Kate struggled to hide the irritation in her voice. “Seriously, Steve? A romantic getaway that just happens to include a family funeral? Please don’t try to make this about us,” she said. “This trip has to be about me. Things with my family aren’t very good right now. I’ve got to work some stuff out, and I don’t really know how it’s all going to go.”
Suddenly, Steve was in front of her. He took both of her hands and turned her to face him. “You know how I feel about you, Kate. I love you. I want to be here for you, but I can’t wait around for you forever.”
Kate closed her eyes and internally cringed that now, faced with death and funerals and feelings she could scarcely endure, this man was pressuring her for a commitment. The words I love you hung heavily in the air between them. Kate had yet to return the sentiment. “I know you do.” She pulled her hands away. “Just let me do this. Let me take some time and work through some things. I’ll call you in a couple of days.”
Steve ran his fingers through his hair and moved away from her. “You’ll call me,” he said flatly. “It’s always you’ll call me, and I’m just supposed to be here smiling and happy when you do.”
“My aunt is dead, Steve. Do we have to talk about this now?”
Steve sighed and pressed his fingers against his eyes in frustration. “No, we don’t. I’m sorry I said anything.” He turned and walked around his desk, flipped open a folder, and studied its contents with feigned interest. “Please offer my condolences to your family.”
As he disengaged from their conversation, his demeanor changed like the flip of a light switch. His love and compassion, when not returned in kind, were immediately replaced with intentional indifference.
Kate shook her head. It wasn’t supposed to feel this much like a game. “We’ll talk soon, okay?” She turned and left without waiting for a response.
Chapter 2
The Walker home was a large two-story farmhouse, originally built by Kate’s great-grandparents in 1907. It sat in a little glen just outside a tiny pocket of a town called Rose Creek. The town was surrounded by a sea of lush farmland and expansive valleys buffeted on all sides by the smoky blues and greens of the Appalachian Mountains.
The old house had been there for so long, it seemed a permanent and completely natural part of the landscape. Nestled on two acres, with fruit trees and vegetable gardens, it seemed the perfect place to raise a family. A large wraparound porch covered three full sides of the house, welcoming friends and strangers alike with an abundance of rocking chairs, potted plants, and hanging baskets brim full with spring blooms. As a little girl, Kate had loved to sit in those chairs and think of her own mother growing up in the very same house. She imagined her climbing the same trees and picking tomatoes from the same garden patch in the backyard. She loved it when Aunt Mary would tell stories about her childhood, detailing the many things she and her sister had done as little girls. Kate and Leslie would listen to the stories and then, the next afternoon, go out to play the same games and search for the same hiding spots that had sheltered and entertained their mothers years before.
The house, for all of its generations of occupants, was still in remarkably good condition. It had undergone several modernizing renovations over the years, but it had never lost the look of an old farmhouse, and Kate was glad. It would have ruined it, she thought, for the house to be anything other than what it was. Mary’s husband, Grey, had done much to maintain the old house, replacing floorboards, mending shutters, and updating fixtures. After he died, Mary had done the best she could to keep things up, but Kate still noticed a few signs of disrepair. The worn wooden siding could use a fresh coat of paint, and several of the steps on the porch needed replacement. Notwithstanding, the house felt unmistakably like home. The familiar sounds and smells were warm and welcoming as Kate climbed the old porch steps.
It’s good to be here, she thought.
She stood on the porch and wondered if she ought to knock before going in. The house hadn’t stirred when she’d pulled up the gravel drive, though the cars parked in front of the house indicated someone was home. Still, she couldn’t be certain who might be inside. Losing her nerve, she turned and sat down on the top step of the porch. She leaned her head against the railing and turned her face to the warm afternoon sun.
Spring had invaded the little valley in all its beauty and splendor. The day, even in the warmest hour, was still pleasant, much nicer than the hot, summerlike temperatures she had left behind in Atlanta. She closed her eyes and let the warmth wash over her, bringing with it the memories and emotions that linked her to the house. Sitting there on the porch, she wondered how she had ever stayed away for so long.
