by S. A. Wolfe
“Thank you. I’d like to see a photo of her.”
“Oh, you will. Now, let’s get down to the unfortunate task of business, shall we?” Archie pulls some papers out of a leather binder. “This is Ginnie’s will. I want to review the details with you until you are satisfied.” Archie pauses and looks at me with a solemn expression, exhaling a breath as if pushing out his sadness. “Before we start, I also want to tell you that Ginnie was my dear friend for many years, the last thirty years of my life, actually. They were the best years, knowing Ginnie. She kept our circle of friends together and helped so many. There was no one else like this special woman, and I know you don’t remember her, but she remembered you and kept track of you over the years.”
“Why didn’t she contact me? I mean, it wasn’t until you called that I remembered her. I think the last time I was here was when I was around five or six and then my parents never brought me back, so it was definitely a shock when you found me. I know I have to call my parents to find out why they kept this from me, but why didn’t Aunt Virginia call me? Email me? Anything?”
“I’m sorry you are finding out this way.” He truly looks regretful with his furrowed brow. “All I can tell you is that Ginnie and your parents—well, your mother—had a falling out when you were a child. That’s why Ginnie was cut-off from you. It’s not my place to share the details. As per her instructions, she was cremated last week and her friends—the town—held a memorial service. She didn’t think you should be there. Why start out on a sad note, right?”
Archie pulls a sealed envelope out of a packet and hands it to me. I reach for the ivory linen envelope that has my name elegantly scrawled across it in what must be my aunt’s shaky hand.
“She explains everything in the letter. She wrote it this past winter while she was quite sick. After the paperwork here, I’ll take you to her home—your home—and you can have some time to read the letter there.”
I nod as a small wave of grief for a woman I barely remember washes over me. The loneliness of finding out about someone who cares about you, only to discover they have died before you can be with them, is another one of life’s cruel ironies. It’s the sense of losing that has been riding piggyback with me for the last twenty years. The anger I feel towards my parents prevents me from crying for my aunt; the family I could have had.
“My aunt’s friends must think I’m a terrible person for not being here last week,” I say, hearing my voice tremble a little.
“Not at all. They know Ginnie didn’t want you to come to a funeral and remember her as a stranger. She wants you to be a part of her life now. It’s all in her home and the friends she left behind. Everything about Ginnie is in Hera and she left it for you to enjoy. You’ll see what I mean when we go to her house. I mean, your house.” Archie gives me a reassuring smile. “Let’s have you sign off on these papers and have a quick lunch before we head over to the house.”
“Oh, Mr. Bixby—Archie, you don’t have to take me to lunch—”
“Yes, I do. Ginnie wrote it in her instructions. ‘Take Jessica to lunch at Bonnie’s’.”
I laugh, grateful that he is lightening the mood for my benefit.
Three
We leave my bags in his office and walk the fifty paces across the street to the diner with the sign, Bonnie’s. I can’t help thinking of this place as something out of an old cowboy movie, even though it’s green instead of dusty with Toyotas and Hondas instead of horses and, of course, a diner instead of a saloon. Something about Hera is very calming and welcoming.
Inside the diner, there are quite a few patrons eating lunch at the tables and booths who all nod to Archie as we enter; even the curvaceous, sultry-looking waitress who is running around with a water pitcher gives Archie a smile and wave as we sit at the old-fashioned counter with its chrome, swivel bucket stools.
“Hi Archie!” says a pretty, blond waitress on the other side of the counter.
“Lauren. This is Jessica Channing. Ginnie’s niece.” Archie’s slow enunciation of my name makes me feel special, as if people have been waiting for my arrival.
“Wow,” Lauren says and puts her hand across the counter for a handshake.
I take her firm grip. “It’s nice to meet you,” I say.
“So this must be an awful shock for you,” Lauren says as she hands us very large, laminated menus.
“Just two Bonnie Burgers, dear,” Archie says to Lauren handing back the menus. “Oh, unless you’re a vegetarian,” he says to me.
“No, a burger would be great.”
