Summer of Second Chances - Andrea Hurst Page 0,139
orange. It would be dark soon, and yet the idea of going into that house alone almost had her turning back to town. Opening her purse, she pulled out the envelope Grandma’s lawyer had sent with the will, and removed the key. The letter spoke of a caretaker, Mary, who had been keeping the house clean and watching over everything these past few months.
She opened the hatchback of the Honda and grabbed some of her things. The rest could wait until the morning. The wraparound porch was exactly the same. The wind rustled the old porch swing, and its familiar creak brought memories of sipping cold lemonade on a warm summer afternoon and watching breathtaking sunsets at dusk. As Lily walked up the wooden steps, memories whirled—laughter mingled with shouting arguments, being ripped away by her mother from this favorite place.
She leaned over the railing, remembering to breathe deep and relax. Ghosts and bad memories. Maybe she’d made a mistake coming here. The ocean’s salty scent moved on the breeze, accompanied by squawking seagulls. For just a flash of a moment, she could see herself in the yard with her grandmother, holding the crusts of bread up for the birds to swoop down and pluck from her fingers.
She turned toward the door. Panic caught in her chest, and the tears she thought were cried out threatened another appearance. “Lily, get it together. You can do this. Now go inside.”
The soothing smell of old wood and lilac greeted Lily as she pushed open the thick oak door. Her eyes lingered fondly over her favorite room, the parlor. Her grandmother’s loving presence was everywhere. With a rush of enthusiasm, she laid down her belongings and started to inspect the rooms of her new home. Her new home. Everything was still the same as she remembered: antique sofa and loveseat, oval mahogany table and matching china cabinet. Balancing on a lower shelf, the old white ceramic horse still stood proudly, peeking through the glass doors. The oil painting over the fireplace, with its bright rose and yellow hues, warmed the room. She gingerly touched each picture, vase and figurine. She could almost hear Grandmother Maggie calling. “Lily, my little pony, come inside. I’ve baked cookies and they’re getting cold.” She could smell that sweet, warm chocolate even now.
The kitchen was grander than she remembered. The last flicker of sunlight streamed through the large west windows, encouraging the dormant herbs in the clay pots on the sill to blossom. The counters had been retiled in white with a kelly-green trim. There were copper faucets, and pots and pans hanging on an oval rack over the huge six-burner stove made of chrome and pale yellow ceramic. On the shelves were glass mason jars filled with beans, grains, teas, and even miniature rosebuds. Bouquets of dried rosemary, garlic, and lavender hung like trophies of the past spring’s garden harvest. Along the tops of the white cabinets was an assorted collection of rose-patterned China teapots.
This kitchen was a place she could cook and bake in a way she had always dreamed of. It was ready for a loving touch and a master’s hand. She remembered Jude’s words about missing Grandma Maggie’s baked goods. She could bring Jude some samples of her own muffins and cookies to sell at the café. A smile spread across her face. She was a master chef, at least she was confident of that. That was one thing she could thank Brad for. Her cooking had to be the best to impress his business contacts, so he had sent her to the finest schools and been a merciless taskmaster. Her smile vanished at the thought of his name. Not here, not now, I will not let thoughts of him ruin this moment.
She retrieved her suitcase and contemplated the steep staircase leading up to the bedrooms, and was half tempted to just curl up on the sofa for the night. But a warm bed sounded well worth the climb. At the top, she dropped the suitcases on the landing and wandered down the hall to choose a bedroom.
The room that had once been her grandmother’s was at the corner of the house, and that was where she would sleep tonight. Its dormer window had always been a favorite place to play. Her old room was just past it, but she’d always felt so safe and happy in her grandma’s room. She entered and noticed immediately that the room had been redone in a rose décor. Many of the old items were still in place, as if her grandmother would suddenly walk out from the bathroom and say, “Why, Lily, how good to see you after so long.” To her dismay, the old poster bed was gone.
The room was now furnished with an ornate, queen-size brass bed and a lovely antique, marble-topped dresser. Lace curtains framed the magnificent picture window with a breathtaking water view. The wood floors glistened, covered here and there by pale rose-patterned antique rugs. Lily sat down in the rocking chair situated in a corner and rocked back and forth in a lulling fashion. Although it looked a bit different now, it still held her loving presence. She remembered snuggling in bed with her grandmother and listening to the wonderful stories Maggie would make up just for her.
All those years they’d been apart, and now here she was…alone. No one was here for her, but Brad sure as heck wasn’t alone tonight. She kicked off her shoes and fell face down onto the bed, burying her head in the pillows. The tears came hard. She cried for the lost years and dreams, her fading youth, and ending marriage. Then she climbed under the warm quilt in the brass bed and blessedly fell into a deep sleep.
Continue the story with the rest of The Guestbook on Amazon!
About The Author
When not writing, visiting local farmer’s markets, or indulging her love for dark chocolate, Andrea enjoys meeting fans at signings and working as an editor for other authors. She writes hopeful books in charming settings that take readers on uplifting journeys and leaves them with lasting impressions. She lives with her rescue poodle, Ellie, near Raleigh, North Carolina.
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