If only I’d come home more often. If only I’d seen Mary one more time. If only I had called. If only . . .
There were too many reasons to say it. She wiped her tears away and turned at the sound of the front door opening.
“Katie! Is that you?” Mary’s sister-in-law Linny came out on the porch and sat down next to Kate. “My gracious, child! How long has it been since I’ve seen you?” Linny wrapped her arms around Kate’s shoulders and pulled her close. “Now tell me why it has to be something sad as this to bring you home. Oh, I’ve missed you, Katie!” She squeezed her shoulders again.
No one had a more Southern accent than Linny. Words dripped from her mouth like honey falling from a biscuit. She was Uncle Grey’s youngest sister and Mary’s closest friend. Kate knew how Mary’s death must be affecting her, but as long as there were others who needed her, Linny would be strong.
Linny was a first responder—the woman who, come hell or high water, showed up with a casserole and a pan of brownies just in the nick of time. When Aunt Mary broke her leg, it was Linny who took care of everyone until Mary was back on her feet. When Leslie’s older brother, Sam, ran away, it was Linny who found him behind the old Holly Springs schoolhouse and talked him into coming back home. Linny and her husband, Charles, had never had children of their own, but they happily spent their entire lives taking care of everyone else’s.
She was a small, pleasantly round woman, with thick gray hair she wore pulled up in a loose bun at the base of her neck. Her eyes were a light green and had little specks of yellow that added a bit of mystery to her otherwise simple features. Of all the people Kate could have seen first, she was glad she saw Linny.
“Hi, Linny.” She smiled. “It’s good to see you too.” She sniffed and wiped again at the tears collecting on her lower lashes.
“Have you seen anyone else, dear? Did you just arrive?” Linny asked.
“No, you’re the first,” Kate responded. “I wasn’t sure . . . I didn’t know if I should just . . .”
Linny sensed her hesitation and reached for Kate’s hand.
“It’s not an easy time for any of us, Katie, Leslie especially. She’s been through so much loss these past few years. But whatever the two of you have to work out, you’re still part of this family. You belong here whether you feel like you do or not.”
Kate looked at her aunt, grateful for her straight-shooting assessment.
“I’m sorry I stayed away for so long. It just . . .” Kate looked down at her hands. “It just seemed easier, you know? But I should have come back. It wasn’t right what I did.”
She kept her eyes down, her head feeling heavy with shame. Her thoughts had mostly focused on Leslie during the drive up from the city. When her cousin had called that morning to tell her of Mary’s passing, it was the first time they had spoken in over two years.
“Mother’s dead, Kate,” Leslie had said icily. “The funeral will be this weekend if you’re not too busy to make it.”
The animosity in her voice hurt nearly as much as the news of Mary’s passing. Kate knew it was punishment she deserved, even wished for, to help assuage her guilt. She carried it with her always—like a small pouch of iron pellets hanging around her neck. It was heavy enough for her to remember its presence and grow weary of the constant tugging on her s
houlders but not quite heavy enough to motivate her to action. But now, it was time to end it—time to take off the burdensome necklace of guilt and seek forgiveness.
It didn’t seem that long ago that Kate could hardly pass an entire afternoon without wanting to talk to her cousin. As children, they had been inseparable. They had been in first grade when the wicked reality of Kate’s parents’ death dropped her square in the middle of Leslie’s life. The sudden arrival of a new sibling would be an adjustment for anyone, most especially a child, but Leslie had handled it with far more grace than had been expected.
Aunt Mary and Uncle Grey had picked Kate up from the hospital the morning after the accident and taken her home with them. When they arrived, Leslie already had a spot cleared for Kate in her room. She gave Kate the top bunk, but that first night, and most nights after that, the girls slept side by side, leaving the bottom bunk empty. Leslie would wait until she heard the muffled sobs escaping from under Kate’s pillow then quietly climb up the ladder at the foot of the bed and slide under the covers next to Kate. She would search for her hand and hold it tightly until the crying stopped.
