by Jenny Hale
Stan didn’t mean any harm, and he was funny most of the time, but Roz would run the moment she saw him coming.
Roz sat down at the table across from Leah and slid a mug toward her, Sadie joining them. “You really want to move there, Sadie?” Roz asked.
Sadie nodded slowly. “I couldn’t see my friends or you, but I’ve met some of the kids around there and they’re cool. And it’s so beautiful. And there’s this school with the most amazing gymnastics team I’ve ever seen.” She tipped her head toward Roz. “I’d miss you though.”
Leah knew that Sadie was very grown-up for only seven years old, but she still felt a twinge of anxiety at her response. Sadie and Roz were very close, and taking her a two-hour drive away would definitely be hard on her young daughter. So much so that the thought of it worried Leah enough to give her pause. But Sadie would have the best of everything instead of this shabby little rental house in Richmond with barely enough to make ends meet. Leah was going to give it all she had to get them to Evergreen Hill.
Chapter 3
Leah had the phone in her hand, dialing David Forester’s number. She’d originally lain on her bed and covered up with her purple-and-yellow plaid comforter to keep warm, but her nerves got the better of her and she’d sat up, her back against the white wicker headboard she’d found at a thrift store for an absolute steal. She’d always wished she could change the colors out for winter, but she’d had to prioritize her spending, and new bedding when she already had a perfectly functional set seemed extravagant. She grabbed her pillow and stuffed it behind her back, but before she’d dialed the last number, she found herself pacing out of the room and into the kitchen.
The kitchen just felt a little more like the place where she should be talking to David. She wasn’t sure if she should be more formal or friendly, a quiet listener or chatty. She didn’t even really want to be the one making the call.
She had spoken to Nan’s lawyers, and they’d confirmed the holographic will was legitimate, so she needed to talk to David. Maybe she should call him Mr. Forester. She let out a huff. She used to call him Davey, for goodness’ sake. She leaned on the small kitchen window by the table. The sun was out enough to melt the icy roads—the snow had never materialized.
All that morning, and throughout her shift at the restaurant last night, thoughts had run through her mind as to how David had ended up part owner of the plantation. How had he been able to get Nan to leave such an inheritance to him when he hadn’t been present in their lives since he was a kid? Leah had spent nearly every moment she could at Evergreen Hill, and Nan had never once mentioned him. So what had changed?
In her early years at Evergreen Hill, David had always been present. Back then, he was as much Evergreen Hill as she was, and they were inseparable. Even though he was older than her by about five years, they found ways to connect with one another, being the only two children for miles. He drew her hopscotch lines on the sidewalk out back, his chalk boxes bumpy on the uneven, original brickwork. He’d taught her how to climb a tree…
She had many fond memories of David, but the truth of the matter was that he moved away at the age of ten, and she couldn’t fathom why his brief time there would entitle him to half of the plantation. Nan was of such sound mind and a great judge of character—what had happened between Leah’s last visit and Nan’s death to make her completely rewrite her will to include David?
She hit the last number and put the phone to her ear.
Sadie was over at Roz’s house, playing with her daughter, Jo, who’d been with her father until today. Roz had offered to take care of her today so that Leah could get things straight with the inheritance. It had been a kind gesture, and really, it would’ve been fine to make the calls with Sadie there, but Sadie had been so excited that Leah had agreed to let her go. Roz had also asked if Sadie could spend the night, but, with another threat of snow on the horizon, Leah hadn’t given her a definitive answer.
* * *
There was a click, causing Leah to stand up straight. She walked over and sat down in the kitchen chair, facing the oven, her eyes on the Christmas towel hanging from the handle.
“David Forester.” His voice was deep but still gentle like she remembered. She fiddled with Sadie’s breakfast spoon, left on the table from this morning.
“Hello,” she said softly. “This is Leah Evans…”
“Ah, hello,” he said. “I’m glad you called. I was going to call you. How are you?”
“Fine, thank you,” she lied, for the sake of her manners. She didn’t quite know what to say. It had been so many years, and he was a stranger now, yet they had this small slip of time where they’d known each other very well.
A short silence fell between them, and she wondered if he felt the same way.
Then, he finally said, “I’m sure you’ve heard that we both own Evergreen Hill.”
“Yes. I was hoping we could talk about that.” She stood up, gathered Sadie’s dishes, and began to tidy the table to expel her nervous energy. She was dying to know how or if he’d been back in touch with Nan.
“Absolutely. I’d like to go over a few options with you.”
Options?
“Would there be a place we could meet? I could come to you. You’re in Richmond, right? I could be there in just a couple of hours.”
She knew this wasn’t going to be a quick conversation. Leah wanted answers. “I can’t meet today.” She had work tonight, and she wanted to get Sadie. “We could meet another time at Evergreen Hill.”
The line was silent for a moment—just long enough for her to worry. Had she said something wrong? She knew she hadn’t. She’d only said she could meet one day, and there was nothing wrong, surely, with staying at Nan’s. But he wasn’t talking.
“Is there a problem with me going to Evergreen Hill?” She walked into the living room and sat down, but then stood up, the call making her uneasy.
