The situation of the house was good. High hills rose immediately behind. —Sense & Sensibility
5
Edward
My mom’s warning not to fall for a Greenwood girl came twenty years too late. Here I am, sitting across from my childhood crush all grown up. No wonder I didn’t recognize her when I stumbled upon her on the trail last fall. The snaggle-tooth grin has been replaced with a quiet, confident smile, the ratty braids with a sleek dark-brown ponytail. Instead of her daily uniform of a swimsuit with cut-offs, she’s wearing a khaki dress. But her eyes still shine with the same bright intelligence, suggesting a sharp mind and a quick sense of humor. My childhood playmate had the energy of the July sun; grown up Elinor is as serene and lovely as moonlight on water.
The gingersnap removed any remaining doubts I had that Ellie and Elinor were the same person. I ate so many of these cookies that summer, along with homemade pies and cakes. Ellie often left me treats in an abandoned mailbox at the crossroads where we met most mornings. In return, I would leave her a seashell or a pretty rock or a candy bar. Visiting the park last fall, I stumbled across what I thought was our old meeting place. But I couldn’t find the mailbox. They must have torn it down years ago. Not too surprising, since it’s been nearly 20 years. Still, the missing mailbox has me second-guessing how much of that distant summer I remember accurately.
“I remember you.” She says with warmth. And for some reason her comment gives me the same sense of belonging I felt as a child, playing with the motley group of kids and building forts in the woods.
I cannot stop staring. I had never considered that Elinor Greenwood could be the woman from the trail. Since she mentioned she was local, I should have thought of the possibility.
She stands up. “Are you ready for your tour?”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to interrupt your day?” Honestly, I don’t really need a tour. My grandpa gave me a fairly accurate map of the property which I have nearly memorized, and I did walk most of the park when I visited last fall. I suggested the tour as an excuse for my visit—and because I want to delay telling her that I now own her home.
I wasn’t lying when I said I wouldn’t kick her out. I have no idea how I’ll keep that promise, but I’m determined to find a way. The plans for the park aren’t finalized. Perhaps we can move the restaurant over a bit? The cottage is on two acres of land—land that I own. That gives us some wiggle room. Worst comes to worst, I could possibly convince my mom not to sell. Of course, if I did that, I’d probably lose my job...
But how can I kick Ellie out? I simply can’t—not after seeing her cry like that and then bravely dry her tears. It’s obvious she’s been carrying so much worry on her shoulders.
“I’d be happy to show you the park.” She brushes down the pleats of her khaki shirt dress. “Where’s your luggage?”
“In my car—I’ll get it later.” I suspect that Elinor won’t be impressed by my car. I’m pretty sure she’ll mock me for it.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says. “It’s more than a mile to the cottage. It makes more sense to drive your car to my house. We have covered parking in the old carriage house. Which I’m certain you’d prefer—we can’t let bird poop get on your fancy car.”
“Who says I drive a fancy car?”
She gives me an incredulous look, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Ok, it might be a little fancy,” I admit.
“I’ll bet. Follow me.”
The way she calmly takes over reminds me so much of the Ellie of my childhood. She was never bossy; she was simply in charge.
“I still can’t believe you’re Mr. Norland’s grandson,” she says as we walk down the hallway with oak floors crisscrossed with a hundred years’ worth of scratches and scuffs. There’s a water stain on the ceiling. I’m mentally tallying all the repairs this building needs. The cracked windows must be replaced. Judging from the muggy air, there’s no working air conditioning. It would be cheaper to tear this building down and start over. And yet, the thought of demolishing it hurts a little.
“If you’d known I was Reginald’s grandson, would you have been more or less likely to say yes when I asked you out?”
“Less.”
“Why’s that?”
“Remind me. How many wives did your grandpa have?”
“Five. But I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“It feels relevant, since one of them was my grandma. Are you sure we’re not related?”
“Definitely not related. Your dad was briefly my grandpa’s stepson. But it’s not like he and my mom grew up together. Your dad was in his mid-twenties and living on his own when Grandpa met your grandma.”
“So I can’t call you cousin?” She laughs.
“Absolutely not!”
“Actually, if I had known you were the same boy we played with that summer, I would have definitely said yes.”
