by Marni Mann
“No dogs,” the secretary said. Her voice was firm, her expression fierce.
I froze in the entryway, shocked by her tone. Bella looked at me, waiting for a command. “I’m here to see Mr. Adams.”
“You’ll have to leave the dog in the car.”
“You want me to leave my dog? In a hot car?”
She shook her head and shrugged at the same time. The woman was crazy if she thought I was going to do either.
“Please tell Mr. Adams we’ll be having our meeting in my car, so when he’s ready to chat, he can find us there.” Bella was sitting on the carpet right by my feet, glancing between the secretary and me. “Let’s go,” I said to her, leading her back through the door and out to the parking lot.
“Miss Stevens?” a man said behind me. I quickly turned around. “Please come back inside, and feel free to bring your dog.” My brows rose. “I apologize; she’s new…she doesn’t know the dog policy. Regardless, we have lots to discuss so let’s get to work.”
“Thank you.” I offered a smile and guided Bella back inside. The secretary never looked up from her computer again.
“Please take a seat.” He moved to the other side of his desk and extended his hand. “And call me Paul.”
“Then please call me Drew,” I said, shaking his hand. I took the chair closest to the door. Bella sat on the floor next to me.
“You made excellent time. When you said you were driving, I expected to have to postpone our meeting. Traffic tends to get thick in some areas and it could have really delayed your trip.”
I’d been driving for days, the questions building as each hour had passed. I didn’t want to be rude, but I also didn’t feel the need for small talk.
“Yes, well, I got lucky, I guess. Mr. Ad…uh, Paul…I have to ask: I assume you met with Marilyn before she passed away?”
“Very briefly, yes.”
This might have been more family drama than he was ready to handle on our first meeting, but I didn’t want to hold back. “Did she happen to mention why I didn’t know she existed…or why my mother didn’t tell me that my grandmother was alive?”
It felt strange to say that word in reference to my mother’s mom. I’d said it all the time when referring to my grandmother on my father’s side, but this was entirely different.
“I’m afraid I don’t have either of those answers, Drew. I’m semi-new to the area so I only knew Mrs. Coswell for a short time. I purchased this practice from Mr. Sumter; it was he who handled her estate before I came in. There’s a chance he knew much more than me.”
“Is there any way I can speak to him?”
“Unfortunately, Mr. Sumter is deceased, which is why I was able to purchase his practice.”
“Is there anything you can tell me?” I asked.
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I can tell you that Mrs. Coswell made it very clear she wanted the house to go to you. She and I set up an escrow account holding enough funds for you to completely renovate the house and the grounds, provided you want to go in that direction. As I mentioned on the phone, there’s also money set aside in a separate account for taxes, utilities and maintenance for the next ten years.” He shifted uncomfortably. “The remainder of the estate went to their only other living heir.”
“Heir?”
“Yes…their elder daughter, Shirley.”
I dropped Bella’s leash, gripped the armrests, hoping the wood would steady my body. Then I slid to the edge of my seat. “My mother had a sister?”
“You didn’t know this, either?” I shook my head. “I see.” He sat upright again, his hands crossing on top of the desk. “Shirley was your mother’s only sibling. She lives in the UK and has for quite some time.”
I had family? An aunt, who was very much alive, and grandparents who very much weren’t...
My mother had not only shut out her parents, but her sister, too?
This was getting even more fucked up.
When I really reached back in my memory, I realized that not only had she never mentioned her sister, but she’d rarely ever talked about her parents other than to explain to me that they’d died when I was young. There hadn’t even been pictures of them in our house—not in frames, not in albums. Nothing I’d ever been shown. Why hadn’t that seemed odd to me? And why hadn’t I asked her more about them? Maybe I was too young, too immature to care. I knew all about the small, personal discoveries my mom had made in Maine: the mountains she’d hiked, the fish she’d caught, the friends she’d hung out with. I knew all about how she and my dad had met when he was the gardener at her parents’ house and a student at a community college. I knew how my mom had convinced him to leave Maine once she’d graduated high school because she wanted warm weather and my dad missed his family in Florida. I knew all about those things, but nothing about the truth that stood behind it all.
Now I wondered if any of it was even true.
“Do you have Shirley’s number?” I asked. “I’d like to get in touch with her.” I wondered if she’d be willing to talk about my mom or how much she knew…if she even knew about me. Maybe she’d run from the truth like my mom had. She was my only hope for answers.
He shook his head, sighing into the air. “I’m sorry, Drew. I’m afraid I can’t give you that information. What I can do, though, is get in touch with her and see if she would be interested in speaking to you.”
“I would appreciate that. Thank you. Have you ever spoken to her about me?”
His eyes roamed my face, then once again he met my stare. The lines in his forehead were deep even without raising his brows. “She’s aware of you, if that’s what you’re asking. I can’t confirm that we’ve ever talked about you or anything that we’ve discussed.”
“I understand.” I glanced over at Bella and she gazed at me with sad, hooded eyes. She really needed some exercise. We both did. “Is there anything else, Paul?”
“I think that’s everything for now. If I hear of anything more, or if Shirley wishes to be in touch, I’ll contact you.” His reply was slow and careful. “Do you plan to stick around for a bit, move into the house, consider renovating it?”
