Series: Behind Closed Doors 11

Photo Courtesy of Elke on Pictures Imperfect

Mrs. San Benedetto had been a fixture on Sullivan Street longer than most of its current residents had been alive. When she and her late husband bought their modest two-bedroom home- one of the first in what had once been a bustling marketplace turned quaint row of living spaces- they were true trendsetters.

All six of their children had been born in that house. Two of their sons had been lost to two different wars, and their mother had mourned them both behind those arched wooden doorways.

So when the lounge chair on Mrs. San Benedetto’s front stoop sat empty for three days- and a note was discovered taped to her front door- Malta ran straight over for a closer look.

Off to the coast with the family.  M.S.B.

But Mrs. San Benedetto had never gone out of town. Not once, not since her husband passed. She didn’t drive anymore. Didn’t have family close by. Something wasn’t right.

Malta hesitated, then took her phone from her pocket. “Hey, Sal,” she said when her neighbor picked up. “You seen Mrs. San Benedetto lately?”

“No,” Sal finally said after a brief pause. “I was gonna ask you the same thing.”

Within minutes, Sal lumbered across the street, still in his gardening overalls, his thinning hair matted with sweat under his signature Yankees baseball cap..

“She’s never gone nowhere,” he said, peering up at the curtained window. “Not in all the years I been here. Not once.”

Malta folded her arms, the note fluttering in the breeze between them. “That’s what I said. Even when her sister passed, she sent flowers instead of going to the funeral.”

“Maybe the kids came and took her somewhere?”

Malta shook her head. “She would’ve told someone. You know her- she always leaves instructions. Last time she had her carpets cleaned, she left a key with me and a note for you.”

“Let’s check around back,” Sal added with the sound of purpose in his voice.

The gate creaked as they pushed it open, revealing the small garden Mrs. San Benedetto tended every morning-  rows of basil, tomatoes, and marigolds that she prided herself on. Now the soil was dry, the leaves curled inward under the afternoon sun.

Malta’s throat tightened. “She wouldn’t let them get like this.” She said as she bent down, brushing the edge of a clay pot with her fingers. “We should call someone. Maybe her youngest-  what’s his name, the one with the mustache?”

Just then, something inside the house caught her eye-  a faint flicker of light through the bedroom curtain, the one she used as a den. She froze.

“Sal,” she said. “Did you see that?”

He nodded, stepping closer to the window. “Looks like… a flickering light? Maybe a TV?”

They approached the back door, which oddly enough stood slightly ajar. Malta hesitated before pushing it open..

Inside, the house was dim. Only the soft whir of an old projector broke the stillness. Sal reached for the light switch, but Malta stopped him.

“Wait,” she whispered.

Through the archway into the den, a flickering glow spilled across the walls. There, in her favorite armchair, sat Mrs. San Benedetto. Her white hair was brushed into a smooth bun beneath a wide-brimmed sunhat. She wore a bright floral cover-up, a pair of sunglasses perched on her nose, and a smile that could have belonged to a woman half her age.

Before her, the film reel clicked softly as scenes of the coastline shimmered into view-  a much younger Mrs. San Benedetto laughing beside her husband, all six children splashing in the surf.

Malta’s eyes filled with tears as she realized what she was seeing. The San Benedetto family’s seaside memories, looping in the stuttering silence.

Sal took off his cap and held it against his chest. “She’s gone,” he said quietly.

Malta nodded, stepping closer. “No,” she murmured. “She just went home.”

This is my contribution to this week’s Thursday Doors.

The inspiration for this story came from Elke’s photo when she posted it on her blog Picture Imperfect.

This is part of a series of stand-alone vignettes.. You may navigate all entries in the series by clicking on the Behind Closed Doors tab in the Category drop down list.

49 thoughts on “Series: Behind Closed Doors 11”

    • I am too, Dan. It affords me the opportunity to write weeks in advance, and I think that really brings a more quality story to the page as I am an insatiable editor! hehehe Thank you so much for making this space available.

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