Aunt Maggie never mentioned Chelsea when she wrote, maybe because she’d known how hard it had been for him to leave.
But Chelsea McGinnis was the first and only woman who had truly seen him.
He wished the idea of her happy with a family didn’t cause an uncomfortable twinge of jealousy and sorrow in him.
Ethan sipped his beer.No point wondering.She wouldn’t care what had happened to him after he’d broken her heart.
He shook his head.That was all in the past.Time to consider the future.He wouldn’t bother calling Aunt Maggie before he went.Part of him was a little concerned she’d tell him not to come, and then he’d have to fill another month with only his thoughts and physio for company.Better to surprise her and offer to help her in the garden like he had when he was a teenager.It had to be getting too much for her these days.Sixteen acres of gardens had been a lot over a decade ago when they’d both been a lot younger.
He smiled, feeling optimistic for the first time since the incident.
Lilydale Cottage was the closest thing he’d ever had to a home.Though he’d been an employee, Aunt Maggie had never treated him as such, and he’d spent a lot of time working next to her in the garden, either in a Zen-like silence, or chatting about school or a fundraiser she was organising.
Peaceful.Safe.
It would be nice to see her again.
Early the next morning, Ethan passed the wooden sign welcoming him to Honeybrook.His chest tightened and then relaxed.The two years he’d spent here hadn’t been too bad in the scheme of things.His foster parents hadn’t wanted an almost adult male in the house, but there’d been a mix-up in the paperwork, which got his age wrong.The social services worker had talked fast to convince them to keep him, and he’d promised to help around the house.All he’d wanted was a place to finish school.
Perhaps it was the offer of free labour which had convinced them, because they’d agreed, and he’d taken over all the chores.
Then his foster father had volunteered him to help Aunt Maggie in her garden and Ethan had been ticked off but said nothing.
It turned out to be the best thing to have happened to him.
Aunt Maggie always had fresh, home-made biscuits and slices and a pot of tea for him mid-morning, and slipped him payment for his work.She’d even arranged for him to open a bank account so his foster parents didn’t know about it.Neither of them was certain that his foster father wouldn’t take Ethan’s money from him.
Ethan turned off the main street and wound his way through to the edge of town where Lilydale Cottage was located.
He slowed as he caught his first glimpse of it and his instincts went on high alert.
Something was very wrong.
Waist-high brown weeds had replaced the beautiful green lawns he’d mowed, the lake in the middle was dry and the garden beds were dead and choked with weeds.
He accelerated, his heart beating rapidly.Hedges hadn’t been trimmed, and no annuals had been planted.The pagoda close to the road was covered in leaf litter and the paint was peeling.
Everything was out of control.
Aunt Maggie never would have let it fall into this level of disrepair.
He pulled into the drive and leapt out of the car, his breath coming fast.As he pounded up the steps of the front porch, he noted more peeling paint and sagging gutters.
His knock was like three sharp cracks of a pistol.
No noise from inside.
“Aunt Maggie!”He peered through a grimy window.Inside the furniture was just as it had always been – her roll-top desk in the corner, two slightly hard sofas in a floral print cover, and the wooden coffee table that had always contained a tray of biscuits.A thick layer of dust covered it all.
He wanted to be sick.
How long had it been since he’d heard from her?
She always sent a Christmas card, but last Christmas he’d been in hospital after the incident.There hadn’t been a card in his pile of mail when he’d got out, but he hadn’t realised, too caught up in pain and rehab.
He’d written to her around Easter last year and sent her a bilby Easter egg because she’d always had a soft spot for chocolate and native animals.Easter reminded him of the egg hunt she’d organised for him each year, knowing his foster parents wouldn’t have bought him any chocolate.He’d appreciated the thought and although he’d been almost an adult, he enjoyed feeling like a kid searching for the eggs around her garden.
She’d replied to his letter, thanking him and telling him about life in Honeybrook.She hadn’t sent him any photos of the garden though.Normally she would.
