She smiled to herself. “I can see that. What does your dad think of this project?”
The enthusiasm in Matthew’s voice faded a little. “He’s not around anymore.”
Cassie bit her lip. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. He passed away last year in a crash, hit by a drunk driver. My parents had divorced years before, when I was young, and my mom remarried a guy out in BC with kids, so I always lived with my dad. When he died, there were too many memories. I had to get out.”
Cassie understood. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Matthew. I lost my dad when I was little. Cancer.” She reached the top of the stairs, keeping the rest of the story to herself.
He headed down the hall, letting her explore on her own, having no idea she used to know every part of this house. She hesitated then walked into her old bedroom, feeling as if she had crossed through time when she reached the window. The sill was dusty, of course, but she skimmed her hand over the old wood, covertly studying the peeling paint.There. With her fingertip she touched the tiny, faded lines of ink where she had once printed her initials. She’d only just gotten proficient at her alphabet by that point, so she’d decided to leave her mark.
“The house has three pretty big bedrooms,” Matthew said from the doorway. “A large place for the time. They even added on a bathroom, probably in the early- to midtwenties. The plumbing’s pretty ancient, though. I’ll need to update that, too.”
He had his work cut out for him, she admitted, following a few feet behind, so she decided to divulge a slice of family lore in the hopes that he’d keep as many of the original fixtures. “The bathroom was rumoured to be a wedding gift for a new bride—Robert’s daughter-in-law.”
He chuckled, walking into the bathroom. “A whole different slant on romance.”
Cassie hung behind, wondering if she could just walk past it, right to the master bedroom. “I bet she appreciated it, though. Beats having to go outside in the middle of the night.”
“True.”
But she didn’t move as he walked out of the bathroom and around her, heading toward the expansive master bedroom.
“I’m just starting to work on the mouldings in here,” he was saying. “The detail work is fantastic.”
Cassie wasn’t listening. She stood paralyzed in the bathroom doorway, seeing her mother exactly as she had on that day twenty years ago, hunched over the toilet, retching, her whole body arching with effort. Ten-year-old Cassie had backed away, suddenly afraid of the woman her mother had become.
“It’s okay, baby,” her mother had slurred. She put her hands on the toilet seat and struggled to her feet. “Come here.”
This wasn’t the first time Cassie had seen her mother drunk. After Cassie’s father had died, her mother had found solace in the bottle more and more. Cassie’s grandmother Alice had moved in to help, but she’d died of a stroke a month before. After that, it was just her mother and her in that big house. But while Cassie had reached for comfort in her mother’s arms, her mother had reached for the bottle.
Cassie had run to the stairs that day, thinking that if she could get to the telephone and call 911 like her grandmother had taught her, everything would be all right. Help would come. But when she glanced back over her shoulder, she saw her mother staggering behind her on the stairs. She panicked and ran even faster.
Now Cassie was back in the same place where it had all happened, and suddenly, everything felt too close. Heart racing, she backed out of the room. “I’m sorry, Matthew,” she called, trying to keep her voice even. “I have to go.”
He poked his head into the hallway, but she was already halfway down the stairs. “Is everything all right?”
She ran down the rest of the stairs then backed away from the bottom, just as she had that day long ago, after her mother had taken one wrong step and crashed down the staircase. How many times had Cassie imagined how different her life might have been if only she’d stayed at the top of the stairs with her mother? If only she’d stopped her from taking that terrible plunge.
“Cassie? You okay?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m sorry. I just forgot that I have a meeting to get to,” she lied. Short of breath, she went to the living room to collect one of the heavy tubs. She had to get out of the house.
“Oh! I’ll come help you load up your car,” he called after her.
Careful not to jostle the bottles, she heaved one container onto her hip and started for the door. Once she was outside, her pulse began to slow, and she took some deep breaths.
Matthew caught up to her, two tubs in his arms, his brown eyes etched with concern. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
For just a second she was tempted to tell him the truth, but the impulse vanished. “I’m fine. Thank you. Just lost track of time.”
Matthew went back in for the last tub, and when they were all safely packed in the trunk, he went around and opened the car door for her.
She climbed in, turned on the ignition, and put the car into drive, needing to get away. “Thank you again. For the tour. I’ll give you a call, let you know what I find out about the bottles, all right?”
“That’d be great. I love a good mystery.”
“I don’t know how much I can solve, but the discovery itself is notable. A hundred years, and you’re the first one to find anything.”
