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The momentI pulled into the driveway of the house on Peach Street, I felt a wave of nausea. I shut off the ignition and just sat in the truck, staring at the light dusting of snow that covered the top of the black roof. It looked the same as it had—just even more sad and abandoned, if that was even possible.
The house was a bungalow style built in 1899 with a porch that spanned the front of the house. There was a pitched roof with two windows that stuck out, and a broken screen door that was falling off the hinges. Memories flooded in, and I inhaled deeply before finally opening the door and walking up to the house that had not only raised me, but had tried to break me.
When my father had died five years before, I’d come home only long enough to have him cremated, tidy up loose ends, and clean out the fridge. I hadn’t known if I would ever come back to Aveline after that—although something in my soul had told me that I would make my way back here one way or another—but if I did, I’d wanted to make sure I didn’t come home to molded cottage cheese.
Once through the door, I was transported back to a time that I didn’t care to remember. The house was dark and dreary, cold enough that I was sure the pipes had frozen, but that didn’t matter considering I’d shut the water off before I left. I walked through the house, surveying each room for the repairs it would need to be habitable. I couldn’t live in it like this, not until I at least got a new furnace and replaced the roof. There were places in the ceiling that were molded and rotted away from rain water seeping in, and a couple of the windows were broken. I would have to throw out all the furniture—a lot of it had been torn up by mice that had taken residence in the house—and the carpet had a stale smell of cigarette and must.
I found a pen and a piece of scrap paper and began rummaging through the garage for any tools that my father may have left, writing down what I would need from the hardware store. Anything else I needed, I could order online or go into the city and purchase from one of the chains. I stood back and looked at the house, watching my breath blow out like smoke. It was going to be a lot of work, time-consuming, but truthfully, I didn’t have anything else to do.
I drove downtown and pulled into the parking lot of Green Gables Inn. The Inn was a large, brick, mansion-like house with a white porch on the front that wrapped around one side. A bed and breakfast named after the classic book,Anne of Green Gables. The original owner had been a big classic literature fan, had thought there was a likeness between Aveline and Avonlea, and rolled with the theme. The newest owner was a kind old woman named Evelyn whose family had owned it for many generations.
I stepped out of the car, looking up at the balcony and the curtains in the windows waving slightly with the heat from the registers. Rocking chairs lined the porch. It had always been a given that—no matter what time of day or what the weather was like—you could find someone sitting outside with a cup of coffee or a glass of sweet tea. Today was blistering cold, and yet there was still someone bundled on the porch with something steaming from the mug cupped in their hands. I couldn’t blame them, the porch had one of the most beautiful views of town, and there was something about sitting there that made you feel peaceful, at home.
I nodded to the man on the porch and opened the giant, mahogany door. Inside, there was a large, wooden concierge desk, a beautiful oak with intricate engravings on the front. There was no one standing behind it, but an old-fashioned silver bell sat on top next to a sign that said “RING FOR SERVICE.” I tapped once and waited.
I peered around. As with everything else in Aveline, it had been years since I’d actually been inside the Inn, and from what I could remember, it looked the same as it always had. Wallpaper and exposed brick throughout the downstairs, and it smelled like sweet cornbread and subtle hints of what I could only assume was a roast. I inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma of comfort food.
A young woman appeared from the back and walked up behind the counter. Her hair was black and curly, and she had a smile that took up her whole face. She was warm and welcoming, and I could see why they would want her to be the first face customers saw when they walked in. Much better than the front desk lady at one of the hotels I stayed in while I was in Alabama last summer. She’d had a mustache, and she’d spit when she talked. The woman behind the desk halted before she made it to the computer and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “I heard rumors you were comin’ back to town, but I didn’t expect to see you waltz in here.”
I narrowed my eyes, wondering if I had missed something. It was obvious this woman knew who I was, and yet I couldn’t place her.
My eyes met hers and I squinted slightly. “Yes, here I am. And it’s nice to see you again.” I was trying to avoid admitting that I had no idea who she was.
She chuckled and took a piece of her curly black hair in her hands and began twisting it through her fingers. The gesture was familiar. She stopped abruptly and narrowed her eyes. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”
I swallowed hard. Was this some kind of test? I studied her face. Thick, dark eyebrows, brown skin, and a beauty mark sitting on her cheekbone right below her left eye. “Well, I’ll be damned. Millie Jones?”
A wide grin spread across her face, and she placed her palms down on the counter. “In the flesh.”
For the first time in a while, I felt my cheeks spread into a smile. Millie Jones was Evelyn’s granddaughter. The last time I’d seen her, she’d been no more than twelve or thirteen and full of pubescent angst and acne. Obviously, the years had been good to her because the Millie that stood in front of me now was a beautiful woman.
“Wow! It’s been a long time. How are you? How is your mom?” I readjusted my knapsack on my shoulder.
“She’s good. She should be back here in a few minutes, I’m sure she’d love to see you.”
I nodded at Millie. “I’d like that. And how is Evelyn doing?”
Millie’s face dropped and there was a shift in her demeanor. “You didn’t hear?” she asked before she added quickly, “Well, I guess you probably wouldn’t have. Grandma died six months ago.”
A harsh wave of sadness rolled over me. Six months ago, I would have been injured, and the first time I even called Lenora afterward was a quick one to tell her I was coming back. She wouldn’t have told me about Evelyn. Not in the midst of all of that, and I didn’t blame her.
The first word that came to mind was the one I uttered out loud. “Bummer.” Millie looked up with narrowed eyebrows and I cleared my throat. “I mean, I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. It is a bummer though.” Millie’s eyes sparkled and she turned to the computer. “So, do you need a place to stay, or did you just come in here to chat?”
I grabbed the pen on the counter and pulled the sign-in book toward me. Even though Green Gables had modernized with computers and technology, they still liked the old-school nostalgia of signing into a book upon check-in.
“Well, Millie, as much as I’ve loved seeing you, I do indeed need a room.”
With a couple of clicks, Millie gestured to the book. “Go ahead and sign in. Do you know how long you’ll be here?”
I hesitated, thinking about how long it would take to fix the house up enough that I would be able to live in it. I shrugged. “A while. I’m fixing up my old house and need a place to stay until it’s less… condemned.”
Millie nodded as though she understood, and I’m sure she did. That house on Peach Street was an eyesore for everyone. According to Lenora, there had even been town meetings about it. In my defense, there were town meetings about everything.
“Okay, Tuck, I think the Avonlea room would be great for a lengthy stay. I don’t know if you remember it, but it has—”
