Nope.
Closed French doors stood to Erin’s right. The entryway—which actually put Erin in the middle of the house—gave way to a dining room where a heavy mahogany table sat six. A cluttered peninsula separated the eating space from a modest kitchen. Over the peninsula hung a small oil painting of a naked child nuzzling her mother’s neck.
Erin’s house in Wheaton boasted a six-burner stove, immaculate double-sized island, breakfast table for eight, and formal dining room for entertaining. This New Zealand kitchen barely had space for two caterers.
Small.
Papers cluttered one counter; magnets and photos covered the fridge. A pail of what looked like rotting food sat next to the sink.
The air hinted at smoke, but not the way Erin’s house had when her dad chose to work in front of a winter fire. Erin turned to discover a genuine woodstove in the corner of the Wakefields’ dining room.
Incredulous, she said, “Do you cook on that?”
“Of course not!” Felicity smiled. “We use it to heat the house.”
No HVAC. Squeezing her eyes shut, Erin drew a deep, calming breath.
“Soon we’ll have so much sunlight, we won’t have use for it.” Felicity fanned her hand across two walls of windows, through which Erin spied a large backyard complete with a single tall swing, a sturdy wooden picnic table, a wooden playhouse that Pippa would outgrow any second, a giant trampoline enclosed in netting, and a paltry brown garden.
More brown fence encircled the backyard. Fenced backyards of four other houses shaped the property like a keyhole; the narrow driveway was her only access to the outside world.
Erin texted Lalitha.
Erin: I have made a huge mistake.
Hamish said, “Want to see where you’ll be bunking?”
No, she did not, but following him distanced her from the awkward not-dining room and cramped living quarters. Hamish opened a door adjacent to the kitchen. “We keep this closed during winter.”
Erin hardly had a second to wonder why before stepping into a frigid hallway. It was as if she’d stepped outside.
The short hallway dead-ended into a longer one, where Hamish pointed to the left. “Over there’s a bedroom and toilet. Felicity’s mum lived with us until she died, and we haven’t emptied it yet.”
Erin flinched at his candor.
“Laundry and garage are that way, too.”
Garage rhymed with carriage in New Zealand.
He headed the other way and pointed as he went. “Toilet room. Shower room.”
Erin peeked in to find the bathroom split into three tiny spaces: one for the tub, one for the sink, and one even smaller for only a toilet.
At the end of the hall, Hamish said, “Felicity and I are straight ahead on the right. You’re with Pippa in here.”
Hamish flipped the switch to reveal a cluttered room with two twin beds. “Everything you need here: hired cello in the corner, bed, wardrobe.”
Erin surveyed the room in one fell swoop: juvenile posters over a twin bed, a single window, a second twin bed, a cello case, and two sliding closet doors.
No chest of drawers. No desk. No mirror. No space. Nothing.
I worked my ass off to get here?
Hamish stood at the threshold. “You all right, then?”
She couldn’t speak. Her room back home had a walk-in closet, two upholstered chairs, and a cherry desk. And there was light for days, even in winter. How could she share this tiny, dark room? And a closet? Down the hall from a shared bathroom?
“Is there a reason I can’t use Felicity’s mother’s suite? I don’t want to crowd Pippa.”
“She won’t be crowded. She’s over the moon you’re here.”
“It’s just …” Be diplomatic. “I’m used to more personal space, and if no one is using that room …”
Hamish lowered his voice. “Felicity isn’t ready. She and her mum were very close, and the loss hit her quite hard. The room is out of bounds.”
Erin studied the rough blue carpet.
“You want to unpack?” Hamish asked.
Erin wanted to un-travel.
“I’ll, uh, leave you alone for a bit,” he said.
Christchurch wasn’t as advertised. It wasn’t a Garden City. Study abroad wasn’t an answer to her Columbia problem or a respite or a cure.
Getting into Columbia wasn’t worth five months in this cramped, freezing house surrounded by strip malls.
Erin rifled through her suitcase for her warmest wool sweater and seized the box of host-family gifts she’d packed, her return ticket to the warm half of the house.
SIX
The carpet was rough over hard concrete. Erin had never given a second thought to her plush bedroom carpet, but she now longed for it. Or the hardwood of the first floor. Anything but this.
In the warmer half of the house, the now-open French doors revealed a living room with two droopy sofas and more blue carpet. The whole family was inside.
“I have some … things for you?”
Hamish muted the television so Erin had their full attention. Felicity admired bath bombs and massage bars from LUSH, a Canadian company Claire had deemed “close enough” to America. Pippa declared the Chicago skyline cool and dug into the travel-worn bag of Garrett’s popcorn. Hamish pulled on the Chicago Bears jersey over his polo.
“The rest of this is food that’s specific to my state, Illinois: Vosges chocolates and Frangos minty chocolates, maple syrup from southern Illinois, though Canada’s is better. Oh, and chocolate chips, because I read somewhere that people outside America don’t really have chocolate chips. My mom wanted to send you her favorite wine, but I couldn’t travel with it because I’m too young.” Erin didn’t mention that Claire also had opined a construction worker and a secretary probably preferred beer.
“Thank you so much, Erin.” Felicity’s arms were full of stuff. “Did you find everything you needed in your room?”
“I did, thanks,” she lied, staring into the empty box in her hands.
“Is that cello okay?”
“I’m sure it’s fine.” Erin’s last hope for a reprieve in New Zealand was an inability to find a cello for rent, but Felicity magically had found one for the duration. Erin hoped it was within the Wakefields’ budget.
“I cleared out a drawer for you in the
