Page 7 of Unpacking Secrets
I knew very little about gardening, but the blossoms bursting from each carefully tended bed were bright and cheerful. Some quote about the earth laughing in flowers sprang to mind; I could almost imagine my grandmother working along the little pathways between beds, weeding or painting among the colorful blooms.
My mother had loved flowers, despite her self-professed black thumb. I pictured her playing in these gardens as a little girl—it seemed a perfect wonderland for a young child’s imagination.
The cottage wasn’t visible as we followed the narrow path out of the garden, but it came into view just after we passed a tiny stand of fruit trees.
My heart leapt straight into my throat.
If the inn itself looked like something from a Renaissance faire, the cottage was straight out of a fairy tale. Its gray stone walls were accented by climbing green vines and topped with a sloping shingled roof. Though the garden flower beds we’d passed were neat and linear, the cottage was surrounded by a sea of wildflowers. We were barely a hundred yards from the inn, but the apple and pear trees blocking the view made it like another world back here.
Gerard handed me a keychain, smiling a bit mistily. “Here you are, my dear. You’ll find everything you need inside. I pinned a list of phone numbers beside the fridge. The main number for the inn and my cell phone are on there. If you have any questions, just give me a ring.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
“You can move your car from the parking lot into the driveway,” he said, pointing to the other side of the flower-filled yard. “Do you need help unloading your things?”
“No, I’ve got it. I appreciate the tour.”
“Of course, dear. Hopefully I’ll see you in the morning.”
As he ambled back away, I soaked in the sight of the cottage, committing every stone, every curl of ivy to memory.
My mom’s house had never felt likemine,not even after she died six months ago. It was too big, too full of memories for me to bear staying there on my own, so I’d focused my energy on packing it up to sell instead of letting grief swamp me. It needed new life, and so did I.
As of a week ago, we’d both been given just that.
The prospect of running an inn was too huge to take in just yet, but this little house? It was making everything feel very real. Even the sharp fury Henry had provoked was dimmer now, like this place was working its magic on me already.
With a deep breath, I walked up the cobblestone path to the front door, which was surrounded by beds of purple and white violets. The dark wood was weathered, worn to a beautiful sheen. A wreath of dried flowers encircled the hand-painted welcome sign hanging over a bronze door knocker.
I looked down at the keys in my hand. One bronze key was engraved with the initials L.I.—I took that to stand for Lakeside Inn. There was a similarly sized silver key that must belong to the door in front of me, then a tiny gold key beside it, too small to fit into a regular lock. All three hung from a single ring, accompanied by a silver compass rose keychain.
I closed my fist tightly around the keys, squeezing until the edges bit into my palm, then I forced my hand to relax, unlocked the door, and swung it open.
For several long moments, I stood there in the doorway, taking in the sight of my new home. Sunlight danced through the windows, glimmering off of stray flecks of dust in the air. The effect was magical, like tiny fairies dancing in the beams of light.
I turned and surveyed the rest of the living room. Like the inn, it had been decorated with love, each trinket and piece of art positioned just so.
Drawn to the small selection of photos perched along the mantle, I moved toward the stone fireplace and ran a careful finger along the edge of one silver filigree frame, studying the little girl in the photo. She wore a frilly little party dress and a lace-trimmed bonnet with pale golden ringlets peeking out.
With a pang, I realized it must be my mother.
“Mom,” I whispered into the silent room, “why didn’t you tell me the truth? Why would you keep this from me? Keep me from my family?”
I felt like a voyeur as the wordfamilyechoed in my mind like a gong. Another photograph showed a tall, skinny man in a dark suit holding hands with a woman who could only have been my grandmother. The colors were faded, but there was no mistaking the red hair under her lacy veil. They stood in front of a stone lighthouse with the lake stretching out behind them.
Is this what everyone sees when they look at me? The ghost of Nan?
We might share a face and a head of unruly red curls, but the rest of me was all my mom—wide hips, strong shoulders, soft belly, muscled legs that we put to good use each summer of my childhood for bike rides and paddle boats. For a moment, I was overwhelmed with gratitude that I'd inherited all that from her. It was like a layer of armor against the discomfort of resembling someone I’d never met.
As I let my gaze wander across the other photos, I realized the man who must be my grandfather was only in a handful of them before he was gone. Dead? Divorced? I was struck by the pattern in this family—single daughters raised by single mothers.It seemed like an odd coincidence. I'd never known my father, because my mom always said he died before I was born.
I now realized it was an eerily similar story to what I'd been told about my grandmother, the famous innkeep of Spruce Hill, who had actually been very much alive until recently.
My train of thought was interrupted by an emphatic buzz from the phone in my pocket. I tugged it free and couldn’t hold back a laugh when I saw that I'd missed half a dozen texts from my best friend Sarah, who was now in Prague with her husband.
It had taken all my powers of persuasion to convince her not to rush back home after I told her the news about my mysterious grandmother and this surprise inheritance, but I knew my friend too well to think she wouldn’t spend a great deal of time wondering what was happening here.
I read through each text with a smile, imagining Sarah surreptitiously typing as they toured cathedrals and historical monuments. She wanted to know if I'd arrived safely, how the drive had been, what the inn was like, if I'd learned anything yet about Nan.
