Chapter Two
I set the bags down by the hallway, then went over to the kitchen island where I’d spotted a note on the counter.
Uncle Mickey was out fishing and would bring home pizza for dinner.
The next twenty minutes, I made several trips back to the garage to unpack the cars, smiling every time I passed my mother gossiping with Ina. I brushed off her offers to help me even though she’d brought so much stuff, it was a miracle she’d fit Sadie in the backseat.
I hefted the last heavy bags into the elevator. As it began to lift, I noticed the floor tiles had been replaced and the keypad below the numbered buttons on the electrical panel had been upgraded.
The building was a dozen stories with six units on each for the first eleven. The keypad was for a code to access the top level .
Over two decades ago, someone wealthy purchased one of the units on the twelfth floor and then bought out the other five owners so they could renovate the space into one large home.
We now referred to it as the penthouse and rumor had it there was a private pool on the roof.
I’d been almost obsessed with what it might look like up there when I was a teenager. My sister and I had always tried to guess the code anytime we were alone in the elevator.
Feeling silly, I typed in random numbers and smiled when it buzzed and the screen blinked ‘Error, No Access’ at me.
The bag at my feet shifted and a few furniture catalogs fell out so I leaned down to pick them up.
Uncle Mickey had called in early February and asked if I would help him with a makeover of the condo this year. I considered myself a bit of an interior design hobbyist and was instantly on board.
We were going to start the week off looking at paint colors, swatches of fabrics, furniture collections, fixtures, new dishes, linens… the works.
The plan was to have everything picked out and bought or ordered by the end of the week.
My uncle would start prepping the rooms before he left to head home in April and I’d pick up where he left off when I came back down in June.
Any furniture deliveries would be scheduled for the two months I’d be here over the summer .
I put the catalogs back in the bag full of samples, home improvement store magazines, and home decor ads I’d collected over the last month and grinned. Uncle Mickey might regret asking me to help once he saw it.
I was excited to do this project for him. It felt like a way to show my appreciation for everything he’d done for me over the years, especially for letting me spend my summers at the condo with my girls.
Back upstairs, I dropped the bag on the dining room table. Heading down the hall with my luggage, I heard Sadie talking to her toys about all the fun things they should do that week as I passed her door.
Since Grace didn’t come on this trip, my mother was bunking with her youngest granddaughter in the bedroom with twin beds and I would have my room to myself.
Walking through the doorway at the end of the hall I took a deep, satisfying breath. This was a happy place for me.
I put my suitcase on the bed to start unpacking as I thought about the first March we came down after my aunt’s passing.
Uncle Mickey had carried my bags to this bedroom, which once doubled as Aunt Charlotte’s art studio. The room had been emptied of everything except the furniture and new painting supplies were sitting on the dresser. He’d gone to the double windows over the glorious ocean view while I’d studied the blank space with a mixture of sadness and curiosity.
He’d turned back to me with a pained smile. “This is your room from now on. You come down anytime you want whether I’m here or not. Spend the summers here with the girls if it makes you happy. I know your place in Tennessee might not feel like home right now.”
My uncle had gone to the dresser, picked up a paintbrush, and handed it to me. “This place always will be one for you, Madison. I want you to feel like it’s yours.” Returning to the door, he’d rested his hand on a box sitting on the little table beside it. “Charlotte told me to give this to you the next time you were here.”
I’d been unable to speak; my throat closed with emotion. Tears in my eyes were enough to make Uncle Mickey choke up. He’d come back and gathered me in his arms and kissed the top of my head.
“That bastard never deserved my sweet girl,” he’d muttered angrily before giving me a final squeeze and leaving the room.
That had been the last time my uncle ever acknowledged my ex-husband’s existence.
I glanced around my bedroom now. I’d painted it a pale blue and chosen linens in off-white, the bedspread covered with tiny flowers stitched across it in various colors. The walls were decorated with my aunt’s paintings or hanging sculptures, all of birds. The inspiration had come from her last gift to me.
I grabbed some clothes that needed to be hung up from my suitcase and headed toward the closet, stopping in front of the little table by the door to look down at the sculpture I’d found inside the box Aunt Charlotte left for me all those years ago .