I didn’t have to think about this answer. It had come to me during my drive up here. “My life is in Florida. There are still so many unsettled pieces there that need my attention.” They were more than pieces. They were my new reality: my parents’ house, their insurance policy, the selling of their business, their trust. And then there was my life… my friends, my photography. I was troubled by the fact that I hadn’t picked up my camera since the morning before they had died. There was no way I could stay in Maine. “I’m going to sell the house. You wouldn’t happen to know of a good realtor, would you?”
He reached into his desk drawer and removed two business cards, placing them in front of me. He pointed to the one on the right, which was for Lucas Construction LLC. “I’ve been to the house several times so I know it needs a little work and some upgrading. If you change your mind and decide to stay, I’d recommend Shane Lucas to do that work. He recently finished a project at my house and he’s fantastic.” His finger then slid to the card on the left. “I may be a bit biased because Andy here is my son, but he’s an excellent realtor and he’ll get you a fair price for the house.”
I took both cards. “Thank you.”
He opened another drawer and removed a folder, much thicker than the packet he’d sent in the mail. He handed it to me. “Everything you need is in here, including a few papers I need you to sign, which I’ve clipped to the top cover of the folder. I’ll need photocopies of each signed sheet. Feel free to drop by and make the copies here…or you can mail them to me if you leave town.”
I stood with the folder in one hand and Bella’s leash in the other. She stood as well, her tail swishing through the air. “I’ll get them to you either way.”
“It was very nice to meet you, Drew.” He reached out to shake my hand again. “I wish it was under better circumstances.”
“Me, too,” I replied, smiling as I released his hand. “Thanks for the referrals. I look forward to working with your son.”
There was a bit of sadness in his eyes when I mentioned that I was going to hire his son…emotion had been hovering since the moment I told him I wasn’t staying in Maine. Why would he care if I was going to sell the house? I couldn’t help but feel that he knew more about this situation than he was letting on.
And I knew if I wanted answers, they weren’t going to come from him.
CHAPTER THREE
AFTER A FINAL BEND IN THE NARROWEST ROAD I had ever driven on, the GPS alerted me that I had reached my destination. The only things that stood before me were a mailbox, a dirt turnoff and lots of trees. I hoped the house was at the end of the dirt road…because there wasn’t one anywhere in sight. Lot sizes in Maine were obviously much larger than the ones in Sarasota, where homes hugged the street and neighbors were just a little more than a few feet away.
I rolled down the curved driveway and tall, spongy blades of grass fringed both sides, brushing against the car. Old oaks hung over the path, creating a blanket between the setting sun and me, their leaves breaking free and cascading toward the ground as we passed. Tiny bursts of golden sunlight seeped through the dissolving canopy. Bella bounced between the open backseat windows. We both took in the scent of freshness as crickets and bullfrogs filled the silence.
The Coswells’ house was a type of architecture that we didn’t have in the south. The two-story sat in a clearing at the end of the driveway, adorned with pale yellow shingles, black shutters and off-white trim. A porch ran the width of the first floor. The roof had dormers of different heights and shapes; triangles pitched over several of the windows and ovals molded around others. A garden sat just to the side of the porch, rocks outlining the beds filled with purple and orange blooms.
Bella and I got out of the car together. Even though Maine air had flowed through the open windows, the scent changed again once I got outside. It deepened. It intensified, and flowers now joined the mix. The freshness didn’t just permeate my lungs; it filled me completely.
My eyes traveled back to the garden, the source of this added scent. My mother’s stories had told me how my father tended this exact spot when he was a young man. He had mowed the grass that was now beneath my feet. I reached down, running my fingers through the velvet-like blades. The buzzing of insects became louder; their jittery rhythm matched what was happening in my chest. It felt as if the grass was growing under my fingers, climbing up my legs and wrapping around my neck. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t swallow.
I couldn’t stop my body from shaking.
***
I glanced at my mom as she kneeled over the small mound of chocolate mulch set in a wavy pattern in the front of our house. Dirty gloves covered her fingers; stains of the same color adorned the legs of her jeans. We were both dressed in our gardening clothes, but I didn’t do the actual planting, so mine were much cleaner than hers. Several potted plants flowering blue and pink sat atop the mound. Mom changed the flowers in our beds every month, buying several to choose from. Whichever ones she didn’t pick for our garden she used at a client’s house. Nothing went to waste.
“Drew, should I use the Daze or Pentas?” she asked me.
“How about both?” I answered.
She wiped away the hairs that had clung to her sweaty cheek. “You wouldn’t be saying that because you don’t know which one is which…would you?”
I couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at my lips and lit up my eyes. I was busted. “Maybe. I just don’t understand why you never use the tropical plants that don’t flower. On the ones that you use, the petals are so high maintenance and they get everywhere when they fall.”
She shook her head. “How do you—my daughter—not know the difference between a Daze and a Pentas when you’ve grown up around these flowers?” She pushed herself off the ground and walked to me, resting her hands on my shoulders. She was a few inches taller than me; I hadn’t inherited my parents’ height. “The reason I use flowers at our house instead of plants is because the buds remind me of Maine. When your father managed the gardens, he only used flowers… that was how it was done up north. It’s my way of having a piece of that state down here.”
