Coming Home to Greenleigh

Chapter 38

Handmade Heaven
Marina

I envy the birds high up in the trees
They live out their lives so purposefully
I envy the spiders, the squirrels and seeds
They all find their way automatically
But in this handmade heaven, I come alive
Bluebirds forever colour the sky
In this handmade heaven, we forget the time
'Cause birds of a feather fly together
I carry along a feel of unease
I want to belong like the birds in the trees
I sit on my own, look over the town
The skyscrapers glow like they'll never fall down
But in this handmade heaven, it's paradise
Bluebirds forever colour the sky
In this handmade heaven, we forget the time
'Cause birds of a feather fly together
In this handmade heaven, I come alive
Bluebirds forever colour the sky
In this handmade heaven, handmade heaven
Handmade heaven, handmade heaven
And I could no longer ignore
The ivy growing tall
This life don't suit me anymore
The writing's on the wall
In this handmade heaven, I come alive
Bluebirds forever colour the sky
In this handmade heaven, handmade heaven
Handmade heaven, handmade heaven
Birds of a feather
(Bluebirds forever) Fly together
(Bluebirds forever) In this strange, strange weather
(Bluebirds forever) In this handmade heaven
In this handmade heaven, in this handmade heaven
In this handmade heaven, in this handmade heaven
Songwriters: Marina Lambrini Diamandis

*****

Elisabeth was sitting on the couch watching television when Shawn walked into the room. He'd been avoiding her, and she'd been fine with that. She loved his dad and didn't mind his clumsy attempts at conversation, but she wasn't quite ready for more.

Thanksgiving dinner had been spent with a crew of Sam's friends, none of whom knew her all that well, and the average age of the crowd had been about seventy-five, so she'd felt entirely comfortable helping out in the kitchen with a bunch of ladies who rivaled Mrs. Miller in caustic wit and blunt humor. She disliked football and hadn't joined the loud party around the large-screen television in the family room, but had been content to stay in the background, eating pie and listening quietly to conversation about grandchildren. When they'd returned to the Waterstone home late that evening, they were all tired, and went directly to bed.

On Friday, it had been cold and sleeting, so she'd sat next to the fireplace reading a book. Shawn had gone out somewhere, and Sam was banging around in the cellar, working on some project or other. She'd kept her phone switched off and in her purse, so she wasn't tempted to look at it.

On Saturday, she'd awoken to find the house empty. She'd made some toast and coffee, then sat in the kitchen flipping through a woodworking magazine. At some point, she'd been daydreaming, staring into space, before suddenly wondering where the dog had gone. For a weird moment, she didn't know what year it was, before remembering that the dog in question must have died a long, long time ago.

"This house needs a dog," she thought. But of course they didn't have a dog. Shawn hadn't lived in this house for years, and Sam was still at the factory at all hours. It had been Shawn's mother who'd been the dog's friend. Misty? Mickey? She couldn't remember its name.

Unsettled, she went into the living room to switch on the television, hoping that the noise would keep her grounded in the present day. She didn't enjoy the sense that she had lost track of time. Would she return to Greenleigh to find her angry mother waiting to yell at her? Would she have to relive that moment when she'd heard her father had been killed in that car accident? When she saw Shawn approach, she was relieved, and patted the sofa next to her.

"Hi," she said. "I'm such a slug. Where have you been?"

"Out," he said. His expression was odd, between curious and distressed, as if he had something terrible to tell her and wasn't sure if he should.