I swallow hard.
“I’m here now, Grandma,” I whisper.“I’m here, and I’m gonna make it right.”
My hand drifts along the mahogany dresser she got as a wedding gift, sixty-something years ago.
She always kept her perfume bottles lined up across the top like soldiers.
I used to sit on that old rug and watch her get ready for church, her hair pinned up, her smile soft.
Now it’s just me.
Me and the memories.
I’m the last Thorn left.
The finality of that sends something sharp and musical ringing through my chest—a chord struck too hard on an acoustic string.
I gasp at the sting of it.“Shit,” I breathe.“What am I doing here?”
Not in Hammonton.
Not in New Jersey.
Not in this house that deserves better than what I let it become.
What am I really doing here?With my life?
I squeeze my keys in my fist until they bite into my palm, then turn and head out the door.
The January air slams into me, cold enough to snap me fully awake.It burns my lungs, stings my eyes, but hell, it’s still better than the California sunshine I used to worship.
At least cold feels honest.
I get into my car, start the engine, and just sit for a second while the heater groans to life.
The contractors will be here later to assess the interior, but Grandma’s furniture?Her dresser, her rocking chair, her dining set where I ate more grilled cheese than any child should?
No one touches that.
No one but me.
Decision made.
I pull out of the driveway and head for the hardware store—the one that’s been here since dinosaurs roamed South Jersey.
I need sandpaper.Stain.Brushes.A few tools.Maybe a tarp or three.
I shoot off a text to the contractor, telling him where I want that furniture moved.
The detached garage will make a perfect workspace while the pros tear apart the inside of the house—repaint the walls, refinish the old wood floors, install the new kitchen I ordered.
Yeah, it’s a monster of a project.
But this six-bedroom colonial is a monster of a house—and it deserves the effort.
When I arrived earlier this morning, I hauled my suitcase up the narrow stairs to the attic and pushed open my old bedroom door with my shoulder.
It creaks the same way it always did, like the house is announcing my arrival.
