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CHAPTER 4
Isabella
As I parked in front of the boarding house, my body was still tingling. I’d never experimented with any drugs, but I wondered if this was what people felt when they did. Sensations I’d never experienced were flowing through me. My mind was spinning, and I felt as if I was floating or like my head wasn’t quite attached to my body.
I needed to get a handle on that before the surprise reunion I’d planned. I hadn’t seen Mrs. B for eighteen years. I wasn’t permitted to have any social media accounts per my position at Santini Industries, but I did have a private account that I used to follow people. I liked seeing what was going on in their lives, and to be honest, I also lived vicariously through them, at least a little.
One of those people was Mrs. B, which was how I knew that she owned and operated the boarding house that she’d always talked about renovating. I’d never been to Firefly Island, but it was exactly how I’d pictured it from her stories.
As I’d driven through the town that she’d spoken of so fondly to me time and time again, I felt like I was in a Disney movie come to life. At first, I wasn’t sure if it was because I’d built it up so much in my mind as this idyllic paradise, or if it truly was as wonderful as what I was seeing, but the more I saw, the more it looked like the backlot on a movie set.
The island had canals that ran through it with adorable white pedestrian bridges. Lush greenery including massive weeping willows lined the streets, and there was a trolley system with a conductor, complete with hat, white button-up shirt, black bow tie, and red suspenders.
Maybe this place really was magical. Heck, it had already hosted the hottest, most erotic experience in my life, hands down. No pun intended. And now I hoped it would be the setting for the sweetest reunion.
I stepped out of the car and ran my hands down my shirt. It was a little wrinkled, but all in all, no worse for wear. Or the activity I participated in during the wear.
My nerves began to get the best of me as I looked at the boarding house. I’d seen pictures of it when I was a little girl, and then as an adult on social media. But seeing it in person was quite a different experience.
The building was a heritage house that boasted upper and lower balconies and was draped in greenery. There was a rocking chair on the front porch, and I wondered if Mrs. B took her coffee there every morning and tea every evening like she’d told me she dreamed of doing.
As I walked up the steps, I was starting to rethink my decision to make this a surprise reunion. What if Mrs. B didn’t remember me?
What if my memories of our relationship weren’t accurate, or I’d built up our connection in my head?
I had so few happy memories from my childhood, and Mrs. B was in the majority of them. What if seeing her again takes those away from me?
I shook my head. No. I wasn’t going to overthink this. If she turned out to be different than what I remembered, so be it. I wasn’t going to waste another second worrying about what-ifs. Or trying so hard to hang onto what scraps I had that I stopped myself from reaching for something more. Something real.
I pushed the heavy front door open and a bell rang over my head. The lighting was dim when I stepped inside. A large ceiling fan whooshed overhead, and the floorboards creaked as I stepped up to the front reception area. I saw that there was a silver service bell on the counter.
I’d seen them in movies but never actually used one. I rang it and waited.
Nothing happened.
I was pulling out my phone to double check that I had the right spot when I heard a familiar voice from down the hallway.
“I’m coming! I was just doin’ a second coat on my world-famous cinnamon rolls. You’ll thank me later when you taste that little bit of heaven, I promise you.”
My mouth watered at the memory of those cinnamon rolls. We used to make them every Sunday because Mrs. B used to say, “It’s always easier to face the new week when you start it with something sweet.”
When Mrs. B walked into the room, her head was down and she was wiping her hands on the floral apron she wore. I took a moment to take her in. She looked so different, yet somehow exactly the same.
Her fiery red hair was now a muted strawberry blonde threaded with white. Her rounded cheeks drooped a little more than they had twenty years ago. And there were a few more smile lines around her eyes and mouth.
But she still looked exactly like Mrs. Garrett from The Facts of Life. She did seem shorter than I remembered, but then again, I was seven the last time I saw her.
“What can I do ya for?” Mrs. B lifted her head, looking at me for the first time.
I waited for a moment to see if there would be any spark of recognition. I didn’t see one there. For a moment I was disappointed, but then reminded myself that I was only seven years old the last time she saw me. Also, I had no idea how many children she’d cared for during her years as a nanny. Sure, the time I’d spent with her was special to me, but it may have just been a job to her.
“Hi, Mrs. B.” I lifted my hand in a wave. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m—”
“Isabella,” she said my name in a whisper. “Is that really you?”
My smile spread from cheek to cheek as joy infused my veins. “Yes. It is.”
She hurriedly shuffled toward me and cupped my cheeks with her hands. As soon as I felt her palms on my face I was overcome with nostalgia. They still felt so soft, and she still smelled of citrus and flowers. I may not have seen Mrs. B since I was seven, but in that moment, the years melted away. In that moment, I was seven again.
