by Jenny Hale
As they walked down the wide hallway to the kitchen, she couldn’t help but notice the confidence in his stride, the way he turned his head to smile at her as he walked, how completely calm he was, even after everything that had just happened. And she realized that it was probably because he had nothing to lose. This inheritance had most likely been a lucky surprise for him. He hadn’t spent long nights with Nan, talking until his eyes almost closed by themselves, had he? He hadn’t sat next to her while she made her legendary banana nut muffins, explaining each step so the next generation of the family would know it. He hadn’t wrapped himself in one of her handmade quilts and sipped champagne by the fire just for fun.
He pulled out the chair at the period table where Nan usually sat and motioned for Leah to have a seat. “Cream and sugar?”
She didn’t sit, channeling all her energy. She would turn her sadness into drive and focus on the issue at hand. “I’ll get it,” she said, suddenly not wanting to make eye contact. She looked down at the unfamiliar mug on the counter. Her emotions were getting the better of her again. Nan’s porcelain creamer slid into her view and then a spoon. David moved the sugar toward her.
Leah filled her cup and added what she needed. As David made his, she went over and finally sat down at the table. She didn’t want to. She wanted to get up, move around, rifle through Nan’s things until she had answers. But instead, she kept her eyes on the table. It looked almost exactly the same as when Nan had been there. Nan was extremely neat and quite up on the trends for her age. She could always mix the old with the new in the most perfect ways. The table was dark wood, white placemats with a light-blue zigzag pattern giving it life. But in the center was a smooth, white vase that would normally have had sprigs of holly, berries, and evergreens, offering a pop of color. It was empty, like the gumdrop bowl.
She was trying to be strong but she suddenly felt tired, like she had no fight left. She had been working so hard, but having Evergreen Hill in her sights, as soon as college was done, had kept her going. Since Nan’s death, living in limbo, she’d just about managed to hold it together. But now, knowing she had to fight made her exhaustion worse, and she felt the tears come back.
David handed her a napkin and sat down beside her. “It’s okay to be sad, you know. Give yourself a break. We don’t have to talk about anything right now.”
She dabbed her eyes with the napkin, now slightly damp from where she’d balled it up in her clammy fist. She twisted it nervously. She was struggling to talk. How would she ever demand anything from David in this state? It was all so draining. She tried to remind herself: Nan could have given the house to charity, or to the local museum, or split it between everyone in the family who’d have then voted to sell it.
“Do you know one of my favorite things I remember about her from my childhood?” David said, his head tilted to the side, his face so composed and caring that she forgot for a moment what she was there to do.
She shook her head.
“If we got scared during a movie or at bedtime, she’d hum this little tune. Do you remember that?”
Leah nodded, the tears returning. She could hear the tune right now in her head. They’d both slipped into their memories, and Leah tried to silence them all. It was too much. She honed in on the ticking clock on the wall, trying to get the thoughts out of her head. She looked through the kitchen window next to the table, its glass original and flawed in a magnificent way. If one didn’t know that rather than having the glass shipped from England, the original owner had local glassmakers make custom-sized windows using the sand from the James River outside the property, it would seem like it was just the ice outside giving them their cloudy appearance. She could still imagine Nan wiping that big window down. In the bright sunlight Nan was just a silhouette when she stood in front of it to clean it. Leah could just make out the woods out back, the sight of them calming her. She noticed David had turned toward that window as well.
“Remember how she wouldn’t let us go as far as the garden because it was past the woods, and she couldn’t see us?” he said. “She’d tell us that if we went out to the blueberry patch without her bear spray, the bears would come. It took me years to realize that there weren’t any bears on the property!” He chuckled.
She wanted to smile, to feel the ease in her heart, the explosion of happiness that she used to have when she reminisced about her childhood with Nan, but right now it just felt like a dagger in her chest. She sat silently, trying to steel herself so she could talk to David, but she couldn’t. She rubbed the pinch in her shoulder as she worked unsuccessfully to get herself together.
