Erica had never ventured farther than the picket fence whenever she and her mother drove by the old house on Crescent Lane. Standing on the sidewalk, staring up at the Victorian-era masterpiece, she once more couldn’t believe it was the same house from her childhood. She remembered pressing her forehead against the passenger side window and gazing up at the turret on the left corner of the house, likening it to one of the fairy-tale castles in her storybooks back home.
The once neatly trimmed lawn was overgrown with weeds and tall grasses. The dingy white fence with its evenly spaced pickets was broken in some places, and the raw wood splintered from abuse. The once-gleaming white clapboard siding needed a fresh coat of paint, and a few blue shutters looked as if they’d fall off with the next stiff wind. A few of the cedar shingleswere missing, and the once-blooming gardenia bushes, gone unmanaged for at least a year or more, had grown to nearly cover the railing that encircled the partial wraparound porch. Grass pushed up through the cracks in the concrete path leading to the front steps, and she could already see that the casings of the double-hung windows would need some mending.
Despite the fact that her once-sparkling, fairy-tale home had become dulled by age and neglect, Erica couldn’t wait to go inside. She made the offer to the previous owners, sight unseen, but she knew well in advance that the house needed a lot of work to make it beautiful again. This was her first true visit to the property, a new experience she savored with each step. She left her jeep and the U-Haul trailer on the curb and rushed up the path, fisting the key Julia had given her at the title office.
She lovingly ran her fingers along the rough railing as she ascended the first few steps. The treads creaked and popped beneath her feet as Erica’s eyes swept over the shaded porch and she noticed how slivers of late-morning light pierced through the hedge of bushes to spill over the decking.
She looked closer at the decorative sidelights that flanked the paneled, mahogany front doors. From the street, she hadn’t noticed the etched engravings of a flowering bouquet of roses with leaves and vines around the edges. Erica smiled as her throat tightened with emotion. Gardenias were her mother’s favorite flower, and roses were Erica’s.
With tender care, as if she were trespassing upon sacred ground, Erica unlockedherfront door and stepped inside.
The door eased open, hinges creaking in protest. Entering the front hall was like being transported into another world of old, refined beauty that she had never known in her own life. The dark trim gleamed in the sunlight and contrasted with the oak floor that was badly in need of refinishing. The delicate crystal chandelier in the foyer caught the light coming throughthe windows and scattered rainbow diamonds against the faded wallpaper. The staircase matched the trim wood and boasted a gorgeous acanthus leaf newel cap that needed some serious polishing. Two twin parlors with their own grand fireplaces and connected by pocket doors, mirrored the dining room and modernized kitchen on the other side of the long entry hall. Upstairs, Erica rushed from one bedroom to the next, gawking at how the craftsmanship of the public spaces carried into the private quarters of the home.
As she inspected each room, she couldn’t help but feel like a giddy child again, fawning over the rich detail of the home that was now completely hers. It was obvious that the interior needed some touch-up work and minor repairs, but otherwise the Victorian home was just as she had envisioned, just as she and her mother always talked about.
Erica ended up back in the front parlor and stared out the bay windows that looked out over the porch. She didn’t believe in angels, but something compelled her to speak to her mother’s spirit at that moment. She had to tell her, to say it out loud, to proclaim it so the universe knew what she had done. “We did it, Mom,” she said softly. “We got the house.”
A tear tried to burn its way into the open, but she refused. There was work to be done, and she only had the U-Haul for one day.
After taking a deep breath to calm her hammering heart, she rushed back down the steps and out to her car to retrieve her cleaning supplies. Within about two hours, she had every floor in the house swept, mopped, and clean enough so she could start moving boxes and furniture inside. Tiny flyaway hairs escaped her braid, and sweat that dotted her forehead occasionally stung at the corners of her eyes, but she didn’t feel the need for a break just yet.
The U-Haul was packed in such a way that everything that would go upstairs was crammed toward the back and the first boxes to come out belonged to the kitchen and bathrooms. Using the hand truck she had rented from the moving company, she loaded up the first trip and forced the nearly flat tires to roll down the uneven pathway.
Just as she was about to wonder how to properly ease the load up the porch steps, she heard a voice from the house to the left. She turned and spotted a couple walking toward her.
Neighbors. In all her plans, she hadn’t really accounted for the fact that she would have neighbors. In her tiny studio apartment, the people who lived on her level never spoke a word to her, not in all the years she had lived there. They avoided her, and she avoided them, not because she wanted to be rude, but because she never saw a reason to get too attached. Many of the tenants were gone in less than six months, only to be replaced by a new family or college student. It had never occurred to her that she’d have permanent neighbors that she’d have to talk to on a regular basis.
The couple looked to be a handful of years older than herself. The man was insanely tall, well over six foot. His dark, curly hair was just long enough to be tossed about in the breeze, and his deep coffee-colored eyes held a kind of intensity that unsettled her. The woman beside him, presumably his wife or girlfriend, was significantly shorter and exuded soft gentleness in the way her blue eyes smiled at their new neighbor. Given her mixed perception of them, she was unsure if she’d be in for a pleasant conversation or a harsh lecture about “the way things are” on Crescent Lane.
“Do you need any help?” the lady called out as she shielded her eyes from the sun.
At first, Erica wanted to say that she had it covered, but one look at the man’s hefty biceps made her rethink that. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”
The man gave a deep, hearty laugh that seemed to vibrate the very air between them. “It’s no trouble. We thought you were only coming to clean up the house until you pulled out that hand truck.”
She stopped her efforts as the couple made their way through the gate and up the walkway. Had they been watching her from their window the whole time?
“My name’s Tracy Brunson, and this is my husband, Burt.” The woman held out her slender hand.
“Erica Barrett,” she replied with a confident smile and returned the handshake. “I just signed the closing papers this morning.”
Tracy’s eyes lit up. “You’re going to live here now?”
She gave a humble shrug. “That’s the plan.”
Without being told, Burt eased his way around to take the hand truck from Erica. Slightly startled by the way he took command of her things, she tripped over her own feet trying to get out of the way. Burt hauled the boxes up the porch steps with baffling ease and left the women on the lawn.
Erica had spent her entire life never having to rely on a man for anything. She opened her own doors, paid her own bills, and even loaded the U-Haul by herself, only requesting help from a former co-worker for the big furniture. Her sofa and mattress would have proven to be one hell of a trip from the trailer to the house, but she figured she would manage somehow. To have Burt’s help should have been a relief, but she only felt uneasy and useless as she watched him do all the heavy lifting.Be thankful he’s willing to help to begin with, she told herself.
“I’m so glad someone finally bought this place,” Tracy said. “We’ve been watching it get worse and worse over the lastseveral months. Burt didn’t think it would ever happen. The house has charm, but we noticed no real estate agent ever stopped by with a potential buyer.”
Erica tried not to stare as Burt unloaded the boxes from the hand truck in the foyer with such little effort. “No, I hadn’t seen the house before today.”
Tracy’s eyes went wide. “You just went off the pictures from the online listing?”
Erica smiled a little sheepishly. “Actually, I never took a good look at the online pictures.”
“Where are these going?” Burt called out from the foyer.
