She drew in her breath. “I don’t know what I want to do yet,” Dahlia said, looking at the birds that circled overhead. It felt like the moment in a movie right before something bad happened. That couldn’t be a good sign.
“You can’t just throw your whole life away. And I’m certainly not. For a moment that lasted all of five minutes in the back of my Rover?”
The seagull’s cry woke her from her memory, and with that, she walked back up to Lil’s house. She blew out a cathartic breath. It was time to let go of Spence, the bitterness, and the role that never suited her from the beginning.
Dahlia grabbed her purse and Lil’s box from the back seat and walked onto the front porch. “Come on, boy. Let’s get that bowl of …ahh!” She screeched as she lunged forward, her foot going right through the decking. “Seriously?” she huffed, unable to move her foot, feeling the broken shards of wood stab her ankle. Sweat pooled on her upper lip, and she had never been so glad to be neighborless at the moment. The idea of someone seeing this blunder sent a rush of heat to her face. She grunted, carefully pulling her tennis shoe from the large, gaping hole.Lil, she thought,if you’re up there, please send a handyman ASAP. Was she going to be able to handle this project alone? That was quickly becoming the question of the day.
Thank goodness the flower pot was exactly where Lil had said it would be. Dahlia didn’t need any more mishaps. She tiptoed to it, trying to avoid putting too much pressure on one spot. With one hand and one foot, she leaned over and pulled the soiled key from underneath as if she were playing a game of Twister.
The stately colonial blue door stared at her as she brushed the hair from her eyes, trying to regain her composure. Dahlia was numb, her heart heavy. Her hand wouldn’t move. She was frozen, imagining a different reality, one where she was here with Lil this summer. Without warning, another gust carried through the porch, this time wrapping her like a blanket. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, feeling Lil with her in spirit.
Dahlia slipped the key in and turned the knob. slowly pushing the door open. Harry snuck in as it gave a loud creak, grazing herleg. “Glad you could make it,” she said, shutting the door behind him. It smelled like must and mothballs. She stood there, feeling her shoulders finally relax, feeling the house’s presence. It was a pleasing aroma for Dahlia’s old soul. It reminded her of the best summers in this house by the bay with Gran, Pop, and Lil. “Don’t go too far, Harry.”
The air was stagnant—she needed to open a few windows.She laid her purse and Lil’s box on the long Windsor bench. Gazing at the long entry and original molding dating back to 1865, she smiled. “I’m finally home, right where you wanted me, Lil.” This was the only house that had ever felt like a home after her parents’ deaths. Every summer after 2001 had been like a homecoming of sorts. After the car accident that changed her life, she needed home like flowers needed sun and fish needed water.
But when she entered the family room, she gasped, clutching her fist to her chest. The room looked like it had been ransacked. The linen curtains were ripped and mangled, suspended by mere threads. The picture frames that held generations of memories were broken and scattered across the floor, the moldings mangled, and the slipcovers and rug were covered in soot. Her heart sank like a brick to the ocean floor. Who could have done this, and why? And were they still in the house?
“Harry,” she called again. Her body shuddered. She didn’t know who to call or what to do. She’d never felt so unsafe and alone in this house before. She needed a baseball bat … or a knife. Her heart raced like a greyhound as she rushed to the kitchen.
She heard Harry’s footsteps overhead.
“Okay, stay there, bud, while I figure out what to do.” Dahlia exhaled through her fear. No one was home next door. Hank couldn’t help, and most of Lil’s friends were gone. Maybe a few of Lil’s students were still around, but Dahlia didn’t remember manyof them. Her thoughts were ablaze as she shuffled through the drawer. Then she looked down and saw a tiny flour paw print on the counter’s edge.
It wasn’t a burglar. It was an animal. Was that any better? She quietly backed away as if any movement might prompt an attack. Her eyes bulged as she perused the place. “Rabies, Harry. Please stay put,” she whispered as she opened the basement door and grabbed the largest fishing net she could find. Thank God Lil had kept Pop’s nets.
She heard thuds from above. “Mother Machree, he’s up there with it. Of course he is.” She slithered against the hallway wall that led to the staircase and barreled around the corner. A squirrel hurled toward her, and Harry flew down after it. All she could do was scream as loud as her air would flow. It was a scene out ofChristmas Vacation, only Dahlia wasn’t on the couch holding her stomach in laughter. Nothing about this encounter was funny.
It was too quiet. Harry sniffed around the kitchen, and Dahlia bravely peeked out from behind the hallway wall. With the net in hand, she paced the family room. Her chest tingled; she never felt this kind of rush before. She bravely pulled back the curtains, ready to catch the bugger.
The squirrel leaped past Dahlia’s face, grazing her cheek with its furry tail, and flew into the entry, all while she screamed and squealed in disgust. Dahlia thrashed the net wildly, sending Lil’s box crashing to the floor. Dahlia spotted Harry as he brazenly headed toward the action. “Oh no, you don’t.” She grabbed him by the collar, his nose covered in white powder. “This is for your own good,” she said, locking him in the bathroom.