Archie winks at Lauren as if it’s her signal to scamper off before I can respond to her comment about my sad news. I suppose Archie wants to protect me and I find that touching.
We eat our delicious burgers with gusto. For a slight man, even Archie seems enamored with the half pound of grilled meat that’s slathered with mushrooms, Brie, roasted peppers and leeks. The waffle fries come with guacamole and a spicy mayonnaise. I am in a glutinous heaven, stuffing my mouth in a very un-lady-like manner as Archie slows down and begins telling me about Hera.
The population is nine hundred eighty-four and town picnics happen frequently at the end of the main street by the historic water fountain whenever the weather is nice and the mood strikes the town folk. He actually uses the term town folk and I giggle in between bites of food.
At that moment a stout, sixty-something-year-old woman comes out of the kitchen dressed in a blouse with a large flower print and an up-do I think originated in the 60’s when aerosol hair spray was a necessity. She rounds the corner of the counter and waddles towards us to pat Archie’s back with her chubby hand. Archie introduces her as the Bonnie of Bonnie’s Diner and the other waitress, the curvy brunette, as her granddaughter, Imogene.
“Now you almost know everyone in town,” Lauren jokes. “I hope you stay. I grew up here and I came back every summer during school break. Imogene and I work in the diner full-time and just hang out now. It’s so relaxing here compared to city life and college.”
I find out that Lauren and Imogene both graduated from Syracuse College last year and they are back in Hera trying to figure out what to do next. That puts them at least a couple years older than me and new to the workforce. I don’t envy them trying to find entry-level jobs with degrees in English and History.
“Oh boy, here’s trouble,” Lauren says, looking over my shoulder. I turn around to see a very cute guy walk into the diner. He’s what I’d call a summer boy, the Ralph Lauren ad; a tall, tan, athletic guy who sports sun-bleached light brown curls and a casually confident air. Sure, I can surf. Sure, I play polo, who doesn’t? Sure, I scuba dive, sky dive and ski off cliffs.
Everyone is saying hello to the cute guy whose name I find out is Dylan. He makes a beeline right for us as he stares at me with a big grin and perfect white teeth. He’s a stunning picture of good health and attractiveness. The Hera Chamber of Commerce should consider erecting a “Welcome” billboard at the entrance of town with Dylan’s smiling face on it.
“I heard Archie has a visitor.” He beams at me. I force the last bit of food down my throat, silently wishing I could rush off to the restroom to brush my teeth.
“Dylan, Jessica,” Archie introduces, nodding towards me.
Dylan’s smile is overwhelming. Up close, he radiates a sexual aura that enthralls me immediately. I smile and genuinely feel happiness soar through me as he takes my hand in his warm, calloused one.
“Hi there.” I try to be as casual as possible even though he has made my nerves jump to new heights.
“Hi there, yourself,” he says. “I’m glad I finally get to meet the famous Jessica. Ginnie talked about you a lot.”
I can’t believe these people know about me when I can barely remember my aunt. I wasn’t even aware she was alive or that this community still existed less than two hours from my home in Manhattan.
My thoughts must have given me a slightly panicked expression because Lauren jumps in to remedy Dylan’s bl
untness. “It’s okay,” she says to me. “We know Ginnie wasn’t in touch with you and that you didn’t know that she was tracking you all these years.”
“She only said good things about you,” Dylan adds as I gently release his hand.
“This is all new to me,” I say. “Twenty-four hours ago, I didn’t even remember that Hera existed, and now I’m meeting all of you and hearing about my aunt. It’s like finding out about a parallel existence in a way. I know that sounds dumb.” I also now feel sort of dumb for saying that.
“You’re right, dear. You were a specter in this town. Ginnie talked about you for years so we knew about you, but you had no real memories of Ginnie and our little town here,” Archie says, pushing his plate away.
“My parents should have told me all of this.” It would have been a sad, nostalgic moment for me to ponder about not having Aunt Ginnie in my life, but Dylan leans on the counter between Archie and me, filling up the space with his ruddy masculinity, and all I can do is swoon a little bit.