When she was with Nan, she felt like the sky was the limit, like she could move mountains if she just planned for it—and Nan had helped her plan. The ease with which they communicated, the elation she felt whenever she was in Nan’s presence, when she could experience Nan’s complete excitement for life—her body felt heavy without it. Just knowing Nan was there to cheer her on made her feel invincible. Now, she just felt alone, as if someone had removed that piece of her that made her feel like anything was possible. She spent her days pushing back tears, trying not to think about how great she had had it with Nan. Her quiet support was gone, and in the silence that remained, it was up to Leah to figure out how to survive without it. She put on a brave face for Sadie, hoping to make her believe that her mother would have all the answers just like Nan had, but inside she felt empty without her.
She longed for those moments when Nan danced around the kitchen, when she squinted her eyes just before laughing at something funny, when she ushered Leah outside to see a wild flower that had bloomed in the woods. Just one more time. Leah and David sat silently together as the memories flooded her mind.
“She told me what was in her secret bear spray once my daughter Sadie was roaming around,” she said, finally able to speak. Leah watched the interest in David’s eyes, the way his expression lifted as he waited for the rest of her story. She took a sip of her coffee. “It was water and lavender.” She smiled, the memory washing over her like a warm bath, soft and gentle. That was Nan. “She had monster spray too. Did she ever use that with you?”
David nodded.
“That one was water and lemon. Sadie thought it worked so well that she made Nan send some home with us. We used to refill it whenever we came back, so we’d have to conserve it between visits. Sadie would only let me use it when she was too scared to sleep. Otherwise, she’d try to be brave so as not to waste it.”
“That’s a good story,” David said. His shoulders were relaxed, his arm propped on the back of the chair beside him. Leah noticed a small spot of her mascara on his shirt and she felt another icy stab in her chest as the feeling she’d had when she’d first arrived came spiraling back toward her.
“I miss her.”
“Of course you do. She was the most wonderful woman.”
They drifted into silence again. As she sipped her coffee, she watched David out of the corner of her eye, thinking about how, under any other circumstances, she’d have thought it was simply amazing to see him again. There they were, strangers who could’ve passed each other on the street, yet they shared these rich memories. She noticed the strength of his hand as it hung off the back of the chair—the vascular look of it, how completely unrecognizable it was from that little boy’s hand who’d helped her across puddles as a girl.
As Leah thought about little Davey, she realized how great he’d been. She hadn’t fully appreciated what a great kid he was, but now, looking back, with her own child… He had been an old soul, so empathetic and caring, and she couldn’t help but think how he seemed that way right now. She didn’t want to discuss the house—it was just too much—so she focused on him. “What happened after you moved away? What was your life like?”
“It was definitely different from growing up here, that’s for sure.” He smiled at her and she felt herself smiling back. He had nice eyes.
She relaxed a bit and wrapped her hands ar
ound her coffee mug for warmth.
“We moved to Chicago, into a small rental house just outside the city. It was fine. I had a lot of friends, played baseball through high school. I tried to play in college but found my studies more of a priority.”
“And what do you do now?”
“I.T. and real estate. But I want to shift my focus to entirely I.T.” He took a sip of his coffee. “People always glaze over when I start talking about that, but I really enjoy it. I get to understand companies inside and out, and figure out what systems will make them more efficient.” He waved a hand as if to dismiss it. “How about you?”
“I manage a florist.” She decided to keep it simple.
“I could see that. As a kid, you were always helping Nina—your nan—with flower arrangements.” She noticed his glance at the empty vase on the table. Quickly, he looked back up at her. She knew that he was probably thinking about Nan and the house just like she was, but he wasn’t mentioning it either.
“I enjoy my job,” she said, although she refrained from telling him what her dream job would be. “It’s where I met my best friend, Roz. I couldn’t make it without her.”
He smiled again, the gesture reaching his eyes. “And you have one little girl?”
