Carol met me at the airport in Tucson.
She was wearing a blue jacket and holding a paper sign with my name written across it.
I laughed when I saw it.
"You know I'm not famous, don't you?"
"Not yet," she said.
It felt good to be with her.
For the first few days, I hardly thought about home.
We went to breakfast.
We visited a small market.
We sat outside in the afternoons and talked about people we hadn't seen in years.
Carol asked about Paul and Denise.
"They're keeping an eye on me," I said.
She looked at me.
"Are they helping or checking up on you?"
I didn't answer immediately.
That was the problem with Carol.
She had always been able to hear the things I didn't say.
"They mean well," I finally replied.
She nodded.
But she didn't look convinced.
One evening, I received a message from Denise.
It was a photograph of a folder on my kitchen counter.
Underneath it, she had written that she and Paul were organizing some household paperwork.
I replied that I hoped they weren't throwing anything away.
She sent back a laughing face.
Nothing else.
I thought little of it.
A few days later, Paul called.
He asked whether I was enjoying myself.
I told him Carol had been taking me everywhere.
He laughed and said I should stay longer next time.
Then he asked whether I had received any important mail.
I told him I hadn't.
There was a pause.
"Okay. Just checking."
I asked whether something was wrong.
"No, Mom. Everything's fine."
He ended the call shortly afterward.
I didn't think much about it.
I should have.
During the second week, Carol and I visited a garden center.
I bought a small packet of flower seeds.
They were for the garden back home.
I remember holding that packet in my hand and thinking about where I would plant them.
Perhaps beside the roses.
Perhaps near the old wooden fence.
I had no idea that strangers were already making plans for those same gardens.
The two weeks passed quickly.
Carol drove me back to the airport on Friday evening.
She hugged me tightly.
"Call me when you get home."
"I will."
"And don't let those children push you around."
I laughed.
"You're always suspicious."
"I'm usually right."
I kissed her cheek and went through security.
The flight home was uneventful.
I slept for part of it and watched a film I barely remembered.
By Saturday morning, I was back in my own town.
I collected my suitcase and found a taxi.
The driver placed my luggage in the trunk.
"Home?"
"Birch Lane," I told him.
I was tired.
All I wanted was a shower, a cup of tea, and my own bed.
The taxi turned onto my street.
Then I saw the sign.
At first, I thought I had mistaken the house.
There was a large red-and-white board planted near the front lawn.
A real estate advertisement.
A photograph of a smiling woman appeared beneath the company logo.
The words beneath her picture announced an open house.
I stared at it.
My house.
The driver slowed down.
"Busy day for the neighbors."
I didn't answer.
There were cars parked along both sides of the road.
One vehicle was partly blocking my driveway.
Another stood directly in front of the rose bushes.
People were walking toward my front entrance.
Some carried folders.
Others were talking while looking at the windows.
My front door was open.
Not slightly.
Wide open.
I asked the driver to stop.
He pulled over.
I paid him and took my suitcase from the trunk.
For a few seconds, I simply stood there.
I looked at the sign again.
Then at the house.
The house Frank and I had bought together.
The house where our children had grown up.
The house I had locked before leaving for Tucson.
I walked toward the entrance.
Nobody stopped me.
Nobody asked who I was.
They simply assumed I belonged there.
I stepped inside.
And heard a stranger talking about my living room walls.
Click here to continue reading: PART 3: A Stranger Was Measuring My Living Room, Another Was Opening My Closet, and My Daughter Called It a Family Decision
I Thought My Children Were Worried About Me, Until I Came Home and Found Strangers Inside My House
Part 2 of 24