“I say, we go to the house and jog your memory a little bit,” Dylan says to me.
“That’s the plan,” Archie says.
“I’ll go with you and give you the tour. I know that place better than anyone. Carson and I are still working on Ginnie’s To-Do list,” Dylan says with contagious enthusiasm.
“List?”
“Dylan and Carson, that surly man in my office, have been doing a significant amount of carpentry for Ginnie,” Archie says. “And now Dylan and his brother work for you.”
“That’s right; you’re my client.” Dylan smiles.
“That sounds like fun,” Imogene says, approaching us with an armload of dirty dishes. “But, Lauren, it’s time for you to get back to work.”
Lauren gives Imogene an exaggerated eye roll and pushes herself away from the counter.
“Archie is going to convince you to stay, at least for a while, so Lauren and I will be up to visit you at the house real soon,” Imogene says. “And, Jessica, I’m very sorry for your loss. I’m sorry you didn’t get to know Ginnie the way we did.”
As Imogene and Lauren leave to attend to customers, sadness and guilt sweep over me at the image of Aunt Virginia. To think I could have had someone besides my parents to lean on through my lonely years as my parents’ only child, their prodigy. It would have helped me tremendously.
Archie pats my hand. “It’s too hard to explain here,” he says. “Dylan, bring that monstrous vehicle of yours around front and we’ll take Jessica and her luggage up to the house.”
“My pleasure,” Dylan responds while looking at me. I have a stupid grin plastered on my face, like the inexperienced geek that I am.
Four
After Dylan fetches my bags from Archie’s office, he comes back to the diner in a red Jeep Wrangler that is caked with so many layers of dried mud that it makes me wonder what this guy does for fun during his down time. The hard top has been removed from the vehicle, which I suppose is to be expected from an athletic guy who looks like he spends most of his time outdoors.
Archie is put off by the general filth of the vehicle and lays a hankie on the front seat before buckling himself in. I climb in the back seat and Dylan gives me another smile accompanied by a wink in the rearview mirror. That winking-smiling business is going to be the end of me. I can see how it can manipulate women like an addictive drug. I put on my sunglasses to block out his power, yet it doesn’t seem to lessen his charm one bit. He keeps glancing at me in the mirror throughout the drive and I’m pretty sure he can tell I’m looking at him even with my sunglasses on.
It’s about a ten minute drive to Aunt Virginia’s home; off the main street and through roughly paved roads that have little to no traffic. I only see a few old homes along the way, most of them far back from the road with long, dirt driveways and acres of wild land. It’s green, lush and absolutely nothing like my city life. As we bounce along a particularly bad road, Archie holds onto the roll bar above and an insect flies into my mouth. I’m horrified and struggle to spit it out while Dylan laughs loudly as he watches my comic antics through the rear view mirror.
Okay, bugs-in-mouth, that’s one check against Hera. Hot gorgeous guy in Archie’s office and cute guy who drives a rough and tumble Jeep with a sexy laugh to boot, that’s worth at least ten checks for Hera.
“There it is,” Archie yells over Dylan’s grinding gears as he down shifts to climb up the dirt road to a large Victorian house.
“Wow.”
The home is painted a hunter green with brown shutters. Since I have only lived in small New York and Cambridge apartments my whole life, any house seems large to me; however, Aunt Virginia’s house—well, my new house—is outright huge. It has an incredible, wraparound porch and at least three stories with actual turrets and alcoves. It’s beautiful, like a walk back in time to the 1800’s, and I fully expect to see a woman with her hair piled on her head, dressed in a vintage white linen dress, gliding out onto the porch or veranda with an iced tea.
My imagination gets away from me as I analyze this enormous house that looks much too big for someone as small as me. Seriously, this is a house for a big family or a bunch of ghosts who are into some serious haunting.
“Wait until you see the inside, Jess,” Dylan says. “It’s a masterpiece.” I’m still stuck on him calling me Jess, as though we already know each other so well.
As I push myself out of the Jeep, Dylan is instantly at my side, holding my arm to assist with the jump to the ground, but right as I’m about to step out, he grabs my waist with both of his hands and lifts me out.