“Don’t tell anyone how much I cry,” Kate whispered one night a few weeks after she arrived.
“I won’t,” Leslie promised. And she never did.
The girls remained close through childhood, but as they grew, their choices and goals began to take them down very different paths. That was enough to create distance between them, but Kate had done more than just take a different path. In the years after she left home, she placed a wedge between them, cold and deep, that splintered their relationship right down the center. In Kate’s eyes, the damage was irreparable.
“You’re not the only one who’s ever made a mistake, Katie,” Linny said. “I can’t say I haven’t been disappointed over some of your choices—confused even—but what’s done is done. You’re here now, so you best put one foot in front of the other and start moving forward.” Linny stood and held her hand out to Kate. “Come on,” she said gently. “Let’s get you inside.”
Kate shook her head. “Leslie doesn’t want to see me.” She remained seated on the porch, her shoulders slumped forward. “She won’t forgive me, and I don’t blame her. She was there for me when my world fell apart. But then when she needed me, where was I?”
“You’re right about one thing.” Linny placed her hands resolutely on her hips. “She doesn’t want to see you. But it’s got to happen sooner or later. And you’re wrong in thinking she won’t ever forgive you. She’s got a good heart. You just have to give her a chance. There’s still a bit of time before Sam and Bryan get in—use it!”
Sam and Bryan were Leslie’s brothers. Both lived out of town.
Kate looked up then finally let her aunt pull her to her feet. “Linny?” She paused before they went into the house. “Was Aunt Mary alone when she died?”
Linny frowned. “She was. As far as we can tell, the heart attack happened around dinner time. She didn’t call 911, so it must have come on suddenly. Leslie called her that evening, and when she didn’t get an answer, she came over and found her. That was last night about 8:00.”
Kate shook her head. “She was so young. It doesn’t make sense for it to have happened so quickly. And for Leslie to lose her like this,” she continued, “after all she’s been through.”
“It’s been hard on her, that’s for sure. She’s still pretty shaken up about being the one to find her.” Linny stopped, her hand resting on the knob of the front door.
“She needs you, Katie. And you need her. She might not know it yet, and you may not be willing to admit it, but that’s the way it is. And nothing’s going to change it either.”
Kate sighed and looked out at the afternoon shadows dancing across the lawn. “Let’s go in, then,” she said softly.
Chapter 3
Linny ushered Kate into the familiar living room. Everything was just as she remembered. The outdated furniture still sat in the same spots, the pictures all hung in the same places, and the back of the couch was still covered with the same patchwork quilt from her childhood. Kate remembered the summer she and Leslie had helped Aunt Mary put it together. Mary gave the girls the assignment of deciding where all the different patches would go. They studied and moved each piece around tirelessly until each one was perfectly placed, a blissful union of complementary colors and patterns on all sides. Aunt Mary oohed and ahhed over every decision, congratulating the girls on their excellent taste. It was years before the cousins realized that with patchwork, it didn’t really matter where each piece went.
A long bench sat by the front door, with a row of hooks hung directly above, presumably for coats and keys. Instead, Mary had filled the hooks with odds and ends—a macaroni necklace made by one of the grandchildren, a misplaced Christmas ornament, and a little wooden sign that read, “Home is where the heart is.” Only the last hook was used for its intended purpose. Mary’s sweater hung there, her purse sitting on the bench just below.
It was almost too much for Kate. She braced herself against the doorjamb as memories flooded her mind. She saw Mary, walking ahead of her through the garden with her pale pink sweater tied around her waist in the heat of a spring afternoon. She heard her laugh and smile and saw the tiny red roses that detailed the collar and sleeves of the sweater. She looked at the purse and remembered the faint smell of wintergreen that always clung to the inside.
Wintergreen breath mints, she thought. She always had wintergreen breath mints.
Kate took a deep breath and looked across the room at Leslie, standing stone still in front of the fireplace. Leslie made little effort to hide her disdain. Obviously, she hadn’t been expecting Kate’s arrival.
