the bed feeling replete at first, and then regret. I regretted the moment hadn’t happened under better circumstances. I didn’t want him to think I was using him because I was in mourning. Then again, I’m not certain I would have done what I did if I wasn’t so distraught. I took from him without thought, taking over after I asked him to kiss me and begging his body with mine to give me release.
That was certainly living in the moment, Nana.
Somehow, I don’t think that’s what my grandmother meant, but for just a little while, I didn’t want to think. About Nana. The house. Grace. The impending arrival of her baby. And the will, which would be read in a matter of days by Gabe Carpenter, Nana’s attorney.
Another Carpenter graces my door rather early the next morning, tipping her head side to side as she looks over my shoulder, inquiring if now is a good time to check on me. I don’t have to ask who she is looking for. Jess’s truck was parked outside my house most of the night. Still, I don’t need the town making something of nothing.
I like Jess. He said he likes me too, but there isn’t anything permanent here. I need to move forward, to go through Nana’s stuff and learn what my options are from a legal standpoint.
I wish Grace could be physically present, but at nearly nine months pregnant, a trip to Michigan was out of the question.
“I thought you might like to go through a few of her things. It’s really best not to let it linger too long,” Sue says, giving me her advice on how to proceed. While I’d like to take weeks to decide on what to do with even the most basic of items like Nana’s clothes, I don’t have the luxury of time. I’d been given bereavement leave in addition to another week off, which leaves me with two weeks to make decisions. Sue suggests clothing first, and it is while going through Nana’s closet and dresser that I find the articles—piles and piles of Nana’s advice on etiquette. Her column was titled “Matters of Manners” and offered guidance on everything from how to set a proper dinner table to how to behave at one. She explained dating rules and mannerisms, like a gentleman should always open a door for a lady. She suggested means of apology, gratitude and condolences, and I am stuck for hours reading through her recommendations. Something niggles at the back of my head, a thought undefined but building, and I carefully set all her articles in a plastic bin to be kept for later investigation.
It’s a long day, but by the end, with boxes piled near Nana’s front door for a variety of places, I feel accomplished. I don’t see or hear from Jess all day, and I’m okay with that because I’m mentally and physically exhausted. A soft rain dials down the temperature, and I lie on my bed, staring out the dark window, watching the water trickle against the glass as I recall my latest phone call with Grace.
“Should we sell or rent?” Grace questioned, knowing that most likely we’ll inherit the house fifty-fifty. I wonder why she didn’t consider I could buy out her half, and I don’t know why it even crosses my mind as a possibility. Why would I live here? I have a home. I have a job. In another state.
“I guess we could rent and make money off the tourism trade in the area.” Elk Lake City is a nice getaway spot with the large lake, the harbor, and the smaller inner lakes all connected to one another. Plus, the winters here attract skiers. Still, it doesn’t feel right to have strangers in Nana’s home. Of course, selling meant strangers would move in and never appreciate the history behind this home—the original origins, the generations of family, and the millions of memories.
“Let’s just hear what the lawyer says,” I eventually counter, finished with making decisions for a day.
My phone rings again, and I blindly reach for it, assuming it’s Grace, and am surprised when I hear a masculine voice on the line.
“Hey.” My voice cracks as I shift on the mattress.
“How was today?” he asks. I explain what I accomplished and then mention my conversation with Grace about renting or selling. A heavy pause follows the comments, and I can almost hear his unspoken words. You won’t stay. You’d suffocate here.
He clears his