Cal sighed heavily. “I really couldn’t say, Gramps was always a little cryptic. Are you guys hungry?”
Cal’s question pulled me from my ruminating. I’d been thinking about all the secrets Gramps had guarded of mine.
“Actually, I have to run an errand. Mind if I borrow the car, Mom?”
“Sure. Is everything okay?” Mom frowned.
“Yes, I’m just overwhelmed about the whole house thing,” I replied, giving her a quick hug and a kiss.
“Don’t feel pressured to keep it if you don’t want it. You can sell it, or you could rent it out while you finish up school in Halifax. It was kind of him to leave you that in this economy, it’s hard for first time homebuyers. Unless you’re a rock star.” Mom winked at Cal.
“Yeah.” I nodded, my brow furrowing. “I’ll come pick you up later, okay?”
Once I was in my mom’s SUV, I drove to Gramps’s house. I just…wanted to feel closer to him. Parking in the driveway, I sat there and took my time looking up at the beautiful blue house that was home to so many of my favourite memories.
It was so strange to think this house was mine now.
I walked up the stone stairs that led to the house, the key ready in my hand. Unlocking the door, I pushed it open, lingering on the stoop for a moment. I stepped inside the silent house and the grief hit me.
Gramps wouldn’t be in the kitchen making a tea. He wouldn’t be in the front room, about to listen to me play the piano.
Tears spilled down my cheeks, obscuring my vision of the dated foyer. I let myself cry for a few minutes—let the tears wash away what they could. Then I wiped my cheeks and took a deep breath.
Hanging my coat up on a hook and toeing my shoes off, I made my way into the front room, where I’d often play for Gramps during my visits. It was where I’d first learned to play on the beautiful Bechstein, sitting on the bench beside Nan, watching her elegant fingers dance across the keys.
I sat down on the bench seat, my hands resting on the keys. More tears poured down my cheeks as I remembered all the times I’d sat in this very spot, playing this piano.
Following Christmas dinner, we’d move the party to the music room and play Christmas songs. Even Dad would join in then, his arm wrapped around Mom’s shoulders as she smiled at us and sang along.
How many times had Gramps joined in singing? How many times had he brought out his old line drum and pounded out the beat to “Little Drummer Boy”?
I decided to play again, for old times’ sake. My fingers settled on the keys, the melody pouring from within. I played it repeatedly, until I had it exactly the way I wanted it. It exposed my grief over losing someone so important. It was an emotional melody meant to commemorate such a special person.
The song concluded, and I was left staring at the empty chair that used to be Gramps’s favourite. He’d had that chair for as long as I could remember, so long there was a slight indentation in the cushions from his body.
I could almosthearhim encouraging me, could almost see the smile of pride he wore whenever he listened to me play. His letter resurfaced in my mind, and I felt more lost than I ever had before.
There were only a few short weeks left, then I’d have no more excuses. I’d have to own my truth—all of it—and that scared me.
But I was tired of drowning in my secrets and denying what Dare really met to me, whatmusicreally meant to me. I wanted to spend every second with him, creating music—creating a life together—the way my grandparents had.
At some point during my trip down memory lane, Mom had texted to tell me that Calum was taking her to meet Harper and Asher. My stomach sank when I realized the text had been sent an hour and a half ago and I’d missed out.
Mom: If you can’t make it to the lunch, meet me at Harper’s bookstore in Mahone Bay.We’reheading there next.
Mom’s follow-up text read. I stood up from the bench, glancing once more around the music room. It felt like Gramps would holler from the kitchen, asking if I wanted a tea too.
I stopped off in the powder room downstairs to splash cold water on my face, hoping to wash away the evidence that I’d spent the better part of the hour crying.
The drive to Harper’s bookstore was a quick one, though I slowed when driving past the three churches. Gramps and Nan had married in the middle one. As a little girl, I’d often daydreamed about getting married there too.
I found parking along the road, a few shops down from Harper’s bookstore. I tugged my coat closer as I walked down the street, my eyes taking in the beautiful storefront and the sign over the shop that readBooks & Brews, Bookstore and Café. I pushed open the door, walking inside.
Instantly, I was hit with the soothing aroma of coffee and books. The café portion was on the left side of the store, while the bookstore made up the right side and well into the back. There were rows upon rows of bookshelves filled with books and several beautiful table displays.
I spotted everyone in the café, so I made my way over to them, a grin finding my lips as I looked at the little boy who was my brother’s son.
He looked identical to Cal, right down to the dark slash of hair over his glacier blue eyes.
