The neighbor.
The answer comes to me at once. This must be the neighbor checking in on us. Surely Mom has told him we’re moving in by now.
With a deep breath, I hurry past Taylor again. Whoever it is hasn’t knocked again.
“Who’s there?” I call, my voice shaking.
It takes several seconds to get a response, but when I do, a chill runs over my spine.
In a deep, gravelly voice, the person responds, “Your worst nightmare.”
My body stills, and I scowl. “Oh, you asshole.”
I swing the door open and stare at my best friend. Her friendly face—copper hair cut short above her shoulders and the warmest brown eyes—shines back at me in the dim porch light.
Her arms are full of bags and boxes, so I can’t hug her as I step back, trying to take things from her as she moves into the house.
“What are you doing here?”
She hands me a package of paper towels and a grocery bag, and I peer inside. It’s full of snacks, and it looks like the one in her hand is filled with cleaning supplies.
“I wanted to surprise my girls.” She drops the rest of her things on the floor and hugs Taylor, then draws me into a longer embrace, holding eye contact as she pulls away. “How are you?” She’s asking more than those few words, and we both know it.
I nod. “I’m great. You didn’t need to come all the way here. Don’t you have showings this weekend?”
“Rebecca’s covering for me.” Carrying the bags across the room, she places them on the kitchen counters. “I figured you guys could use some help getting settled in and…” Her eyes travel the room. “Cleaning.”
“It’s been a while since anyone was here,” I admit. “I’m surprised Mom didn’t sell this place years ago.”
“Well, be thankful she didn’t. You’re sitting on a gold mine at this point.” Her gaze flicks up over the wall. “The land, anyway. When you’re ready, you could sell it and make enough to buy a house in cash somewhere else. Somewhere closer to me.” She bats her eyelashes at me playfully.
Taylor bounces up on her toes with hope. “Yes. Yes. Let’s do that.” She claps her hands together.
“You know we can’t sell this place.” The cabin seems to droop with relief, as if it were holding its breath waiting for an answer,like it’s grateful to know where I stand. This place has always felt otherworldly to me.
Despite the dust and disrepair, I can still see the nail holes my grandparents and their grandparents once put into the walls. I can feel the worn spots on the floor, where someone down the line paced up and down the hall worrying about a problem that has long since been forgotten.
There are decades of height marks written in shaky, fading ink on the wooden doorframe of the broom closet. Most have vanished with age, but I can still make out a few: Lyddie,I think. Hannah, Josephine. Katherine. Martha. The baseboard in my bedroom has the letter H for Hazel carved into its wood.
There’s our last name on the mantel and the words WILDE WOMEN carved into a board and nailed above the living room window. This house is a memory box, not just for me, but for every Wilde woman who came before me. And I am now the keeper of the memories, even if most of them aren’t mine to begin with.
This home breathes my family’s air. It holds every piece of our past and our legacy. This land may be worth much more than the house ever was at this point, but it’s not just a cabin. It’s not even just a home. It’s a piece of our family. A piece of the blood, sweat, and tears generations of Wildes put into it. To walk away from it now—to say goodbye to it for good—feels wrong.
As far as I know, I’m only the second Wilde woman not to raise my daughter here, though that was more about practicality than tradition. Foxglove was too far from civilization for Lewis and me to commute to work, or for Taylor to go to a decent school. The guilt of staying away when we knew this was here, of abandoning the piece of the world always intended for me, has been heavier than I realized until I returned.
Despite what I know selling it would mean for my life currently, it would be a betrayal of everything my ancestorsdid for our future—not just me, but my daughter, and any generations that come after us.
I can only hope that staying here, living here, even if only for a while, will help Taylor understand why I feel so strongly about this place. Why I feel we must protect it.
“Your mom’s right.” Greta comes to my rescue, bumping Taylor’s hip with hers as she unpacks the bags on the counter. “I wish my family had something like this to pass down through generations, rather than just high cholesterol, good hair, and that weird gene where cilantro tastes like soap.” She sticks her tongue through her smiling teeth as Taylor rolls her eyes. “This place is special, you know? You’ll see.”
“Well, I’ll have nothing to dobutsee if Mom doesn’t get the Wi-Fi hooked up soon.” She drops her phone on the counter and clasps her hands together, begging. “Can’t I please just come back with you? I’m not meant for the wilderness. I need civilization. I need Starbucks. I swear I’ll be the best roommate ever.”
Greta eyes Taylor with a look of pity. “Sorry, you can’t, because I already had the best roommate ever. Twice.” She wrinkles her nose at me playfully. “Okay, now, we’re officially having a sleepover, so someone go set up the TV and pick out a movie, and someone else tell me which of these delicious snacks we’re going to pig out on first.”
“Tay, why don’t you pick the movie,” I offer. “We’ll get the snacks ready.”
Without a word, she drags her feet across the room and begins sorting through the boxes, searching for the one with all our old DVDs inside it.