I couldn’t argue with that, even though our house was the only one on our block that didn’t have some type of plant or shrub. My mom spent hours every week tending our flowers. They were hours we could have spent together instead. And as much as she wanted me to help, I hated gardening.
“I know this isn’t your thing, baby girl.” She glanced toward the beds. “If it wasn’t for your father, I wouldn’t be in the flower business either. But we don’t have your talent.”
“Mom—”
“Don’t you know how special you are, my love? Daddy and I couldn’t be more proud of you.”
All I could smell was her. It didn’t matter what she was wearing, if she had just come out of the shower or had been working all day. Mom’s scent was like freshly-clipped grass and jasmine—one of the few flowers I did know.
“There’s nothing to be proud of, Mom. I just take pictures of your flowers.”
“Now you do, but you won’t be for very long. Your dad and I had to start somewhere and so do you. Pretty soon, everyone in Sarasota will be hiring my baby girl to shoot their wedding and their full spread magazine—”
“Mom,” I said, shaking my head, “that’s years away.”
She placed her hand on my cheek. I could feel the dirt ground into the fabric of the glove as she brushed her fingers over my skin. The dirt didn’t bother me. All of this had been a part of my life for as long as I could remember. “Possibly,” she said, “but I know you’ll get there.” She leaned down and gently pecked the tip of my nose. “How about you help me plant the blue Daze, and then I’ll take you out to lunch?”
“Are you bribing me with food?”
“Is there a chance that you’d say no to sushi?”
I laughed. “Never.” I reached for her hand, looped my fingers around hers and walked with her back to the mulch beds.
***
I shook my head to clear my thoughts like I’d done in my daydream. But it wasn’t a daydream. This was a memory of a scene that had actually taken place a few days before the incident.
What the hell was I doing in Maine?
I stood and placed my hands on the roof of the car. I rested my forehead between them; the blackness behind my lids began to swirl. When my eyes opened, everything around me spun. A layer of sweat coated my skin.
Open your lungs.
I could hear Gianna’s soothing voice in my head. She would always say the same thing whenever one of my panic attacks would set in. Her fingers would rub my back and the comfort of her presence would enter my body, the anxiety leaving quickly. But the voice I really wanted to hear wasn’t Gianna’s. It was Mom’s. I wanted her standing before me, her hands resting on my shoulders again. Her lips having just left my nose from a loving peck.
Breathe.
Gianna’s voice made the longing for my mom even stronger. I missed her terribly. I needed her. My dad, too.
I clenched the edge of the window, hoping my grip would help alleviate some of the emotion that erupted in my chest. I banged my head lightly against the car.
I felt Bella’s nose nuzzle my thigh; she rubbed her fur over my clammy skin. She must have felt the anxiety in my movements, in my breathing, and she’d stopped running around the yard to come to me. I released the window ledge and raked my fingers over her back.
My throat loosened. I was finally able to swallow mouthfuls of air again.
She licked my face as I leaned down to greet her. I focused on her eyes, the soulful brown spheres that stared back at me. She tilted her head as if she was waiting for me to say something.
“It’s time to swim, isn’t it?” My breathing had returned to normal. The shaking had subsided for the most part. Everything had
stopped spinning. “Should I get our suitcase and head into the house or should we go swimming first?”
Her tail wagged, giving me her answer.
She needed me as much as I needed her.
CHAPTER FOUR
BELLA AND I WALKED AROUND the side of the house and down the short grassy hill in the backyard. Rather than a sandy beach shoreline, like the ones we had in Florida, rocks in all different sizes rimmed the grass and the ocean’s edge. The smaller pebbles crunched under us as we moved to the water. As soon as the cool liquid licked our feet, Bella dropped her Frisbee and began to pant. She sat, her tail thumping against the sea, waiting for a command.
I picked up the Frisbee and threw it across the water. “It’s okay, girl, go get it.”
She immediately followed it, leaping over the shallow waves until it got deep enough for her to swim. Her tail swished across the surface as though she was using it to steer.
I folded my arms across my chest, tucked in my fingers and took a few steps back. My mind was finally processing this view. I needed to busy my hands, to keep them restrained somehow; it felt so odd for them not to be holding a camera. They should have been adjusting the lens, clicking the shutter release, capturing this scenery. But that creative desire to document my surroundings, that gnawing feeling I’d always felt in my chest whenever something beautiful appeared, had died…right along with my parents. Still, the backdrop was exactly the way my mom had described. Experiencing it in person was so much different, so much more intimate than listening to one of her stories. I was here—really here, in Maine. My feet were on the very rocks she had stepped on. I was inhaling the crisp, sea-scented air she had breathed.
But she was gone.
Things were too fucked up for this scenery to feel right.
My eyes closed, a heaviness dropping into my body. I wasn’t sure why I’d never asked my mom to bring me here, or even why my curiosity hadn’t led me to ask her more questions. But I knew I should have been here with her and not because of the circumstances that had driven me here.