“Kate,” she said curtly. “I wasn’t sure you would come.”
“Hello, Leslie,” Kate replied softly. “It’s been a long time.” Kate didn’t want to argue with her cousin. Though she wouldn’t take all of the blame for the disintegration of their relationship, she knew she’d acted poorly and had been the first to sow seeds of unnecessary hurt and heartache. She could not begrudge Leslie’s animosity. After all, how did you forgive someone for skipping your husband’s funeral?
It was 5:30 on a Tuesday evening when Kate had learned that Leslie’s husband, Tom, had finally succumbed to the harsh and unforgiving cancer ravaging his body. Kate had just left the office and was on her way to meet some friends for a drink when Aunt Mary called and told her the news.
Even as she’d said the words, Kate had realized she was making a mistake. But so much time had passed. She hadn’t had a real conversation with Leslie in months. “I can’t come home, Aunt Mary,” she had said. “It’s my first major presentation, and I’m team leader. If I miss the meeting, I’ll lose my job.”
Aunt Mary knew as well as Kate that it wasn’t true, but she’d never been one to argue.
So Kate had missed the funeral.
Instead, she’d gone to work and nailed her presentation, landing her company one of its most profitable clients. That was two years ago.
Linny pushed Kate from behind, urging her farther into the room.
“Well, come on now, girls,” she said. “You’ll work nothing out just staring at each other.”
Kate looked down in embarrassment. Leave it to Linny to jump right in and get to the point.
“I’ll take the kids into the kitchen, and the two of you just sit right here for a spell.” She walked across the room, pausing before she pushed the kitchen door open. “Mary wouldn’t want you fighting, girls,” she said calmly. She turned to Leslie’s children. “Come on, then, children. Are you hungry? Let’s see if we can find any cookies.”
Leslie interrupted. “Actually, Linny, I promised the kids Happy Meals tonight. Please, don’t bother with cookies or anything.” Leslie reached for her purse and started digging for her keys.
“Happy Meals? Well, how ’bout I take them into town to get Happy Meals? Would you kids like that?”
The children c
heered at the prospect of dinner with Aunt Linny. Leslie was visibly frustrated that her attempt at departure was thwarted, but grudgingly shrugged her shoulders in acquiescence and dropped her purse back onto the chair. Kate sat down on the sofa and watched as Leslie picked up the youngest of her children and helped him slip on his shoes. The baby, Tommy, was born just six months before Leslie’s husband passed away. That would make him nearly three years old. Kate lowered her gaze, biting her lip in shame. Three years old and he’s never met his aunt Kate.
“You have fun with Aunt Linny,” Leslie whispered into Tommy’s ear. “Nicholas,” she said, looking up at her oldest. “Help your aunt with Tommy, okay?” Nicholas nodded his head and reached for his little brother’s hand.
“I’ll help too, Mamma,” the middle child, a little girl, said sweetly.
Leslie smiled. “I know you will, Emily.” She reached up and refastened a bobby pin behind Emily’s ear. “You have fun too, and don’t drink any Coke. I don’t want you to be up all night.”
Leslie looked up at Linny, who nodded her head in agreement.
“Let’s go, Emily,” Linny said, extending her hand. But Emily didn’t take it. Instead, she walked over to Kate.
“You’re Kate,” she said, a statement rather than a question.
“Yes, I am,” Kate replied, smiling at the little girl. “And you are Emily.” Emily looked a lot like her mother. Thick blonde curls framed her petite face, and freckles dotted her nose and cheeks. But her eyes—they didn’t look like Leslie’s at all. Emily’s eyes were a perfect reflection of her aunt Kate’s: green, like moss, Aunt Mary always said, or maple leaves just after a good, hard rain.
“I don’t really remember you,” Emily said.
Kate’s face flushed with the heat of regret as she looked into the wide eyes of her niece. “I . . . well,” she stuttered. “I live in a different city.”
The House at Rose Creek Page 2