“It’s quite a drive. The roads get icy in the evenings,” he said carefully. “I’d assumed we’d meet somewhere closer to you.”
“Well, I don’t mind. I’d like to see the house.”
David cleared his throat. “It’s just… I wouldn’t want to put you in an awkward position if the weather got treacherous, having to stay the night with a near stranger.”
She stopped, standing still in the middle of the living room. Her gaze fell on the paintings—three cartoonlike Christmas trees and Sadie’s holly, their bright colors drawing her eye every time she passed them. She was trying to make sense of his statement. Had he already planned to stay there? “What do you mean?”
“I’m currently residing at Evergreen Hill.”
“What?” The question sounded as baffled as she felt.
“Would you feel comfortable staying in the guest suite?”
She sat down again, this time so that her legs wouldn’t give out on her. What was he doing living in Nan’s house with all her things still in it? Muriel, Nan’s friend who’d promised to look in once a week after the funeral, hadn’t mentioned anyone living at Evergreen Hill. When had he moved in? She wasn’t staying in the guest suite! She would stay in the room next to Nan’s, like she always had. Leah scrambled for something to say. Finally, when words started to filter back into her brain, she said, “I think we should speak to our lawyers before we go any further.”
* * *
After her evening shift, when she’d picked up Sadie from Roz’s, Leah hadn’t mentioned anything more about Nan or the inheritance. Once Sadie had gone to bed, she spoke to her mother on the phone. Her mother and father both thought the will would surely be thrown out, but Leah had re-read Nan’s letter and she wasn’t so sure. She struggled to think of any talk of David in her phone conversations with Nan over her last months. She just couldn’t remember a thing. But then it occurred to her that once, when she’d apologized again for not being able to come till Christmas and said she hoped Nan wasn’t lonely, Nan had mentioned having a renter. “It’s all impromptu, won
’t be for long, but I really enjoy his company.” Leah tried to remember what happened after that but couldn’t. She had probably been interrupted by something and forgotten all about it.
Even though it was getting late, she called David again, her knee bouncing uncontrollably as she sat at the kitchen table.
She coughed to relieve the tension in her throat. “I’ve changed my mind,” she said when he answered. “Nan wouldn’t have done this if she expected us to sort it out through lawyers.” She could stay late, and take Roz up on her offer to have Sadie spend the night if need be. She didn’t want Sadie to witness any possible arguments over the house.
She closed her eyes and prayed she could handle the situation like Nan would. Nan was the calmest, most poised person Leah had ever known. She approached every situation with a smile on her face and wisdom in her eyes. She was a quiet listener, and she took in every side carefully; she surrendered completely while someone was speaking, hearing every word and mulling over her thoughts until she had just the right thing to say.
“I can be there tomorrow,” Leah said to David, trying to channel Nan’s control.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
* * *
The next morning, Leah dropped off a bag of overnight things for Sadie so that she could stay at Roz’s if Leah got home too late, packed herself a bag in case of emergencies, and then headed straight for Evergreen Hill. She knew the route by heart. The last time she’d been there was the funeral. She’d organized it with her mother, barely able to hang on to the details due to her grief. On the day, she’d only gone as far as the parlor, where they’d put out food for the guests—she just couldn’t manage seeing anything else. The place had been completely packed, standing room only, so she’d made sure to greet her family and the close friends of Nan’s that she knew, but the house was full of strangers—all there to pay their respects to the most amazing woman. Now Leah wondered if David had been there.
All the way to the plantation, she prepared herself for seeing Nan’s things without the distraction of friends and family. And without Nan. She also prepared herself for seeing David Forester answering the door of Nan’s house as if it were his. When they’d known each other, David had been very sweet to her. He’d seemed so big, but it must’ve just been the age difference. She could see him wearing a baseball hat, the curls of his dark hair coming out around the edges. He loved baseball. She still remembered his favorite player was Pete Rose.
One day, David had been sitting on the front stairs, tossing a baseball into the air, as she walked over. She had tripped on a step and she felt herself start to fall, but he reached out and caught her. His baseball tumbled down the stairs and rolled away, and when she’d thought he was going to run after it, he went the other direction, into the house, and got her a bandage for her bleeding elbow.
On the ride to Evergreen Hill, Leah called her mother, Marie, again to discuss the situation.
“You’re going to have to demand that David give you the whole plantation,” her mother said. “He can’t expect to keep it, given his short time there. That would be crazy.”
“Nan wouldn’t just give it away unless she had good reason. I have to talk to him first,” Leah said.
“As soon as you want me to come, I’ll be there. I’ll call your Uncle Will and we’ll be on a plane in a second. Don’t feel like you have to do all of this yourself. We’ll help you go through Nan’s things.”
“Okay. I’ll call you if I need reinforcements.”
As Evergreen Hill came into view, Leah slowed down to take a look at the place she’d always called home, her vision blurring, causing her to blink. Even though snow had been mentioned in the forecast this week, it was still a little early in the season for it, but not too early to be spitting frozen rain. The rolling hills where she’d played as a child and the trees beneath which she’d sat and read to Sadie as a young mother were dusted slightly with an icy white glaze, the dark brick of the house contrasting dramatically with the gray skies. Even the original slate roof had a glassy surface. Leah felt her breath catch in her chest as she blinked to get a clearer view of the house.
