Snapshots

Denouement

Everyone on Peachtree Street remembers the day Alice arrived.

Peachtree Street, right between Cherry Street and Applewood Circle, was known for its beautiful homes. Each house had a wraparound porch, a two-car garage, and pristine landscaping that required daily care. All the families were respectable members of the community who took pride in their homes and did their part to ensure that nothing changed. No one was a stranger, because strangers weren't invited.

So even if they didn't know who Alice was, and most of them didn't, they remember how that grungy, noisy sedan rolled slowly – no, some say, nervously, – to the house at the very end of the cul-de-sac. The white one with green shutters hugging the windows, an elm and a willow tree watching over the backyard, and vibrant tulips and daffodils framing the porch. The Roses lived there. A very sensible family, although some say they had a daughter who ran away from home years ago, but still not the kind to have a car like that parked in the driveway as if it belonged there.

Most of the neighbors, specifically the ones closest to the Roses' home, left their yards and porches to watch from behind the curtains in their windows. Some of the neighbors farther down the street chose to stay outside and keep an eye on the house while reading the same page in the paper over and over again or, in Mrs. Dabney's case, water their flowers extra slowly, despite the fact that the sun was beginning to set and they had just watered them earlier that morning.

The sedan's door, brown and dented, swung open. The driver was a tall, pregnant woman. She was only in her mid-twenties, but her dark eyes were made darker by the bags beneath them, so she appeared much older. A young, sticky-handed boy clambered out of the back seat and stood by her side, holding her hand. His hair was nearly white – a stark contrast to his mother's brown ponytail – and his eyes were a cold, cautious shade of blue.

An older woman, Lucy Rose, peeked through the screen door of the house. "Alice!" She turned to call inside the house. "David, she's here!" Dr. David Rose was Lucy's husband.

"No need to yell, Lucille, I'm right here." The couple ran like excited children down the steps of the front porch and embraced Alice tightly, being mindful of her baby bump. The boy amused himself with a stick and a cricket.

Alice sobbed into Lucy's red cardigan. "Momma, I...I'm so sorry..."

"I know, love, I know." Lucy held her even closer. "You're back now; that's what's important. We're so glad you're back."

The group hug lasted for an uncertain amount of time. Every so often, the silence was broken by a sniffle, cough, or sigh. The sedan ticked in the background as the engine cooled. The elm and the willow, which had previously been rustling restlessly in the Roses' backyard, paused as if in reverence. Some neighbors cleared their throats and turned to the next page of their newspaper. Mrs. Dabney couldn't look away and accidentally over-watered her pansies.

Alice was the first to pull away, wiping her eyes and nose on the sleeves of her thin jacket. "Alex, come here, please."

The boy tossed the stick and shuffled to his mother.

"I want you to meet your grandparents. They're my mommy and daddy." Alex remained silent, so his mother nudged him. "Say hi."

"Hi." He held his hands stiffly behind his back, and his left tennis shoe twisted on the clean concrete of the driveway.

"Hello, Alex." Lucy bent down to match his height. "Goodness gracious, what a handsome young man my grandson is. How old are you?"

Silence. Nudge. "Six."

"Six! So grown up." Lucy straightened her back and smiled at Alex, who became distracted by an ant that had found its way onto his knee. "Alex, do you like cookies?"

Alex's eyes snapped upwards.

"That's right. I have a family recipe for peanut butter cookies that I love to make, but it's hard for an old woman like me to stir a big bowl of cookie dough all by myself. I'll need some help." She looked at Alex expectantly.

David laughed. "I doubt a six-year-old boy wants to put on an apron and work in a kitchen, hon. Hey, maybe we can go fishing sometime this week; what do you say, Buddy? You ever been fishing?"

Alex shrugged and returned to inspecting his knee, searching for the ant.

Lucy switched her attention to Alice. "You both must be exhausted. You can go straight to bed, but only after you eat a bowl of my chili. It's extra tasty tonight."

Alice reached for Alex's hand, but he yanked his small frame backward. "No!" His tiny shoes quickly scuffed back to the car; he flung the door open and shut himself inside. His head disappeared beneath the window as he curled up in the back seat.

Alice rubbed her forehead. "I'm so sorry. He just needs some time. He'll open up­–"

Lucy rubbed Alice's shoulders and led her to the house. "Of course he needs time. We'll give him time. Lord knows what kind of hell that boy has been through."

Most of the neighbors stopped watching after that. They folded up their newspapers, put away their hoses and watering cans, closed their curtains, and agreed not to discuss what just happened.

Mrs. Dabney was the only one who sat in her rocking chair and continued to watch until, after the last rays of the sunset dissolved into stars, she saw the motion-sensing lights flick on above the garage. The sedan's door was open. The boy's platinum hair reflected the light like a lost firefly. He slowly exited the car and slipped inside the lightless house.