I’m curious about who this man cares about enough to put in a frame on his desk, but I don’t go inside to investigate. The trip, the cottage next door, the jaunt to town—all of it has left me thoroughly exhausted.
My phone continues to buzz and I’m certain it’s Denver. I wasn’t lying to Elias when I told him I sent my boyfriend a pin of my location. Not that I want Denver here or anything, but it felt appropriate to let him know I’d be staying with a strange man.
I catch a whiff of Elias’s cologne as I near his open bedroom door. The guest room door has been closed for whatever reason. Again, because I’m feeling a bit nosy, I steal a peek of hisbedroom. It’s surprisingly bright. The walls are painted a pale gray, and the bedding is white of all colors. Everything is so pristine and perfect. When I stepped into this house, I expected chaos and mess and, I don’t know, food wrappers or empty beer bottles.
Windows wrap around two walls in his room giving an unobstructed view of Grandma’s cottage, the new aviary out back, and the Iris Ring Cove behind it. As the sun sets, the light dances across the blue waters, making it sparkle like diamonds. I’ve been in love with that cove since I was a little girl.
If I can avoid Elias, and not have to talk to him, maybe this weekend will be survivable.
I set my stuff down so I can open the door. Before I get it fully open, I’m hit with a scent so recognizable, I’d know it from anywhere. It wraps around me like a hug and wrenches a gasp out of me.
Grandma’s perfume and fresh strawberries.
I’m confused as to why it would be so strong in Elias’s guest room. As I push into the room and sweep my gaze over the entire space, everything clicks into place. Her ratty blue robe is folded neatly on the dresser beside her hairbrush and a row of pill bottles. The small desk in front of the window that overlooks her front yard is covered with her things—an ancient laptop that still has a fifth-grade school picture of me taped on top, several framed pictures of family, and a stack of her journals. The bookshelf on one wall is covered with her books, including the one she published about budgie care, and a million knickknacks I remember being enamored with as a kid.
The room blurs as tears fill my eyes. Her floral bedding that’s been softened to tattered threads over time has been draped across the bed, not a wrinkle in sight, as if made with ultimate care. There’s a tiny, clean teacup sitting on the end table. I remember she bought it one year at the Molt Mercantile forfifteen cents. She was so proud of the bargain that she wouldn’t stop talking about it. Her fuzzy blue slippers are arranged just so beside the bed as if she were ready to step into them at any time.
This was her space. Her home. And it’s been so…well preserved.
A sob escapes me. It’s loud. It’s ugly. It comes from the depths of my soul. Pain, guilt, and utter loss hit me like a tornado. A flash of color flies past me and it lands on a birdcage in one corner. Clo sings softly as if he feels my pain and it only makes me cry harder.
“I’m so sorry, Grandma,” I say to her ghost that lingers in the room. “I wanted to be there in the end. I did. You have to believe me.”
Hysteria clutches my throat and I ache for a deep breath that I can’t seem to draw in. Clo chirps loudly, one of those distressed sounds budgies make when they’re upset or scared. I cover my mouth, trying to hold in the sounds of grief flooding me out of me.
Clo flaps his wings and I stagger over to him, wanting desperately to assure him it’s okay. He must miss her so much. Like me.
Like Elias?
I’m hit with punch of regret. I’ve been mean to him. And this whole time… No wonder he hates me.
I lift my hand to inspect the craftsmanship of the birdcage. It’s beautiful and intricate, unlike any cage I’ve ever seen. Every bend in the metal and stroke of paint tells a story of patience and love.
This is too much.
My phone continues to buzz out of control and something in me just snaps. A flash of anger, unfairly directed toward Denver, blazes hot inside me. I storm over to my purse left abandoned inthe hallway and I snatch it out. He sends multiple texts, asking about my wellbeing, but I don’t care to respond to any of them.
Me: I need a break.
I hit send before I can second-guess my actions.
His response is immediate.
Denver: Take as long as you need. We’ll pay you, of course.
I’m disgusted. I don’t care about the money. I want my grandma back. Because I was so invested in Denver’s success, I stayed to close a deal that made him a lot of money, saved a lot of jobs, and made my boyfriend happy, but at what cost?
This.
I’d been so stressed out over work, and deep in client meetings, when the news of Grandma’s death reached me. Mom, sensing my impending meltdown, assured me it was for the best if I stayed to see things through to the end. Grandma was already dead. My closure would just be delayed but then I could take all the time I needed.
I wish Denver would have pushed me to go, but he agreed with Mom. Made me feel guilty about wanting to drop everything to go to the funeral.
I’m a monster.
With another pained sob, I snatch up the tissue box on the end table beside her teacup and yank several tissues from it. After blowing my nose and drying my tears, I stare blankly at the phone in my hand.
She was already dead, but I should have been here.