The windows of the manor, which were usually aglow, were all dark except one, and the furniture under the big oak tree was empty, like her heart. Normally, on cold but dry days, Nan would hang brightly colored lanterns, lit by flickering candles, in the trees, and she’d set out cushions and large quilts. Leah used to curl up on the bench, facing the river, and Nan would bring her hot cocoa or homemade apple cider. Now it just looked cold, and as she looked at it, she could feel her heart breaking again for Nan. With a deep breath, she hit the gas and headed up to the house.
Her car came to a stop beside a black Mercedes. She got out and bent down to look at herself quickly in her side-view mirror, suddenly aware of her appearance. Tears were streaming down her face, her nose all red and sniffly. There wasn’t much she could do about the way she looked now. Leah wasn’t sure if her shiver was because of the cold or her nerves—either way, getting into the house would help, so she bounded up the front steps, dragging her fingers under her eyes.
Her first inclination was to slide the key in the lock and go in, but she hesitated this time. She looked at the large, thickly lacquered black door. She’d never really stopped to notice it before, always too excited to be on the other side of it. All the wood in the house had been collected from trade ships that had carried supplies to the original colonies from Europe. With irritation gnawing at her, she hit the bell.
Footsteps pounded down the hardwoods inside, and her heartbeat sped up in anticipation as the sound neared the door. She was composed and ready to tackle whatever David had to say. Her shoulders were squared, her face set in concentration. She pushed the emotion that was welling up as far down as she could.
The door opened.
There was a brief pause as they both assessed each other. She sucked in a tiny breath, her cheeks warm, despite the temperature outside. David was tall, but then again, he’d always seemed tall to her. His hair was still dark brown; she remembered those charcoal gray eyes; he had a slight stubble on his jaw—that was new. She could still see that little boy she’d known in his face, but he had definitely grown up. Into a very handsome man. She willed the red from her cheeks. She needed to focus.
“Hello,” he said, opening the door wider so she could enter. He had on jeans and a casual sweater. She looked down at his feet and he was wearing shoes. Nan never allowed them to wear shoes in the house—only guests. “It’s nice to see you.”
She took her shoes off and set them by the door, curling her toes to hide her rainbow polka-dot socks. She needed to be professional, intimidating, businesslike, if she wanted to get him to listen to her; she should’ve thought through her outfit better, but all she’d wanted to do was get there, so she’d jumped in the car as fast as she could.
He shut the door behind them, the smell of Nan assaulting her senses. Nan used to always burn sage; it relaxed her, she’d said. The earthy perfume of it had soaked into the wood over the years, giving the house a scent all its own. If Leah closed her eyes, she could almost smell the citrus of the lemons that Nan would boil at the same time to freshen the house, taking her back to those barefoot summers when they’d spend all day refinishing antiques out on the cool grass in the shade and then find new places for them in the house. The smell reminded her of all those little things that seemed so much bigger now.
The grand staircase fanned out in front of them from the second floor, its dark-stained treads like piano keys against the glossy white finish of the risers and spindles. She stepped onto the colonial-blue, floral runner and let her eyes rest on the empty, antique entry table against the wall, where Nan had always placed a crystal bowl of gumdrops every Christmas. There were no gumdrops. There was no bowl. That small difference welled up in the form of tears. She tried to blink them away, but then she saw there were no decorations anywhere, a stack of platters from the wake still
sitting on the bench by the coat rack, and Nan wasn’t hurrying down the hallway toward her to say hello.
Her chest heaved as she leaned on her knees to keep from losing her balance, the pain in her heart overwhelming. Every time she took a breath, her lungs filled with the unique perfume of her memories with Nan, and she felt like she was suffocating. Frantically trying not to completely lose it, she tried to focus on things in the room, but everything told her a story of the woman she couldn’t bear to live without.
“Are you okay?” David said, placing a hand on her shoulder.
She stood up, the motion making her dizzy. She leaned toward him in an attempt to get her balance but found herself against him, her legs failing her. The grief was too much, and the mental energy it was taking to deal with the issue at hand was beyond her. Unable to keep herself together, she buried her head in David’s chest and sobbed.
Pain shot through her chest and into her back as his strong arms wrapped around her, seemingly holding her together. Without them there, she felt like she might just fall apart right in the entryway. She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing in deep breaths of the clean scent of his shirt to clear her head. He held her for what seemed like forever until she finally calmed down.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, pulling back, the guilt and mortification of what she’d just done setting in.
David offered a consoling smile, as if her breakdown had been totally normal behavior. “For what?” he said. “You’re allowed to miss her.”
For fear that she might not recover, she didn’t respond to his comment.
As if he knew not to press any further, he said tenderly, “I took the liberty of making coffee. Do you like coffee?”
She nodded, still trying to get herself together. She straightened her spine and produced the most believable smile she could make under the circumstances.
