“We both know she won’t.”
He clears his throat. “Take care, Rin.”
The call ends, and I toss my phone onto a pile of clothes, opening my mouth to scream though I don’t allow a sound to slip out. I fling my arms down at my sides, throwing a silent tantrum just to make myself feel better.
And it does. Slightly.
I pick up my phone again once I’ve calmed down and scroll through my contacts, looking for my great-aunt’s number.
If Mom wants to keep being childish and petty, fine. She can talk to me when she’s ready, but I refuse to beg.
If anyone besides Mom would know who this baby is, it would be Aunt Lydia, my grandma’s sister-in-law and one of the last living members of our family. She takes so long to answer, I’m preparing to leave a voicemail when she finally picks up.
“Heya, honey.”
I smile at the sound of her voice. It’s soothing at a time when I need it most. “Hey, Aunt Lydia. What are you up to?”
“Oh, I was just getting in from the grocery store. I’ve been meaning to call and check on you. Are you at Foxglove already? All settled in?”
“Yep, yeah. We got here a few days ago.”
“Your mom said you were going to be there this week. How are you…?” Her words trail off, like she was going to add more—doing, settling in, feeling, perhaps—but the question isn’t about the house or settling into a new place, and we both know it.
“I’m good,” I promise her. A lie, but she doesn’t push me on it. “It’s weird…being back, you know?”
“That place is a little slice of magic right here on God’s green earth,” she tells me wistfully. “I think it’s good you’ve gone back. And besides, I shouldn’t say this, but I always thought you were too good for Lewis.”
I pause, hearing her words. I want to thank her, but she’s wrong. And though she doesn’t mean to be, it feels cruel. I was never too good for Lewis. And I would hope no one would call him too good for me.
Once, we were perfect. Happy and silly and beautifully perfect. The only thing we’re guilty of is growing apart. Growing up. Being different people at forty than we were at seventeen. I have loved him longer than I was ever without him, and a signed paper and months of arguing doesn’t change that. At least not for me.
“Have you heard from Mom lately?”
She hesitates. “Is she still upset with you?”
“No,” I say, attempting to cover the truth. The last thing I need is for her to let it slip to Mom that I’ve been gossiping about her. “We just keep missing each other, so I haven’t had a chance to check in since we arrived. Actually, that’s partly why I called you.”
I grip the photo, holding it out so I can see it clearly. “I found an old cellar at Foxglove I didn’t know existed. Did you know we had one?”
“A cellar?” she asks, her voice soft. “You know, now that you mention it…I do think your grandpa might’ve said something about a cellar once. I never thought too much about it. Storm cellars were common back when Foxglove was built.” She releases a soft hum.
“What did he tell you about it?”
She clicks her tongue. “I’m not sure. Maybe just that it existed. Honey, I’m sorry, I don’t remember exactly. That was right around the time he died, now that I think of it.” She lets out a soft breath. “I’d forgotten about it until now. Why do you ask?”
I start to tell her about the cellar, but something stops me. She called it a storm cellar, but that’s not what this is. Whatever my grandfather told her, she doesn’t know about this place.Not really. Until I say something, this secret that would have otherwise died with Grandma might only be mine. There’s no reasonnotto tell Aunt Lydia, it’s just a room of old, dusty shelves and dirt, but the words catch in my throat, and I can’t. More than that, I don’t want to.
“It’s probably nothing. I found some old jars of vegetables and a box of photos.”
She hums. “I’d love to see the photos, especially any of your grandpa Charles. It’s like a time capsule. Gosh, I miss him some days.” She laughs. “You remind me a lot of him, you know?”
She’s mentioned it before. “I can send you some if I see any. I’ll go back through them.”
“That’s sweet of you, honey. Thank you.”
“Actually, the reason I’m calling is that I found a photo of me when I was a little girl. I was maybe four or five in the photo, and I’m standing with another girl I don’t recognize. She’s much younger than I was, probably only about one, with bright, almost-white, blonde hair.”
She clicks her tongue, thinking. “Hmm. I don’t know who that would be. Maybe one of your grandma’s friends’ grandbabies or something. Your mom would probably remember better than I could.”
