by Nina Bocci
“Like a log. I’m ninety. Not much keeps me awake.”
“Yeah, but you live alone. In a massive old house with one elderly neighbor for company, Gigi,” I said, laughing when she rolled her eyes.
“Charlotte, you realize that Pop Pop was a mystery writer, right? He wrote all sorts of crazy stuff—especially for his time. These are no different.”
“I beg to differ, ma’am. Mysteries about stolen French paintings and jewelry heists are one thing. This one faked her own death!”
Gigi snickered. “I’m glad you’ve read Pop Pop’s books. Admittedly, I haven’t read any in ages. I should start again when I’m done with this one.” She held up a book about Sally Horner, aka the real Lolita.
“I’m going to check on you at night.”
“Oh, petal. You’re adorable when you’re nervous. Grab that one and take it upstairs with you.”
I followed her finger, which was pointing to the stack of books, and plucked the next one from the pile.
“You can come to the bookstore on Sunday with me to discuss it with my book club. If you finish it, of course. It’ll give you a chance to apologize for ruining Henry’s likelihood of having children.”
“Henry runs the bookstore?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“He doesn’t run it but helps out a lot when they need it. Especially in the summer, when he’s not teaching.”
I looked at the book in my hands. “Lizzie Borden? This is your book-club pick?”
She nodded. “I’m in four book clubs. We meet once a week, a different day each week. True crime is the most popular one, though. The young-adult group is probably second busiest, and no, I’m not the oldest person in it. Most of the people are interested in the books, but with tourist season approaching, a lot come to listen to Henry.”
“Why? I can’t imagine spending my summer vacay at book club.”
“Come to one and you’ll see why. They listen but mostly look.” She winked before bringing her hand up to her mouth to cover her yawn.
“You’re a marvel, Gigi.”
I helped her from her chair to her recliner, a fancy leather number that pushed her up to an almost standing position to make it easier for her to get herself back into the chair. We were in what once was her massive living room but now was serving as her bedroom.
“When did you move in here?” I asked, looking around. It was cozy. She had a small basket in the corner with skeins of yarn piled high inside it. A half-finished blanket lay on the small wooden table next to it. The room was a pale gray, but it didn’t feel cold or clinical. It was inviting and comfy.
“Eighteen months ago,” she said sourly. “Your father insisted that I needed to either be in a home or on the first floor. He didn’t trust me going up and down the stairs, even with one of those goofy electric climber things. Not that I would allow any of that to ruin my woodwork,” she scoffed.
“Why didn’t you just let him move in with you?” I asked, picking up the crocheted blanket to examine her perfect loops.
“Your father is still in his prime. I did not need him giving up his life for me. Besides, I’m fine.” She sighed, picking up a frame of her and my grandfather. “This house has everything I need. A nice bathroom with an old-person tub. Books, the television, my MacBook, and my knitting. It’s like my own studio in a big house.”
“You sound more like a hipster than a grandma,” I teased, brushing some of her icy-white hair from her forehead.
“I’m not a fan of the almond milk, so they took my hipster badge away,” she said quickly. I was glad that her wit and wits were still sharp as a tack.
She looked so tiny, so frail, it made my heart break a little more at all that I’d missed. Her hair was whiter than I’d ever seen it. She looked healthy … but tired. I could see why my father worried.
“Can I ask you something?” I sat on the edge of her bed.
She nodded, leaning her head in her hand. “The house looks like you’ve been doing a lot of remodeling. This room aside, the kitchen has a fresh coat of paint, and your stove is brand-new.” While I hadn’t traveled around the whole house, I wagered that I would find similar updates in every room.
“I’m ninety, you keep forgetting. Truth is, honey, the more I get done now, the less your dad, or I suppose you, have to worry about when I finally join Stanley. That’s what all the visitors are for. The boys help me with projects when they can. They make sure that I’m not being taken advantage of from contractors or the real estate agents who sniff around. This place, and Suzanne’s, are on the historical registry, so they’ve always drawn interest. I’ve had offers, but, well, it’s not time yet. I feel like I have something holding me here. At least for a little while longer.”