“Yes. Sadie. She’s seven going on forty-five.”
He chuckled, the laugh coming out like little huffs of breath.
“She keeps a better calendar than I do and makes her bed without any reminders every morning. She’s amazing. Once, I was running late for work and I had to leave as soon as she’d gotten the bus. I had my keys in my hand and was standing outside ready to leave the moment she did. On the way to work, I realized I hadn’t had breakfast. When I got there, I looked in my handbag for a dollar to get something from the vending machine. I didn’t have a dollar, but Sadie had slipped one of her Pop-Tarts in my bag.”
His smile widened, and it was clear by his eyes that the story had warmed him.
“And you? Any kids?”
“No. It’s just me,” he said.
Leah went to take a sip of her coffee and realized it had gone cold while they’d been talking. She stood up and walked over to the sink to rinse it out. David rose and followed her lead.
“Why don’t we go into the sitting room?” he suggested. “We’d be more comfortable in there.” He looked at his watch. “It’s after lunch. Forgive me for not asking. Are you hungry?”
“I had something on the way here, but thank you. Feel free to eat if you’re hungry,” she said, the air between them unclear. She didn’t know how to act all of a sudden. He’d had his arms around her, comforted her, and they’d shared wonderful memories. But they hadn’t broached the subject of house.
“I had a late breakfast,” he said. “But I’m kind of hungry. I might just have a sandwich and a glass of wine. Want some?”
“Yes. Thank you.” She needed it to take the edge off, and a sandwich would be good.
“Red or white?” he called as she left him in the kitchen.
“White, please,” she said walking into the sitting room. Her eyes went straight to the basket beside the settee and the sight pulled her right over to it. Gently, she took one of Nan’s quilts from the basket and ran her hand along the threads that held the tiny squares together. Nan had made all the quilts in that basket, and she’d used every single one of them at one time or another.
She sat down and covered her legs with it. It was red and white with little berries at the corners. She’d helped Nan cut the red fabric for the berries. While Nan respected the period décor of the house, built in the eighteenth century, she loved to add personal touches to warm the large spaces. She had baskets of quilts and pillows everywhere.
“I don’t have the fresh foliage that Nina always had in this room.” David handed her a glass of wine, two sandwiches on a plate that rested on his arm. He set his glass and the plate down on the coffee table and sat beside her on the settee. “You could probably whip something up, I’ll bet.” He smiled. “So, you like working at a florist’s shop?”
“It allows me to be creative.”
“Your grandmother was creative. She used to bake like crazy. She made me these delicious banana nut muffins once. She had quite a talent for cooking. She tried to teach me the recipe a while back.” He shook his head, amusement on his face. “I’m a lost cause when it comes to cooking.”
A guarded curiosity swam around inside Leah when she heard that Nan had tried to teach David how to make her muffins.
“Do you remember that year we all decorated cookies? You might not. You were probably four or so. You had colored icing all over your mouth and she kept asking you if you’d had a taste. You’d shake your head and tell her you hadn’t. Then you flashed that big smile of yours,” he said, laughing.
“I vaguely remember,” she said, smiling more at his laughter than the story.
His whole face lit up when he laughed, his eyes lingering on her for a moment, that smile of his resting on his lips.
Their laughter dissipated and they fell silent again. Leah took a bite of her sandwich and let her eyes roam the room. She looked over at the rocking chair in the corner that Nan had always moved at Christmas to make room for the tree. There was no tree this year. There were no stockings hanging from the mantle, no wreaths with the big red bows on every front window. She couldn’t help thinking how, whatever Nan’s reasoning had been for giving it to both her and David, this place needed Leah, and Leah needed to be there.
