North Paxton Street

            Paige raced down the street in her dark blue Toyota Sedan, something that wasn’t recommended for a frosted winter day. She wasn’t exactly sure where she was going. It had been months since she had been to Walter’s house, and the blankets of snow everywhere made everything look different. She allowed her gut instinct to guide her. Finally, she saw a sign the same color of her car with white capital letters.

            N PAXTON ST

            She immediately made a sharp left turn. The flurries stuck to the windshield, but Paige didn’t bother to wipe them off. She would be there soon. The road looked as if it were covered in powdered sugar. Paige’s thoughts wandered to French toast with syrup and powdered sugar on top, and her stomach growled in response.

            Alright. We’ll be having French toast with syrup and powdered sugar as a brunch.

            Maybe she was hungry. Or maybe she was anxious about returning to Walter’s house for the first time in a long time. Paige heard an upbeat tune that was familiar to her. She turned up the volume. It was the song she needed to shake off her nerves and pump her up. “Novocaine” by Fall Out Boy broke through the speakers and took over the interior of the car. Against her better judgment, she pressed her foot down some more on the gas pedal and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel to the beat. A cloud of snow whirled up behind the car. And then she froze.

            This was one of Walter’s favorite songs.

            She felt a wetness on her cheeks. She wiped the salty drops away furiously with the sleeve of her coat. She sang the lyrics, but they tasted bittersweet on her tongue. The asphalt road transitioned to cobblestone beneath the car’s tires. Paige’s eyes widened as a memory barreled in.

 

 

            “Come on Walter! At least give it a try.”

            “I don’t know Paige…an old man like me, listening to that…it probably isn’t healthy and goes against all the laws of nature and the universe.”

            They both laughed. Paige fixed her ponytail and scrunched her nose to accommodate her square glasses. Walter was in a vest and bowtie, which he straightened, and the outfit was completed with dress pants and shoes so shiny, Paige swore she could see her reflection in them. Walter listened to the beginning of the song, his eyes studying Paige’s portable stereo with his deep brown eyes. His knees began to bend to the rhythm. Paige could feel a wide grin form on her face. Soon, they were both shuffling back and forth, Walter singing the parts he had already memorized.

            They laughed.

            They danced.

            Walter asked her to put the song on again.

            She obliged him with utmost pleasure.

 

 

            Paige returned to the present and slowed the car down, noticing for the first time that she was nearing the mansion. Another memory came to her before she could refuse.

 

 

            Paige and Walter danced in the kitchen to the same song. Walter was making his famous spaghetti sauce, a recipe treasured by his family for generations. Suddenly, he dropped the spoon. It clattered against the tile floor next to him.

 

            Walter came in soon after.

 

            His body was sprawled across the floor, his eyes wide open.

 

            “Walter? Walter?!”

 

 

           

            Paige skidded the car to a halt. She jumped out of the driver’s seat with her keys. The wind’s gusts were strong and stung her with a thousand flurries, but she fought hard against it up the steps and to the door. She jammed the key into the keyhole and pried the immense double doors open. She ran into the kitchen.

 

            “Walter?! Walter?!” she shouted.

 

            But there was no one there. The room was empty. She struggled to steady herself and her clouded breaths.

 

            It was just a memory. Everything’s fine.

           

            She returned to the double doors at the entrance of the mansion and closed them before more snowflakes littered the wooden flooring. She looked around. The entrance hall was familiar to her. The portraits on the walls. The polished floor. The winding staircase. She moved on back to the kitchen. The kitchen was immense. Paige unzipped her coat and set it down on one of the stools at the marble island.

 

            The same stainless-steel shine everywhere. The same deluxe refrigerator. The same marble countertops. The same collection of pots and pans, dishes, and silverware. The same crystal glasses in the same vintage china cabinet.

 

            Paige tightened her scarf around her neck and wrapped her cardigan tightly around her body. Then, she glanced down at her right hand. A key was pinched between her index finger and her thumb. It was the key she used to get in. Her eyebrows furrowed.

 

            She had no recollection of Walter ever having given her a key.