A few months ago, I’d cut my long brown curls into a sort of wavy blunt bob. It hit just above my shoulders and framed my face. Even I could admit I looked younger than my actual age of forty-eight. I wasn’t exactly getting carded these days, but I wasn’t in the “old people are unattractive camp” and never had been. To my mind, age was not a factor when evaluating beauty.
Sure, I focused a bit too much on those tiny lines around my eyes.And my eyelids drooped heavier than they had in my twenties. Nothing a little makeup couldn’t fix… if I chose to wear it. But all in all, I was doing okay in the looks department.
Besides, I didn’t mind looking middle-aged.
I wasn’t a fan of feeling it though.
Once I was sure I looked moderately passable, I returned to my office.
“What’s this?” A file folder sat on the desk between my chair and Ethan’s. I picked it up and opened it as I took my seat.
“That's why I’m here.” Ethan clicked a pen and pointed at the paper with it. “Do you remember Agatha Dupree? She owned the Magnolia Therapy Center?”
“Of course. There’s no way I could forget Agatha.” Despite what I’d said, I hadn’t thought of Agatha in years. But the mention of her name sent a flood of memories through me. Suddenly, I could picture her as if she were standing next to us.
“Salt-and-pepper hair that tangled its way down to her waist. Leathery skin from too many carefree days in the sun. And a smile that made you feel so doggone safe.” I closed my eyes, breathing in the sensation of her warm hugs and the welcoming scent of the banana bread she loved to bake. “My mom always said she couldn’t have asked for a better boss. And she was like a grandmother to me.”
A cool breeze stroked my hair and ran down my arm. For just a moment, I could believe she was actually here, soothing me now the way she had when my mother died. Guilt clamped my heart like a vice. When I’d left town, I’d left Agatha behind. I opened my eyes to find Ethan’s brimmed with tears, grief a dark shroud surrounding him. Everyone in town loved Agatha.
“She’s gone, isn’t she?” The air in the room crackled, as if a vital source of energy was shut off, and a pain I hadn’t felt since I was eighteen landed in my stomach like a poisoned lead brick. I looked down at the papers Ethan’s now-trembling fingers pointed toward.Last Will and Testament of Agatha Cecelia Dupree.
“I’m afraid so. Agatha passed peacefully in her sleep last Friday.” Ethan’s voice quivered. He cleared his throat, shifting in his chair. For a moment, the brush of skin against leather was the only sound in the room. Then Ethan tapped his pen back to the paper. “You’ve inherited the Magnolia House.”
I jolted in my desk, certain I’d heard him wrong. “Why would she do that?”
“I can’t say,” he shrugged his shoulder a little too casually. “Whatever her motivations were, the will is very clear.”
I scanned the papers, barely reading the words. He wasn’t kidding. The room was quiet again. Too quiet. No wood creaked. No car revved an engine outside. I was in a bubble of disbelief, and only his words cut through the deafening silence.
“It’s not just the house, Simone. She left you everything.”
CHAPTER 2
The Magnolia House needed some work. Well, that was a generous way of wording it. The house was a run-down piece of crap.
A grubby post-storm haze clung to the windowpanes. The house had once been a soft, lovely yellow. But time and weather had faded the color and chipped the paint. Instead of a soothing pastel, the house appeared sickly. Sage green shutters hung off their hinges, relying on weed-ridden flower boxes to keep them in place.
Rust rained down from the wrought-iron railing bordering the second floor, an ornate design of fleur-de-lis and the namesake flower. It dusted the top of the warped, faded sign swinging below it.
Magnolia TherapyClinicand Wellness Center.
Someone had actually struck through the word clinic with a black marker and hand-written the rest of the sign.
This did not bode well for what I would find inside. Though the lawn was freshly mowed, the hedges were overgrown, and the sidewalk hadn’t seen a pressure wash in a hot minute.
It was an eyesore of epic proportions. And it was all mine.
Well, technically it wasn’t. Not yet. Once I’d lifted my jaw off the floor, Ethan had explained that I had a thirty-day trial period to decide whether to accept my inheritance. During that time, I was expected toestablish myself as the head of the therapy division and accept ownership of the organization as well as the house.
Whatever that meant.
I’d been bequeathed a dilapidated mansion and a failing business. But at least I had a roof over my head for the next month. Even if that roof leaked. I figured as long as there was a bed, it was already a step up from sleeping at my desk.
A dark cloud hung behind the house, threatening rain. I needed to get inside and get away from dark, scary thoughts. It wasn’t like me to dwell on the negative. I wasn’t about to start now.
The house was still the same gorgeous structure that greeted me each day when I’d walked from school to see my mom. The business couldn’t be any worse than the one I’d left back in New Orleans. It needed a bit of work. Maybe some love. But hey… so did I.
Either way, I was likely on the verge of bankruptcy.