Another quiet yawn escaped, though she tried covering it up with a laugh. “Look at me being all morose when you’ve finally come home. There’s food in the fridge if you’re hungry.”
My lower lip quivered, but with her eyes fighting sleep, I didn’t think she noticed. “Gigi, I’m going to go unpack,” I started, swallowing the lump in my throat. Maybe getting fired and having zero options except to come back here was exactly what was supposed to happen, so I had time with her.
“You’ll be good with Netflix?” I asked, watching her eyes droop.
“I’m happy you’re home,” she said as she drifted off. I didn’t have the heart to correct her, to tell her that my home was in New York, not Hope Lake.
* * *
TEARS SPILLED OVER as I climbed the wide oak stairs. My hand slid up the polished banister to steady myself as I fell apart. It wasn’t just what Gigi had said, or how easily she embraced me back into her life and home. It was just being with someone who loved you no matter what. The truth of how much I’d missed that feeling was squeezing my heart in a vise. And the house—the presence it held and the significance I felt standing inside it again after so long—only made the feeling stronger.
The memories flew by like a film as I climbed higher up the stairs. Breaking my arm when I decided to slide down the stairs to see if I could make it out the front door without crashing—I couldn’t. Playing hide-and-seek with foggy figures whom I couldn’t place. Gigi getting a rent-a-pony for my sixth birthday and my getting lost with it in the woods behind her house because we busted through the fence. The fence that she’d still never fixed.
The last real memory I had of Hope Lake was the worst one, barreling at me like a freight train. My begging Gigi to keep me with her instead of letting my mother take me away to New York. Screaming as my mother dragged me from Gigi’s house. My mother backing out of the driveway with me practically clawing at the back window to get out. I cried watching a crumpled Gigi on the front porch, my father sitting on the steps with his head in his hands, defeated. I, too, felt defeated now. And angry at my mother all over again for pulling me away from them. And frustrated with myself for allowing myself to stay away.
I paused halfway up the stairs; my eyes traveled up the richly decorated wall. It was a personal museum highlighting everything Gigi loved. Not surprising, it made me feel a bit better. Seeing her with her family and friends, and shots of this town over the years. A place that she and my father loved so much. Dotted among everything were more than a dozen photos of me at every age. I touched the frame that held one of me, Gigi, and my dad at my Temple graduation. I had a similar one with Emma and her parents from her graduation at UPenn.
A less familiar photo that I needed to ask Gigi about was a close-up of me as a little girl with a slight boy about my age, maybe younger, judging by his size. A thick head of dark brown hair, a smattering of freckles on his nose, and incredible blue eyes framed with long black lashes. We had our arms around each other and two beaming toothless smiles. I plucked the frame off the wall and carried it down the hall, into the bedroom where I’d be staying while I was here.
True to his word, my father and Dr. Max had brought all my boxes to Gigi’s house before I arrived.
Th
e top box had a note taped to it.
Gigi insisted you have the master.
Love, Dad
I opened the dresser drawers, which were completely empty of Gigi’s belongings. Unpacking was quick, because I didn’t have all that much here—just some clothes, shoes, and a box of toiletries. In no time flat I was done, but I was bone-tired and ragged and wishing I took that nap.
Another note was propped on the small nightstand, folded like a card.
I look forward to seeing you again soon.
“Huh,” I said, holding the card. I knew it wasn’t my father’s handwriting, so the only person it could be was Dr. Max. Odd he didn’t sign the note, but I guess he figured I’d know it was him. It was a sweet gesture, one that I’d be thinking about later, when my brain wasn’t so full of mush.
I placed the card from Max and the framed photo of me and the young boy on the nightstand next to my bed.
