“My parents were good role models there.”
“They certainly were.”
A frown wrinkles between his brows, and I know he’s remembering my not-so-great role models. “Oh, hey. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay, August.” I move to touch his arm but fall short, feeling shy. “Really. Your parents are my role models for relationships too. I love watching the way they are together.”
“Let’s not go too far now. I could do without catching them making out when I walk into rooms unannounced.” His mouth flattens with distaste. “Too many images are burned into my brain.”
Laughter bubbles out of me. “It’s cute!”
“I’ll be sure to tell my eventual therapist just that.”
My laughter increases, and he sends me a reproachful glare. But his lips are twitching. He turns at a cross street and then pulls up to a driveway. Until then, all my attention had been on August. Only this street is too familiar to ignore. I sit up straight.
“This is Pops and Pegs’s house.”
It’s not the actual house, but the gates of it. Yes, my grandparents’ house sits behind gates. In Brentwood. Which might as well be the moon to a college girl living on a severely limited budget. Given that it’s an enormously expensive enclave of LosAngeles, I had figured we were headed toward wherever it is August lives. But, no, the sneaky rat took me here. He might as well have cut me open and poured salt in my wound.
I turn toward him and let the hurt show. August frowns.
“You’re not living here?” The surprise in his voice is real.
Slowly, I shake my head; it feels like a lump of lead. “No. I’m in an apartment with a roommate who barely tolerates me. I could have moved in but... I don’t know. I didn’t want to get even more attached, you know?”
“I get it.”
“I come here from time to time. Clean and make sure the grounds aren’t falling into disrepair. But there’s only so much I can do on my budget.”
“Can we go in?” he asks gently. “I’d like to see it, if that’s okay.”
“Sure.”
The big gate is made of weathered reclaimed barn doors, hung on thick cut stone pillars with antiqued bronze lanterns on the tops. Flanked by lacy olive trees and thickets of twenty-foot-high evergreen trees, it completely hides away the house inside.
“What’s the code?” August drives up to the gate and makes as if to leave the car.
“I have a remote opener on my phone,” I tell him, inexplicably shaky. I love this house. Every last inch of it. The estate is my heritage, the place I visited time and again for comfort, for sanctuary. But, in this moment, I feel like an intruder, as though I’ll never fully belong here again.
The big wood gates slide back, and we enter another world, far removed from the sun and heat and noise of LA. Here is grace and beauty, an age long gone by.
An allée of jacaranda trees in full bloom line the crushed limestone drive, creating a tunnel of purple. Sunlight spills through the fluttering blooms and dapples the windshield in violet light.
The end of the drive opens to a wide circular limestone paved car park and the house itself. The one-story ranch would be right at home in Provence with its dusky stone and stucco siding, weathered wooden shutters, and climbing vines. The roof extends out on one side to create an open porch that follows the length of the house.
And all I can think is I’m home. But home isn’t supposed to hurt like this, is it?
Eight
August
I’ve visited this house several times, even stayed here that one summer. It’s never failed to impress me.
Pen’s quiet as we leave the truck and step under the shade of the porch, heading for the front door. Much like my own house, there’s a security panel in place of a lock. She punches in the code and lets us in.
The house is cool and still like it’s been waiting. Again, I’m struck by how beautiful the place is. White stucco walls reflect the light pouring in from oversize iron-framed windows.
Quietly, like she’s a visitor, Pen sets her bag on the wide plank floors and then walks farther in. The house is a U shape branching out on each side from the main living room. Like an old barn, the roof and ceilings are pitched, with a massive weathered beam running along the center line and smaller beams branching out like ribs on a whale all along its length.
