A neighboring farmer, I assume. Everyone seems anxious to meet the new owner.
Mom’s voice pulls me back. “If you need anything—”
“I’ll be fine,” I say. “Love you.”
“Love you, too, dear.”
I end the call and twist the knob. “Can I help you?” I ask, as the man frowns and takes in my attire.
“Afternoon, Miss. I heard the new owners moved in and thought I’d stop by and introduce myself.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Alyson.” I hold my hand out, and he stares at it for a second.
“Is your father home?”
“My father is in New York.” I plaster on a smile. “I’m the new owner.”
His brows jump, almost all the way to his hairline, and I get it. I’m not at all what they expected. Even the lady next door seemed surprised.
“Jack was my great uncle,” I explain. Wait, if he was Mom’s great-uncle, that makes him my great-great, right? I might have to Google that later.
“I’m Charlie Miller. Didn’t know Jack had any family.”
“I didn’t know I had an uncle until recently,” I tell him.
“Are you a farmer?”
“Not—”
Before I can get the words out, he says, “I’m guessing you’ll be looking to sell the place.”
“Not right away,” I mutter, more to myself.
“Excuse me?”
“Ah, I have to stay here for a bit. I’ve got some things that need taking care of. I’ll be here at least to the end of summer. Guaranteed.”
“Well then, when you’re ready, you let me know. One of the locals has been looking to buy this place forever.” He jerks his head to the left. “I’m just down yonder. Give a shout if you need anything. Your uncle was a good man, and we’re here to help.”
Down yonder?
Must be a country turn of phrase. “Okay, I’m sure I’ll have a few questions,” I say. Even though I don’t know what they are yet, and I’m praying there is some sort of instruction book around.
“I’ll let you get settled then.” His gaze flicks to my blanket again.
“Thanks,” I say, not wanting to go into why I’m wearing a prickly blanket. I need to get out of it, now. It’s like one thousand bees are stinging my flesh.
He turns, and his boots sink into the wet ground as he saunters back to his big black pickup truck. His door slams, and I quietly close mine and lean against it.
I shoot off a text to Lucy to let her know I arrived as I breathe in the stale smells of old cigar still clinging to the furniture. The floor creaks beneath my steps as I search the rooms and familiarize myself with the old place and try to figure out why this was all left to me. The extent of my knowledge is that Jack was Mom’s great-uncle, but she hadn’t seen him since she was a child when Jack had a falling-out with the family. We moved to the States when I was young, and Mom had never even brought him up until his lawyer called.
Upstairs, the smoky scent grows stronger as I stand outside Jack’s room, which, by the looks of things, has not been touched since he passed away. It’s a bit strange, maybe even invasive of me, but I step inside.
“Hope you don’t mind if I find myself something to wear,” I say.
I wait for a second, although I’m not sure what I’m waiting for, and when I’m not struck by a bolt of lightning, or the lights don’t flicker ominously—yes, I watch Paranormal Findings—I slowly open the closet door. His clothes are neatly hung, a mixture of plaid and plain dress shirts, heavy material for the winter and light for the summer. Since beggars can’t be choosers, I grab a laundered plaid shirt and run the stiff fabric between my fingers.
I drop my itchy blanket, and the rigid shirt wisps over my shoulders as I tug it on. It reaches my knees, and I’m grateful that it covers the essentials. I catch my reflection in the old mirror, the glass a dirty shade of brown around the edges from years of cigar smoke.
Now that I’m somewhat decently dressed, I catalog the room. If I put this place up for sale, am I responsible for clearing out his things? I wouldn’t know the first thing to do. A measure of panic wells up inside me, and before I let it take control, I give myself a good hard lecture.
Okay, one thing at a time, girl.
And right now, that one thing is check out the petting farm. I