The Ahern Brothers Collection - Claudia Burgoa Page 0,122
out in the backyard. It’s big and fenced.” I point toward the hallway. “The kitchen is down the hall, and you’ll catch on to the set-up right away.”
“How are your drawers, Lyons?” He smirks and winks. I feel like I’m melting and it’s not the heat.
“Still the same, Ahern. Some things never change.”
Fifteen
Wes
Abby’s house is kitschy and quaint. The windows aren’t the huge ones that are so fashionable now, but more the size I see in old country cottages, and like them, they’re mullioned. The place has an old-world charm to it. Last night I didn’t notice the path that starts from the sidewalk. It’s made out of stamped concrete which gives a little character to the house and differentiates it from the others on the block.
Once I cross the threshold, I’m impressed with both the technology and modern design. A smart doorbell and security cameras are among other electronics that I want to check out and play with. The place is tidy with dark hardwood floors and furniture in modern Scandinavian designs. Most likely self-assembled and all in pragmatically dark colors. The couches are dark chocolate: a spill-hiding color, child, and animal proof leather with scattered cushions all around. I walk to the neatly organized bookshelves where Abby has more books than I can count and rivaled only by framed pictures. The only compromise is the carpet on the floor, so clean it’s hard to believe anyone ever stepped foot on it.
I glide down the dark hardwood floors like a slinking panther discovering its new surroundings. The dogs walk right behind me. Chester stops by a glass door. His tail wags, his tongue hangs, and he smiles widely at me. I unlock the door and slide it open. He doesn’t wait for me to signal that he’s free to go outside. He just walks out without a backward glance.
“Go out, girl,” I tell Oakley who gives me an impassive look.
She’s not sure what’s going on or if she wants to be outside, but she’s so loyal that she never disobeys my commands. I follow her with my gaze and study the large outdoor space. Ivy cascades over the brick walls, sprouting tendrils in every direction. There’s a circular lawn with a path around it and a central bed of shrubs. On the perimeter of the lawn are four rose bush beds to fill up the square area.
The patio has an eclectic beauty, much so like the rest of the garden. The stones make a mosaic of sorts. There’s an artistry to it too, a fluidity I appreciate. It’s peaceful, and the hammock hanging from the old trees invites me to stick around and enjoy a summer afternoon with a glass of iced tea and a good book.
At the border, there’s a caged area covered in vines and red fruits with a few wildflowers growing around it. Birds play in the trees while butterflies visit the blooms. It’s like a temple where only goodness, happiness, and sunshine are allowed. I close the door, feeling like an intruder who wasn’t invited into paradise—at least not yet.
Making my way toward the kitchen, I’m impressed by its sleek, professionally designed granite counters and stainless-steel appliances. It’s spotless, scrubbed, and well equipped with shining copper pots hanging from the ceiling. There’s a modern coffee maker on the table. Next, to it, a stand with matching cups. It’s uncluttered. A set of clean folded tea towels sit on top of the kitchen island.
The double-doored refrigerator is a few sizes bigger than the average appliance. Its hum is pretty faint. Dried flowers sit in a couple of ceramic vases. Everything looks homey; nothing is superfluous. It’s uncluttered, and it feels like Abby.
I march toward the pantry which is well stocked, labeled, and alphabetized. The pots and pans are in drawers. Surprisingly all of them are in order, and the surface is covered with paper towels. I get bacon, eggs, and butter out of the fridge. Maple syrup and a gluten-free mix for pancakes. The bowls are under the sink, and when I open the drawers, I let out a chuckle. They are a fucking mess.
In one of them though, I find office supplies including a notepad with my name at the top of the first page. I hold my breath, because it looks so much like one of the letters that Abby used to write to me. Without thinking twice, I start reading the first page.