She slowly backed up toward the door and made apsst,psstsound, hoping to lure the furry creature. And sure enough, it came barreling toward her. She swiftly opened the back door just in time for it to exit through the hole in the screen porch. Her limp bodyleaned against the wall and slid down in relief, hoping and praying he didn’t bring friends. “What a welcome, Lil.”
After letting Harry out, Dahlia checked the old faithful cream fridge that Lil and Gran had for the last thirty years. Sure enough, her bad luck ensued. Not only was it tepid inside but it smelled of decay and mold. With a pinched expression she pulled back, shutting it immediately. This was now the third luckless event of the day. There were droppings in every crevice and urine caked onto every surface. She wondered where to even start, but then she spotted Lil’s teacup collection, still intact. With a shaky hand, Dahlia held up a tiny pink, cream, and green rosebud cup. She had no idea where they would end up in the move, but she was glad they were safe for now.
Dahlia swept and sifted, still in shock, grabbing garbage bags from the pantry. On the floor, among the wreckage of her family’s story, was her grandparents’ wedding picture encased in broken glass. She carefully lifted it from the rubble, noticing how well dressed they were in the photo, her grandmother in a two-piece light suit with a hat and her grandfather in a navy one. Their embrace was tender but choreographed, as if they had gone to the justice of the peace, and this was the only record of it. They were a good-looking couple, even by today’s standards. Gran with her petite features, loose curls, and slender physique and Pop with his slicked-back dark hair and chiseled jawline. Her nose tingled as she turned it over. It read,Lizzie and Leon 1950.She placed it back on the weathered green nineteenth-century hutch, along with the other family relics, feeling her chin tremble.
She’d laugh about this someday, she hoped. Just not today. She squatted to inspect the chimney and noticed sticks were covering the brick landing. She bravely poked her head inside the opening as if she hadn’t just experienced the most terrifying animal encounter ever. The flue was open, which was strange. She knew they’dclosed it when they left. That squirrel was probably making a nest for her babies in there. Dahlia was grateful she’d made it out unharmed, despite the mayhem she’d caused, especially if there was a young family waiting for her.
The soot-stained cream carpet would have to wait, along with the curtains and chewed moldings. She knelt on the dirty, wide-planked floor and slowly placed Lil’s belongings back in the box. There were old books, art books, flower books, art projects, her watch, flip phone, glasses, seed packets, and multiple bags filled with pictures. Dahlia paused. Did she even belong here without Lil? Was this all a big mistake? A lonesome book caught her eye, tucked under the buffalo-check wingback in the adjoining room. She dragged it out and smiled wide at the cover that readSimple Abundance. She knew this book all too well. It must have fallen out of the box during Squirrelgate. When she got to her feet and once again scanned the disaster site, she felt her arms go limp. She had an empty tank, and it wasn’t even noon. The book would have to wait, along with everything else. She made a mental note to take it to look at it later, maybe for the sunset glass of wine.
“Right now, I need a shower.” She looked at Harry, still covered in flour. “And it looks like you do too.”
CHAPTER THREE
The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the landscape and even the broken bulkhead. Everywhere she looked, there was more time, money, and work. There was a tightness in her chest, one she suspected wouldn’t leave anytime soon. The screens that once lent a fluid view of the rolling lawn down to the bay were torn and missing and now served as an escape hatch for critters. She took a long, earned sip of her roséas she sat in Lil’s worn wicker chair, followed by another and another, desperately trying to release the angst in her body.
Her palm grazed the pretty botanical cover ofSimple Abundance. It had been one of Lil’s treasures, especially at the end, always beside her bed. There was a pink ribbon marking a page. Dahlia opened it and immediately did a double take. It readApril 7, which was the day Lil died. Tears rushed to her eyes like a tide during a storm. The words were blurry, but she read them anyway.Come Alive with Color … with color, for the price of paint, people can express their own style and individuality. But, as with style, a gift for color has to be developed by experiment. If you don’t dare, you are doomed by dullness.—Shirley Conran
Dahlia pulled the old, musty book close to her chest. Who was this for? She couldn’t help but think the words were meant for her. She wiped her wet eyes and laughed quietly. “Why am I not surprised you’re sending me messages from the grave? You always saw the beauty in the simple things.” She shook her head and sat in silence. She wished she could be more like Lil, living a life full of color. God knew she’d experienced enough black and white to last a lifetime. She sank deeper into the chair and whispered,“But to seek it, you must walk toward it with confidence and courage. And I’m not confident about anything anymore, especially who I’m supposed to be in this next chapter.”
Dahlia finished her wine, trying to look past the wild prairie of a backyard. She’d had enough of this day. She forced her tired body up from the chair. As she stood, a letter fell from the book to the floor. The envelope readTo Dahlia, andIMPORTANT,in large, thicker letters.
She swiftly opened it, sliding her finger through the top recklessly, and noticed Lil’s beautiful cursive writing. Her heart felt burdensome as she read it to herself.
Dear Dahlia,
I’m sitting here overlooking your stream and snow-covered garden. Even under the thick blanket of white, I can still see your beautiful blooms. I can hardly believe this is my ending, but it is. Don’t feel sorry for me; I’ve had a good life filled with flowers, art, and laughter, thanks to you. You are the best niece and friend a woman could ask for. Thank you for taking such good care of me. I leave this life as a rich woman.
