Page 8 of Unpacking Secrets
Sarah, you won't even believe this place. It's incredible. I can't wait for you to see it.
Her response was too quick for me to believe she’d been doing anything other than waiting for an update.
Already added a stop to our itinerary when we're back in the country!
With one last glance at the mantle photos, I slipped the phone back into my pocket and decided to explore the rest of the cottage before fetching my bags from the car. There was a cozy little kitchen through an archway off the living room, and while it was nowhere near as modern as the inn’s, it was clean and bright. A tiny dragonfly suncatcher hung in the window over the sink. I drew a deep breath as I listened to the faint tinkle of wind chimes from somewhere outside the back door.
Off the kitchen was a short hallway leading to a bathroom—which, fortunately, was far more updated than the kitchen—and a decent sized master bedroom. Clean sheets and a colorful quilt were folded at the foot of the bed. The afternoon sunlight streamed through delicate lace curtains to illuminate a large framed painting of a landscape, but the rest of the walls were bare.
Waiting for me, maybe?
I moved closer to study the artwork, realizing that it was a picture of the lake behind the inn with the inn’s gardens in the foreground. A tiny signature graced the lower right hand corner, the same one I’d found on the little watercolor painting at the inn.
I sucked in a breath of appreciation for Nan’s skill. I'd often questioned where my artistic talents came from, given my mother’s inability to draw much more than stick figures.
Right here,I realized, running my finger over the signature. This is where it came from. The knowledge that I shared more than just physical traits with Nan was both inspiring and heart-wrenching.
I stepped back from the painting, soaking in the sweeping curve of each careful stroke of paint until my phone buzzed again with a single line of text from Sarah.
Remember, we love you.
The simple sentiment soothed my travel-weary soul. I replied, echoing my best friend’s words, and bid the artwork farewell as I went to explore the second story.
The upstairs portion of the house consisted of a single bedroom, empty except for a narrow mattress on a wooden frame and the same lace curtains as the master bedroom, plus a crawl space filled with dusty boxes and trunks of clothing. I decided to leave sorting through them for another day, especially when I started sneezing within a few seconds of searching for the light switch, so I backed out of the crawl space and returned to the kitchen to start a pot of tea.
The view of the lake, even from this distance, calmed me. I stood for several minutes, gazing out at the shimmering surface until the knot in my chest slowly unraveled.
When the kettle finally uttered a shrill whistle, I rifled through the cabinets for a mug, then set my tea to steep while I went to move and unload my car. The small parking area at the end of the driveway was cleverly disguised from view, tucked away in a little grove of trees off to one side of the cottage. I grabbed my laptop and the biggest of my suitcases out of the car and began the long process of unloading and unpacking.
On my third trip, the ancient suitcase I’d found in my mother's closet split open, spilling underwear and socks all over the gravel path. While I struggled to control my frustration, I spotted something colorful in the grass.
“What the hell?” I muttered, reaching for it.
The object was a small painted rock, covered in daisies. My breath left my lungs in a whoosh when I turned it over in my palm and saw my mother’s name in a childish scrawl on the bottom of it. For a moment, I could only stare at it, eyes burning, but six months ago I’d cried every tear inside me until my eyes were as dusty as the boxes Nan left behind.
Then, beneath the ache of loneliness in my chest, a tiny curl of warmth kindled, spreading outward into my limbs, like my mom was standing right beside me again, encouraging me to go on.
Maybe this wasn’t a mistake, after all. Maybe this was where I was meant to be.
I tucked the painted rock into my pocket, gathered up the items that had burst from the suitcase, and got back to work unloading the car.
Several trips and one aching back later, I collapsed across the bed and declared myself officially moved in. I was more exhausted than I could remember ever having been, but it was tempered by a euphoric sense of accomplishment.
Though I was tempted to go for a walk along the lake, exhaustion seeped into my limbs and I decided it could wait one more day. I got ready for bed, sorted out the pile of sheets and quilts to make the bed in the downstairs bedroom, and fell swiftly into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Four
Juliet
Thenextmorningdawnedwith a bright, cheerful sunrise. I woke up earlier than usual thanks to the dainty curtains hanging in my new bedroom, so I decided to take advantage of the unexpected early start.
With a good night’s sleep behind me, I could almost forget what happened with Henry.
Almost.
Still, my temper had cooled enough to shake him from my mind. Everyone else had been wonderfully kind, even the lawyer on the phone. I glanced at the kitchen counter, where I’d set my mother’s letter as I unloaded the car. It looked harmless enough, written on thick paper from her favorite stationary set and tucked into a matching floral envelope, but its contents were far from innocuous.
I didn’t even need to read it to know exactly what it said.