“Oh,” I say, startled and feeling incredibly brilliant with words because a handsome guy has surprised me.
“Thought I’d save you a step or two,” he says, still keeping a firm grip on my waist.
I raise my sunglasses and prop them on my head, but can think of nothing to say to him.
“Come on, let’s go!” Archie shouts with his back to us, already halfway up the stone path to the front door.
“Ah.” Dylan puts his hands down and studies my face. “It’s nice to finally have you here.”
“Thank you,” I say awkwardly. “Despite the circumstances, I think I’m happy to be here, too. At least, I’m intrigued.”
I head up the walkway after Archie, and Dylan follows close enough behind me that I can hear his soft breaths. I’ve only just met him, however, this feels good and it seems right. I look up at the magnificent house and then at the blue sky as I wonder why my aunt orchestrated all of this for me.
“The first step creaks and sounds loose, but it’s okay,” Dylan says as we take the wide, wooden staircase up to the porch where Archie is waiting for us. “It’s on our list.”
“What list, again?”
“Carson and I have been working for Ginnie for the last three months. Redoing floors and cabinetry. Right now, we’re working on the bookshelves.”
“Ginnie decided that she wanted to fix up the whole house and add some new things,” Archie adds.
“Why? I mean, she was ill; why did she want to work on the house? Oh, God. I’m sorry. That was a callous thing to say.”
“No worries. She did this for you, dear,” Archie answers.
“It’s a great house,” Dylan says. “Great bones. Ginnie wanted to preserve it even if she couldn’t be here to enjoy it. She talked about making it a special place for you.”
He pulls a set of keys out of his jean pocket and unlocks the heavy front door that looks as though it has been stripped and re-stained with a stunning vintage doorknocker added for those who don’t know how to work a doorbell. I then realize there is no doorbell.
Dylan pushes the door open and lets Archie go through first. As I proceed to follow, Dylan jumps in front of me and I slam my nose into his hard chest.
“Ow!”
“Sorry, before you go in there, I want you to know that the whole place is a work in progress. Some rooms are pretty dirty and we have equipment everywher
e.”
I rub my nose and look up at him. Hera sure produces tall dudes. I judge Dylan to be about six-two, shorter than Carson, but almost a foot taller than me. “It’s fine. If you saw my apartment, you wouldn’t even be worried about such things.”
“Well, you’re going to be staying here and I want to make sure you’re comfortable,” he says softly, so Archie can’t hear I presume. “Don’t worry; your room hasn’t been touched. Yet.”
He grins and the heat rises in my face. What does yet mean? Yet, he’s going to actually repair things in my bedroom? Or, yet, meaning he’s going to touch something in my designated bedroom? And why does my brain go on and on with these sexual thoughts? While I have these thoughts he grabs my hand and leads me into the grand entryway.
“It’s a mansion,” I state, taking in the polished wood banister and staircase that winds up three more flights.
“No, but it’s very large and requires quite a bit of upkeep.” Archie appears from another room, glancing at our hands with his eyebrows arched. Dylan is still clenching my hand so I wriggle mine out and begin to walk around the front hall with a nonchalant air to shake off the Dylan effects.
“This young man is a little tuckered out, and yes, I’m referring to me, so I’m going to perch myself in one of those comfy wingbacks.” Archie walks back into the living room towards the only chair not covered by a plastic tarp. The rest of the furniture has been pushed to one side and covered so a table saw and equipment can utilize most of the space.
Archie leans and falls into the chair as any stiff octogenarian might and the image of him makes me think of Aunt Virginia sitting there reading her paper as she drinks her morning cup of coffee while Dylan and Carson work around her sawing away at something. In my vision, they make a racket, yet Aunt Virginia welcomes the noise and the company of two energetic, handsome men. Then, when it is time, she will make them a lunch that they’ll enjoy on the porch’s wicker dining set. Maybe it’s the town, or the home from another era, but somehow I think my aunt had a wonderful life with her makeshift family and it was much more interesting than the one I lead.