Chapter 4
The alcohol had given Leah just enough of a buzz to feel comfortable. As the sun had gone down, one glass led to two, and then another, Leah losing count as the hours passed. David had disappeared to find another bottle. She didn’t know how it had happened, but Leah had found herself talking about those first few months after Sadie was born. She’d never told anyone how hard she’d found it, or tried to explain why she couldn’t ask for help. But David had nodded and even opened up to her, talking about the loans he’d taken out to go to college, the long nights waiting tables followed by longer nights pouring over his course texts. And now, they were so sleepy neither of them could hardly keep their eyes open, but they found themselves cracking up over a scene they both remembered from Groundhog Day.
She leaned over and looked at David’s watch.
“It’s midnight,” she said with a grin. “Do you remember what we used to do if we were up at midnight?”
The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. “We used to sneak downstairs and make snacks. You even woke me up one time to do it! I can’t believe you remember that.”
“Neither of us had a real dinner, and I’m hungry,” she said, getting off the settee.
David stood up, collected their empty wine glasses, and they headed into the kitchen.
“What can we find in here?” Leah asked, digging around in the pantry. She grabbed a bag and held it up.
“Marshmallows?” He was looking at her, warmth in his eyes. “You want to eat marshmallows? Hang on,” he said walking around her. “I have an idea.” He grabbed a pack of bacon, cream cheese, and jalapeño peppers from the fridge. “I can’t make a midnight snack for you and feed you marshmallows.”
“What are we making?” she asked as he sliced the jalapeños long-ways, scooping out the seeds.
“A little appetizer that gives the appearance that I can cook,” he said with a grin. “I use it to impress people. Would you preheat the oven to four hundred, please?”
“So you’re trying to impress me?” she said, feeling the flush in her cheeks.
He let out a little huff of laughter, but he didn’t deny it. He scooped the cream cheese into a bowl and began to grate a block of cheddar over it. “We’re going to just scoop this into the peppers and wrap them with the bacon,” he said.
Leah yawned as she opened a drawer and pulled out two spoons, handing him one.
“Aw, don’t make me—” He covered a big yawn.
She reached over, mid-yawn, and g
rabbed the air right in front of his mouth, making a fist. He immediately stopped yawning and looked at her. “Nan used to always do that. She called it ‘stealing my yawns.’ It made you stop yawning, didn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said, yawning again.
They both laughed.
When they’d filled the peppers and they were laid out in nice, neat, bacon-wrapped lines, she slid them into the oven. Then they went into the sitting room.
David sat down next to Leah on the settee. “Now, we can’t fall asleep, waiting for them to finish cooking,” he said.
Famous. Last. Words.
They chatted for a moment about how melted cheese was probably the best invention on the planet, but it descended into quiet as their lids dropped and she wondered why she couldn’t think of anything more insightful to say.
It had felt like only seconds that she rested her eyes, but Leah and David jumped to a start, the fire alarm beeping in the kitchen. The both looked at each other, their eyes big with surprise.
“Oh no!” he laughed.
They ran into the kitchen, David throwing on one of Nan’s oven mitts and yanking the smoking, sizzling peppers out of the oven. Leah opened the windows and the back door, but it seemed to let more cold air in than smoke out. She fanned the air, while David took the peppers outside and set them on the brick walkway. As they both stood in the freezing kitchen, the smoke billowing around the ceiling, they broke into laughter.
“Maybe we should’ve just had the marshmallows,” he said.
* * *
Leah rolled under the duvet to view the time, the gray morning barely giving her enough light to focus. It was still early—six o’clock. She closed her eyes and lay back on the pillow, the feel of the linens so familiar and comfortable that, at first, she’d almost forgotten about her troubles. This was the bed she’d slept in when she needed the security of family, and a retreat to ease her mind.
After the kitchen incident, Leah had talked to David until they could both barely keep their eyes open for a second time that night. They talked about everything and nothing at the same time. David had such a gentle way about him that she found herself both lost in his stories and waiting for what he was going to say next, and equally enthralled by the affectionate curiosity she saw in his eyes when she talked. Neither of them mentioned the elephant in the room. Every time the conversation would swing toward the house itself, one of them would change course.