I Remember

By Emily Hoffmann

Over the span of 50 years, different tenants come and go. A silent observer sees it all.

This emotional tale of grief, joy, and longing tells a story of the human experience from a new and unexpected perspective. While the setting may not

• Language: English
• Publisher: Emily Hoffmann
• Release date: Jan 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9798985182415

Book preview

I remember the first time I saw her. Honey colored hair pinned in neat curls around her face. A blue dress that cinched tightly at the waist and flowed out past her knees. Kitten heels that matched the small purse she carried. She was radiant.

Her husband walked around with her, his hand placed affectionately on her lower back. He wore a nice suit, and he was handsome, with broad shoulders and a kind face—a face I knew I could get used to seeing every day. They followed the realtor, shuffling around other couples and families that had come to have a look. They asked questions, poked their heads into the cupboards in the kitchen, turned on the faucets in the bathrooms. With every room they walked through, their smiles grew. Every so often she would squeeze his arm and rest her cheek on his shoulder, looking up at him without a word, just a delicate smile and those big, bright eyes. He, in turn, would rest his hand on hers and give it a small caress, place a kiss on her forehead and nod his head, silently agreeing to the unspoken message. 

I had no say, of course, in who would end up staying here, but I knew as soon as I saw the two of them that they were it. They were who I wanted; Elaine and James Morgan.

They were the last ones to leave when the open house ended, talking with the realtor long after everyone else had gone. I knew that they weren’t the only ones interested, that multiple offers were going to be coming in. I’d heard the realtor say so. I sat and waited for days, wondering, hoping, fearing the worst.

No one had lived here yet. Everything was brand new, untouched, glimmering with possibility. I had never wanted for anything before—the feeling was new to me. But I wanted them. I spent those long days fantasizing about what it would be like to have them here, walking through the halls, cooking dinner in the kitchen, laying their heads at night in those then-empty rooms. 

I tried to think of other things, of how nice the yellow paint looked and how the decision to add a swing to the front porch was a good one. It provided such a lovely view of the neighborhood. But always my mind drifted back to them, to her especially. I tried to remember her face and not let the image of it slip away. Then one day the realtor came and hung a sign in the yard that read SOLD. She walked through, gave everything one last look, and left. I owe her so much, and yet I never saw her again.

The next day, a little blue car turned the corner onto the street and slowed to a stop at the end of the drive. Three little faces pressed against the window and stared at me with their mouths agape, their curious eyes wide and unblinking. The car door opened and they burst forth, running towards the front door of their new home.

The oldest boy led the charge, followed closely by his sister. Their little brother tottered along behind, not really understanding what was happening at the age of four. These children were new to me; they weren’t at the open house, and I waited to see who they belonged to. I waited to see if she had returned.

The sun cast a glare on the windows of the car, and I couldn’t make out the faces of those that sat inside. The anticipation swelled in me, almost unbearable by the time the car door finally opened. 

James stepped out of the driver’s side, his kind face just as I had remembered it. Elaine emerged from the passenger seat, her soft hair fixed just the same as before, her slender legs stretching out from beneath a pale pink dress. She laughed as her children scurried away. That laugh sent a rush through me, a warmth that spread quickly and filled every fragment of my being.

James and Elaine followed their children into the house, each carrying a suitcase from the back of the car. The children were busy running through every hallway, into every room, jumping and calling out to each other with each new discovery.

The kitchen mommy, look at the kitchen! the girl exclaimed.

The backyard is huge! Dad, do you think we can build a treehouse in that big tree in the corner? the older boy asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Maybe. Once we get all settled in we can discuss it, James replied. A twinkle in his eye told his son yes. 

As the other two explored, the youngest went running up to Elaine, tugged gently on her skirt, and asked innocently, Mommy, which room will I sleep in?

Upon hearing this, the older children exchanged frantic looks and immediately bolted up the stairs, intent on claiming the best rooms for themselves. The little one, unaware of the madness his question had just caused, continued to look up at his mother, who laughed and scooped him up. Upstairs, the girl had staked her claim on one bedroom, and the boy on the other. Their parents beckoned them out to the hallway.

I know that you both want your own rooms, James began, but it’s just not going to work out that way. There are only three rooms up here: one for your mother and I, and two for the three of you to share.

But Dad– the boy started, but was silenced with a gentle hand raise from his father, who continued.

Bobby and Jack will share the bigger room, and Rebecca will take the smaller one. It only makes sense that the boys should share. And I don’t want to hear one word of complaint about it.

In that moment, when I learned their names for the first time, I felt all my fears slip away. They were here, and they were here to stay.

Of course, Bobby tried to disregard his father’s decision. He wanted to take the downstairs bedroom for himself, an idea which his parents rejected. They wanted to have a suitable guest room available for visitors. After more protests and sulking, Bobby finally conceded. Rebecca, of course, was thrilled to have her own room. She tried, though not very successfully, to hide her excitement from Bobby, who was not nearly as thrilled as his younger brother was to be sharing a room. Bobby, at the mature age of 9, felt that he desperately needed his own space and privacy. His parents did not agree, but they did agree never to buy bunk beds, much to Jack’s dismay.  

That ordinary summer day was the day it all started. Elaine glided from room to room, opening every window and letting the sweet, gentle breeze circulate. She ran out to the market and when she returned, prepared a simple lunch for her family of sandwiches and fruit salad. She swept the floors, wiped down the windows, cleaned the countertops, and prepared everything before the moving truck arrived. James and a few other men brought in box after box, bed frames, chairs, tables, sofas, rugs. I wasn’t sure it was all going to fit, but somehow it did; somehow there was a place for everything, like it was all meant to be. 

