Chapter 1
Nora
Imissed my grandmother’s funeral for a marketing pitch in Spain, and now I’m back to clean up what’s left of her life.
You’re the worst.
The nostalgic scent of salty sea air blowing in through the cracked car window does nothing to distract me from the overwhelming guilt. It’s deep in my gut, festering and clawing, as if it’s a caged animal that needs freeing. Bile creeps up my throat. I wonder if I’ll make it to her house without puking.
“Busy time of year,” the driver says to me, meeting my gaze in his rearview mirror. “Are you here for BudgieFest?”
I close my eyes against my will, letting my childhood summer memories flood through me. Grandma would take me from booth to booth, showing me all the cute, handmade trinkets, and even letting me get a couple. We’d always eat at one of the multitudes of food trucks. And, if I was well-behaved, we’d get ice cream after. My favorite part was seeing all the budgies and hearing their delightful chirps among the crowds of chattering people.
“Uh, yeah,” I say to him. “Best funnel cakes on the west coast.”
The lie on my tongue is easier than explaining there’s been a death in my family and that I’d missed paying my respects. It seems self-centered, selfish, and cold.
Because it is…
My stomach twists painfully.
He chuckles and nods in agreement. “I hear there’ll be a light show this year. They’re really building up The Tailstream River Landing District, but I’ll always be one of the old-fashioned types who prefers traditions of the past over newness. You’re probably too young to remember when the festival was on Wing Whirr Way in The Mask District back in the 70s and 80s.”
As he continues to chatter on about the annual festival, I attempt to shove down my guilt mixed with overwhelming grief deep into the pit of my belly where it can be drowned in the mediocre coffee they served me on my flight. First Class has its perks, but great coffee isn’t one of them.
“You got family here?” the overly friendly man asks, not taking the hint of how uncomfortable I am. “I’ve grown up here my whole life. You look familiar.”
The genes are strong in my family, so it’s no surprise, but again, I don’t want to get into the gritty details of my life with a stranger. He’ll drop me off at Grandma’s soon and I’ll never see the man again.
“Doesn’t everyone?” I say, keeping my voice light. “The turn is up ahead. Take a right on Lutino Lane.”
“I know a few people who live over there. Iris Ring Cove is one of the most beautiful places in Budgie Bay.” The man puts on his blinker and then takes a right at the stop sign. “Say, you don’t happen to know Goldie Everhart, do you?”
At the mention of my grandma’s name, my eyes fill with shameful tears. I love her more than anything, but I let her down in the end. I’m a horrible person.
“There,” I choke out, unable to answer his question. “That’s my stop.”
Before the man can connect me to being Goldie’s granddaughter, who couldn’t bring herself to show up to the funeral, I bolt out of the car. He hurries to climb out and help me with my luggage, but I’m too quick for the older man and already have it all pulled out by the time he rounds the vehicle.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say, quickly shoving a hundred-dollar bill at him.
He opens his mouth to respond, but I swivel around on the driveway, dragging my rolling suitcase behind me and toward the cottage as if my dress is on fire.
I’m so focused on my escape from the well-meaning man that I almost don’t notice the state of the cottage. It’s not until he drives away that I allow myself to pause and really take it all in.
Overgrown hydrangea bushes in pinks and blues crowding the salt-worn wood of the small porch.
Mismatched and broken handmade wind chimes hanging from hooks at every corner.
The faint smell of juicy strawberries dancing its way from the backyard over to me.
It looks almost as it did how I remember a decade ago, just a little more rundown and aged. I was fourteen and didn’t realize at the time that it would be my last summer here as a kid. I can almost recall how the grass felt on my bare feet as I walked behind Grandma, babbling about school and ballet while she watered her endless plants.
The pain of missing her hits me hard and out of nowhere. While away from Budgie Bay, I was able to distract myself withwork and friends and Mom. But now the noise has turned quiet and I’m here alone with the reality.
Grandma is gone.
Tears in my eyes have the quaint cottage blurring before me. Standing in her driveway and crying about missing her won’t bring her back. It certainly won’t help me fix up the place any faster to sell.
