“The sky is absolutely gorgeous today—” I start to say as I turn around.
And stop dead in my tracks when I’m met with Jordan’s sinfully smirking face.
Chapter 12
Douglass can’t get out of the car and away from me fast enough. Before I even turn the engine off, she’s sprinting inside the house and slamming the door shut.
I should just back out of the driveway and go home. I should leave her alone like she asked me. Ishoulddo a lot of things.
Getting out of the car, I slowly make my way up the front walk and stop on the porch. This house holds a lot of memories. And a lot of ghosts. I kissed Amelia for the first time on this front porch.
I look to my right at the bench swing hanging on rusted chains. I remember Douglass used to love sitting out here to read. Oftentimes, when I’d come over, I would see her right there on that bench swing—one leg tucked underneath her, the other foot gently pushing the swing lazily back and forth, a book held in one hand, and a dreamy look on her face. There was always something about Douglass that drew my attention and held it.
The wood planks of the porch creak and bow under my feet. The entire thing needs replacing, including the steps that lead up to it. The wood is rotting. Natalie’s house really has gone into disrepair over the years, and another sharp pang of guilt slaps me for not visiting her sooner.
Loud shouts of laughter from children playing in the street, hoping to eke out one more minute of fun before it gets too dark, ring out just as I knock on the front door. I know Amelia doesn’t live here anymore, but I’m still nervous as I stand and wait for someone to answer. It doesn’t take long.
Natalie appears in the open doorway, eyes wide in wonder as she looks up at me. I shove my hands deep inside my front pockets and take in the woman who was like a second mother to me. She looks so much older and frailer than I remember, but then again, the years have passed quickly. Her umber hair is tied up on the top of her head in a bun like Douglass’s was today. The one strand of pearls she always used to wear are still present around her neck, and her wide smile is just the same.
“Jordan?”
I dip my head, not sure if I’m still welcome in her house anymore.
“Hey, Nat.”
As her wrinkled gaze takes me in, a gust of wind picks up, carrying with it the delicious smells from inside the house.
“Beef stew?” I ask her.
She fidgets with the dish towel she’s holding, then smooths down the sunflower-patterned apron she’s wearing over a rose-colored blouse. Seeming to shake herself out of a trance, she steps forward and grabs me, pulling me into a hug.
“It’s been a long time.”
I fold her small frame in a tight embrace and return her hug.
“I know. I’m sorry,” I reply.
Stepping back, she ushers me inside. “Where are my manners? Come in. We’re just about to have dinner.”
There’s something monumental about stepping inside her house once again. It feels like coming home, which is ridiculous because Hammond Estate is my home.
“I don’t mean to interrupt. I can come back later.”
“Nonsense. Come in,” she replies, opening the door wider and shooing me inside with a swish of the dishtowel.
As soon as I step foot in her small foyer, I look around, reacquainting myself as I also search for any sign of Douglass. The interior of Natalie’s house hasn’t changed a bit, but that’s not necessarily a good thing. There are water stains I immediately spot on the ceiling that weren’t there before and places on the wall where the robin’s-egg blue floral-printed wallpaper has peeled back or bubbled.
“How have you been?” she asks me.
Toeing off my sneakers and leaving them at the front door, I follow Natalie into the kitchen. It’s a short trip of maybe twenty feet. Natalie’s house isn’t that large, around twelve-hundred square feet. You can see the kitchen, small dining room, and living room from the front door. The three bedrooms and two baths are located on the right off a short hallway. Her house may not be large like the expansive mansion I live in, but what it lacks in size, it more than makes up with in warmth and coziness. This house was the one place I felt most comfortable.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
Until she offers me a seat, I remain standing, not wanting to assume my welcome. My six-foot plus stature seems to consume half the available space in the kitchen.
Natalie folds the dish towel in thirds and hangs it over a lower cabinet door under the sink. The pale yellow cabinetry helps brighten the space, along with the narrow vase of freshly cut buttercups sitting on the sill of the square window.
“I’m doing alright,” she says, taking off her apron and hanging it on the hook on the wall. Her hands are shaky, and it takes a few tries before she’s able to drape the loop of cloth onto the hook. “Can I offer you something to drink? Can you stay for dinner?”