It took everything left in me to muster up the strength to step into the shower and head back downstairs for dinner. After I checked on Gigi, who was fast asleep, I popped into the kitchen to see that she’d left me a plate. On top of the foil was an explanatory Post-it in her doctor scrawl.
It’s safe to eat.
Suzanne made it and brought it over.
I’ll see you in the morning.
Take your time and get used to the house again.
XOXO, G
Underneath the foil was a too-large piece of lasagna and a slice of garlic toast. I popped it in the microwave, and my mouth watered while it spun. The lasagna was delicious, and I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I looked down and it was gone.
Once I was done, I was tired again. By the time I made it back upstairs, I felt like my limbs were Jell-O.
The bed called to me with its pile of cushy cream-colored pillows that leaned against the antique iron headboard. I reasoned with myself and sighed as I sank onto the lush bed.
“I’ll just rest my eyes for five minutes.” Said no one ever.
5
“The basement is flooding.”
“The house is on fire.”
I swam up from sleep to the strangest conversation. Maybe I was still dreaming, but why would Keanu Reeves be telling me the house is on fire instead of John Wick–ing us the hell out of there?
“The police are here …”
I sprang up, clutching the sheet to my chest.
“I didn’t do anything!”
I looked around nervously but only saw Emma, looking perfect and put together with linen capris and a robin’s-egg-blue cardigan. She was sitting on the edge of my bed giggling at me.
“It’s about time,” she said, poking my arm with her well-manicured fingernail.
I groaned, flopping back onto the sea of pillows. “It can’t be morning. I only took a nap.” Rolling over, I fluffed up one of the pillows under my head, hoping to fall back to sleep, but by the way the sunlight was streaming through the three windows, it looked like morning. I realized that I must have crashed hard last night.
She laughed. “You’re right, sunshine. It’s not morning. It’s almost one in the afternoon.”
My eyes flew open, landing on the antique silver alarm clock on the nightstand. “Holy shit!”
“I’ll say.” Emma patted my head the way someone would a toddler’s and stood, the bed springing back. “Gigi was worried, since you’d been asleep for so long and hadn’t eaten. She wasn’t sure what time you went to bed last night.”
I sat up, my head swimming from still being half asleep but also from being scared awake. “I’ll be honest, I have no idea what time it was. I remember eating and thinking I’d take a nap and that’s it. Poor Gigi, she must have been so worried. I suck.”
“She was worried, but it’s not like she’s mad. Relax. You were exhausted and clearly needed the rest. That being said, get up and do something with that,” she said, motioning to my hair. “We’ve got plans.”
Sliding from bed, I glanced in the mirror and groaned at my appearance. “I fell asleep with it wet, so it dried like this.”
“Oh, please, you look great.”
“Lies! Unless you have time for me to take another shower, you’re getting ball cap Charlotte today.”
“I’ll take whatever Charlotte I can get!”
I disappeared into the bathroom and came out with my toothbrush in my mouth. “What’s the plan?” I mumbled, smiling when I found Emma walking around the hall, peeking at all the photos. “I have to check to make sure Gigi will be good without me here for a bit.”
Emma leveled me with a look. “Honey, she’s been living alone for decades. I think an afternoon without you is okay. Besides, I saw Mrs. Mancini walking her dog when I was coming in and she said she’ll be over around two for their weekly chess match before the senior meeting.”
That made me feel marginally better. “I’m glad she’ll have company. I am fighting with some guilt and I don’t know how to squash that.”
Emma nodded. “I get it. You’ve got this chance now to get some of the lost time back. Instead of focusing on the guilt, focus on moving forward, what you’re going to do while you’re here. There are plenty of people who want to catch up with you now that you’re back.”
I laughed. “We can check off the Hope Lake PD from that. They’ll be happy to see me leave, I think.”
Popping back into the bathroom, I washed my face and moisturized. When I came out, she was picking up candlesticks from the fireplace and trying to pull sconces off the wall.
