knew exactly who Jacob Spencer of the Kingsbridge Road area had been.

Her name was Sydney Spencer and they met at the same diner where he’d eaten after his discovery. When she sat down, Luke felt a familiar fist look pull.

“So, tell me about house whispering.” She said with a smile. He’d expected the conversation to start and end with the money— he assumed that’s why she had agreed to meet in the first place. He’d told her over the phone what he’d found, and Sydney had only been half surprised, telling him her great uncle Jacob had been a little strange, and mistrustful. But now that she was here, he was surprised that her first question was about what he did, rather than when she could expect her money.

“I collect memories.” He said, pulling his tattered notebook out. “I take pictures, I write things down, I take small trinkets—things that once these houses actually fall down would be lost for good. I think, at the end of the day, all we really have are the memories we’ve made.”

Before he knew it, they had talked through hours of their own memories, places they’d been, things they had seen, and the sun was going down. Sydney was checking her watch.

“I’m so sorry, Luke, but I have to be going. I didn’t realize the time.”

“Of course, I understand.” Disappointed, he stood with her.

“I’d love to talk again.” She said.

“I— Yeah, I’d really like that, too.”

“Great.” She said, and headed toward the door.

“Wait!” He called after her. “You forgot your mon-”

“Keep it.”

*