Page 9 of Unpacking Secrets
My dearest Juliet,
If you’re reading this, I’m gone and can no longer protect you, so you must protect yourself. Trust your instincts and know that every choice I made, I made for you. It was a matter of life and death. I can’t bear the thought of leaving you alone in the world. Contact the owner of the Lakeside Inn in Spruce Hill, New York. She’ll explain everything I was too selfish to tell you in my final months.
Love,
Mom
I found it while packing up her bedroom, the task I’d avoided as long as I possibly could before the sale of the house was finalized last week. The envelope lay tucked in the drawer of her bedside table, the handwritten letter and my mom’s beloved opal ring sealed inside.
At first, I thought maybe it was a gift, like she’d booked me a stay at some random inn so I could escape the oppressive weight of my grief. What exactly I needed protection from, I still didn’t know, but I’d found the phone number for the inn on an incredibly outdated website and made the phone call.
The woman who answered the phone—I now knew it was Mrs. Gregson—had regretfully informed me that the owner passed away only months ago, not long after my mother. Struck numb by the dead end, I’d given her my phone number when she asked for it and assumed that was the end of the road.
The next day, Nan’s lawyer called and changed the course of my life.
Shaking myself from the memories, I smoothed out my hair and studied the options in my closet. Much as I didn’t want to give anyone, least of all Henry, the power to make me self-conscious about my clothes, I dressed in dark jeans and a nice lavender camisole under a slouchy oatmeal sweater. It might not scream consummate professional, but it looked nice.
As I stepped out the front door, I let go of all the turmoil, breathed in the sweet scent of the flowers in the yard, and whispered, “I could get used to this.”
The only response was a chorus of birdsong from the treetops nearby.
I strolled around the side of the cottage and followed a small footpath leading down to Lake Ontario. The sky overhead was a fresh, brilliant turquoise, dotted with wispy white clouds. I squinted against the morning sun, cupping a hand over my eyes to try to see across the water, but all I could make out was an endless stretch of gleaming gray-blue. Even when I peered to either side of where I stood, the curving shoreline prevented me from seeing any other houses nearby.
Where I came from, lakes were plentiful, but they were nothing like this, not without driving for hours to reach the shore of Lake Superior. This was like gazing out from the edge of the world.
For a long time, I simply stood there, listening to the song of the birds overhead and the soft lap of the waves. This place seemed custom made for me, peaceful and quiet and so beautiful that my hands itched for a pencil and paper.
“I couldreallyget used to this,” I repeated, a little louder this time. A startled robin burst into flight from a few yards away.
Though the maps had shown a small sandy beach nearby, somewhere along the lake, this section was outlined by large rocks and boulders. I wandered aimlessly along the shore, enjoying the solitude. It was a different world out here, like I was all alone with the water and sky and breeze.
I paused where the path ended, just at the edge of a forested area.
The urge to spread my arms wide and close my eyes to soak in this moment was too strong to resist. Afterward, I breathed deep, opened my eyes, and pulled out my phone to snap a picture of the incredible view. I sent it to Sarah, along with a reminder to enjoy her trip instead of worrying.
The phone rang almost immediately with an incoming video call. I had no idea what time it was there, but I should have known she’d jump on the opportunity to check in again.
“What part of ‘enjoy your vacation and stop worrying about what’s happening in New York’ did you not understand?” I grumbled, trying to hide a smile, but seeing her face settled something in my chest.
Sarah’s unrepentant grin filled my screen. “I need details, Jules. How is it? Is the inn as cute as the photos on the website?”
“It’s cuter,” I admitted. “I didn’t expect to feel anything for the building or the property, but it’s like something was pulling me here. Like me coming to Spruce Hill was meant to be, if that makes sense.”
“Of course it makes sense. A family member you didn’t know about left you a legacy. How could you not be drawn to it?”
“I don’t even have to pay rent for this adorable cottage. It’s part of the inheritance, so I can live off the proceeds from selling Mom’s house for months. Years, maybe. Aside from leaving you halfway across the country, there was nothing keeping me back home. Nothing to rival a chance to make art without worrying about how I’m going to afford groceries.”
“You’re not leaving me anywhere, Jules. No matter how far away you are, you’ve got me.”
Quietly, Sarah’s husband Andre called, “And me!”
I laughed, but the warmth building inside me was almost overwhelming. “I miss you.”
“I miss you, too. Has the shock worn off yet?”
“No,” I laughed. “A mysterious inheritance, along with the realization that my mother lied to me for my entire life?”
The prospect of it still left me feeling mildly numb, even in light of the low pulse of excitement in my veins.