From that first day on through the next few months it seemed like there was hardly a moment when Elaine wasn’t whirling about, unpacking, organizing, helping the children get settled. I loved the chaos—watching them adjust to their new surroundings, figuring out where to put this and that. I joined in their excitement when an area was finally complete and savored each moment of learning the way their family unit functioned together. No one else had ever lived here before the Morgans. Everything they did was brand new to me; every conversation, every behavior, every silly statement and confusing quip.

The children could only help so much at their young ages, and while James was great at helping to hang things or put up shelves, it was Elaine who made everything fall exactly into place. She displayed the books and pictures just so, decided on the perfect location for every piece of furniture, every pot and pan. She was the one who made me feel like a home.

Eventually the Morgans and I grew to feel at one with each other. I was theirs and they were mine. I provided them with shelter and comfort, they provided me with companionship and joy. When it rained, I would keep them dry. When it was hot, I provided shade and a place to sit and drink lemonade in the summer breeze. When it was cold they would sit in the warmth of the roaring fireplace and I would watch them drink hot chocolate. I learned everything about them, felt that I could sense their innermost thoughts and feelings before they even expressed them aloud. It was a gift to form this intimate bond, one that I treasured even after they were gone. Things were not always perfect, but the good far outweighed the bad.

So quickly the summer months faded and school started. Bobby and Rebecca were old enough to go, but Jack stayed at home with Elaine that first year. Every morning Elaine would be the first one awake, cooking breakfast, packing lunches, starting a load of laundry in the brand new automatic washing machine. Apparently, their last home hadn’t had one and Elaine had always washed their clothes by hand. The first time her sister came over she was very impressed by the appliance, and made a comment about needing to get one herself.

After the older two kids went off to catch the school bus, Elaine would spend the morning running errands and cleaning the house, usually with Jack following along behind her, trying to help. Even when she attempted to keep him busy with a toy or activity, he would always come find her and see what she was up to. They were almost inseparable that first year.

The two spent the afternoons reading books together or playing in the yard if the weather was nice. When Bobby and Rebecca came home they would take Jack off Elaine’s hands and play together, giving Elaine a few minutes to relax before starting dinner. James would arrive home from his job at the bank promptly at 5:30, his tie slightly loosened after a long day of work. First thing, he would always drop his briefcase by the front door, walk into the kitchen, kiss Elaine, and whisper something in her ear that I could never quite make out. Whatever it was always made her smile. Then he would go find the children and scoop them all into a hug or join in on the game they were playing. At six o’clock Elaine would call her family into the dining room and they would eat together, talk about their day, share a laugh. Elaine would listen to every word her children and husband said, always encouraging the conversation and coaxing another detail out of them. She made them feel heard and accepted, calmed their worries, and quieted their fears. She helped them with their problems and created a sense of peace within their little family. I felt the peace too.

* * *

By mid-December a fresh layer of snow blanketed the ground. The children, adorned with hats and mittens, ran through the yard and let the tiny flakes fall on their tongues. Their giggles and squeals of delight rang through the snow laden trees as they played the afternoon away, until they stumbled through the front door, their noses pink and dripping, finally safe within the warmth of my walls.

That first Christmas with the Morgans still stays with me through everything, vibrant and clear as if it had just happened yesterday. I had never experienced a Christmas celebration before, and after all these years I still believe there is no family that celebrates as well as the Morgans did.

In the days leading up to the twenty-fifth, relatives began to arrive in staggered groups, slowly multiplying until the house was a circus. Aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, everyone that they loved was under the same roof for that special time of year.

Whenever a new car pulled into the driveway a burst of shouts and cries of glee erupted, bringing everyone to the foyer to greet and reunite after months apart.

In the late afternoon on Christmas Eve, Rebecca and her cousin Paula flitted down the stairs in sparkly dresses covered in tulle and ribbons. Bobby and his cousin Tommy followed grudgingly in their jackets and ties, with Jack bouncing along behind them. The mothers arranged the group of children just so on the staircase and took pictures, oo-ing and ah-ing about how darling they looked. Then James rounded everyone up to load into the cars and off they drove into the snowy evening, headed to the Christmas Eve church service.

I watched them go, their headlights slowly fading in the dim evening light. I longed to be able to join them. 

When they all returned a couple hours later, Elaine, always the perfect hostess, immediately set to work preparing the Christmas Eve feast. She set out trays of cheeses, crackers, olives, shrimp, deviled eggs, sausages, fruit, dips, spreads, and, of course, cookies for everyone to munch on while they chatted the evening away and enjoyed their family time together. Little clusters of people formed around the house. Someone would round a group of people together to play a card game or Scrabble. The grandparents sat around the fire in the living room, telling dull stories that all within earshot had obviously heard many times before. The younger adults rolled their eyes at each other in a teasing way, secretly enjoying this running joke.

Joy rang through the house all evening, until it was time to send the children off to bed so that Santa Claus could come. The older children knew their duties well. Bobby went straight to the kitchen and poured a glass of milk to leave for Santa. Rebecca and Paula selected which cookies they thought Santa would like best. Jack began to cry because there was nothing for him to do, so Elaine suggested that he and Tommy write up a little note to leave next to the treats, thus assuring that every child got to participate in one last act to guarantee their place on The Nice List. 

When this was complete, the children all raced down to the basement, which served as their holiday clubhouse while everyone was in town. It started out as five perfectly arranged little sleeping mats made of extra blankets and pillows that Elaine had set