“Uh, Emma? What are you doing?”
She smiled, looking guilty. “Looking for hidden secrets. Do you remember as kids trying to find this house’s secret passageways?”
My mouth hung open. “Wait, are you being serious? I don’t remember that.”
And I practically lived here as a kid.
“Memories are interesting. I think you’ll remember soon. Maybe you’ll even remember where the secret passageways are!”
I laughed, watching her lift and poke her way around the room. “We can just ask Gigi about the supposed hidden passageways.”
Emma raised her eyebrows. “That’s just it. I have. I know others have, too.”
“And?” I can’t believe I don’t remember this.
“She always says it’s fiction, that the hidden passageways were something that your grandfather made up in one of his novels. But imagine if it’s true? He based so many of his books on Hope Lake and this house. It’s like the Goonies or Indiana Jones. Treasure or secrets. They might know who shot JFK or what’s in Area 51!”
I threw my head back and laughed. “You’re insane. If there are hidden passageways or answers to the great mysteries of the world, we would have found them already.”
“You say that now. I know Nick and Henry have looked for years. They haven’t found a thing,” Emma said before reaching up to try the shelf in the walk-in closet.
Henry. The guy I almost maimed yesterday in front of my father’s house. Why does my brain trip on that name? I shook off the feeling.
“Okay, Sherlock. Keep searching if you want, but I’ve got to get dressed.” I dug through a drawer, trying to find something to stroll through town in. “Stay in there unless you want a free show.”
I changed into a pair of old jean shorts and a Temple T-shirt that had seen better days while she searched behind my clothes and knocked on the walls. “There’s a square in the ceiling,” she called out. Using an empty hanger, she stabbed at the small block. “This doesn’t count as a passageway. It’s in plain sight,” she explained, stepping down from the ladder.
Joining her in the closet, I looked up. “Where did you find the ladder?”
“Behind the door. It was convenient to have it there to aid in my snooping.”
“You’re nuts. I think it’s the attic. Before they put in those pull- down ladders that hide in the ceiling, they used these old ones that you leaned against the cutout and hoped you didn’t fall off. I saw it on HGTV.”
<
br /> “Well, aren’t you a fountain of useless knowledge.”
“I’ve been on my couch for almost a month, lamenting life and trying to figure out what the hell to do with my future. HGTV filled a lot of time.”
Emma smiled sadly, taking my hand. “What happened anyway? I don’t want to push, so if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay.”
Do I want to talk about it? Not really, but I would have to eventually.
I nodded, slipping a Giants cap on my head and pulling a chunk of curly red hair out the back. “Yes. But first, coffee.”
* * *
AFTER COFFEE IN the kitchen with a very cheery Gigi, we headed out in Emma’s car with a promise to bring her back scones from the grocery store, wine from the liquor store, and her special order from the bookstore.
“You know, she’s really quite with it for her age,” Emma remarked, pulling out of the driveway as Gigi sat on the porch in her chariot.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” she howled, waving at us.
“What exactly would that be?” Emma shouted back.
“It’s a short list, trust me!”
“Gigi!” I mock scolded.
“If you get into trouble, record it! I have an AMEX, so don’t worry about bail!”
She sang the last bit before zipping herself back into the front door.
“She’s a trip, that’s for sure. I’ll be honest, I don’t know how I’m going to keep up with her,” I admitted, trying to put into words what I was feeling. “I kept thinking she was going to be this helpless creature because of the motorized chair, but she’s not. She’s a maniac in the best possible way. Seeing her so chipper has helped me realize that this is a great opportunity. It’s like you said, the guilt is there, but I have a chance to fix it.”
“You know,” Emma began, her voice barely above a whisper. Which was hilarious, as we were the only two in the car. “She really helped us with Cooper’s campaign. She and Mancini were invaluable. They busted their asses working at the poll stations for him. That may not seem like a lot, but it is.”