The base was heavy metal and rising from it, in flight, was a magnificent bird created with dozens of pieces of sea glass. They glowed in a rainbow of colors when the sunlight hit them. There was an inscription on the base.
Never Let Anyone Or Anything Keep You From Flying.
I ran a finger over the words, wishing I was better at embracing the sentiment sometimes.
I’d also found a note in the box, long ago memorized before I stored it away for safekeeping. I could still see it clearly in my head.
My Sweet Madison,
I know you weren’t ready to discuss the end of your marriage and the events surrounding it the last time we saw each other.
I want to make sure you know what I know. That you, dear one, are going to be just fine.
The beautiful light you have always had inside is still there. I have hope it will burn bright again someday very soon and that no one ever dares to dim it again.
Remember you have wings, Madison.
All my love,
Aunt Charlotte
A favorite photo was beside the sculpture. “Hi, Auntie.” I kissed my fingers and touched them on the frame. “I miss you.”
Returning from the closet, I stopped in front of the table again to look into another of my aunt’s art pieces hanging above it. The mirror’s border was covered in hundreds of shells she’d collected from the beach along with old pieces of vintage jewelry.
I put my hands on my hips and studied my reflection.
I’d struggled with my weight most of my life: gain, lose, and repeat. The entirety of my adulthood was spent on one diet or another, but I’d never managed to get this close to what I would consider my ideal weight until now.
Some of the worst years, with the scale peaking, had been during my marriage. I was an emotional eater and giving in to them for so long had taken its toll. Being married to a man who never seemed satisfied with my body at any size probably hadn’t helped my mentality much either…
I’d eventually learned that it was okay to focus on getting healthier with small goals, giving myself the grace to take my time and celebrate little victories. Obsessing about the finish line and getting there as quickly as possible had never worked in my favor.
Changing my mindset over the last few years had been key, and the pounds started staying off instead of creeping back on.
I thought about Logan’s reaction to seeing me in the breezeway earlier as I scanned my reflection again.
It had probably been harder to notice the 30ish pounds that had gradually fallen off over the last three years. Something finally clicked for me the prior fall; I started to enjoy exercise and dropped another 25 in the past seven months. It was a significantly more noticeable difference since the last time I’d been in town.
At an average height of five-foot-four, my frame currently supported a body that was considered healthy by BMI standards. I was at the lowest weight I’d been in my adult life and even most of my teenage years.
I could see the changes, but as a person who’d always been insecure in a larger body, I still zeroed in on all my imperfections.
I stepped closer to the mirror and turned my face, hoping I hadn’t looked too worn out and pale, only wearing a tinted moisturizer and a bit of mascara around my brown eyes, considering Logan had kept his gorgeous ones on me for longer than two seconds.
I pulled off my hairclip and shook out the dark locks I’d been letting grow for several years. I’d always liked it longer, not just because Drew had preferred it that way. When our divorce was finalized, I’d had it chopped off above the shoulders, a small act of rash rebellion.
My outfit was a pair of shorts and a top recently purchased after I realized my prior spring/summer wardrobe was now too big. I turned sideways and pulled at the hem of the shirt, wondering if it was too form-fitting. Maybe I should have gone with a size up in case I couldn’t maintain this weight.
I bit my lip. The last time I’d dropped a significant number of pounds was during my marriage…
He was home from a ten-month deployment, and she surprised him by meeting him at the airfield in a brand-new dress. She’d worked hard on her diet and fitness the months he was away and got down to a size she hadn’t been since before their now five-year-old daughter was born.
He was thrilled when he saw her, looking at her with an intensity she hadn’t seen in years. He pulled her into his arms, lifted her off her feet, and kissed her with passion. They spent a lot of time in bed the first few weeks he was home.
A month later, she met him for lunch at the food court on post. She’d planned a splurge meal of the Chinese food she’d been craving for almost a year.
She was finishing her noodles, glanced up, and saw his annoyed expression.
“What’s wrong, babe?”
He took a swig of his soda. “You’re just going to gain all that weight back again, Maddie,” he grumbled while shaking his head.
Sadie called out that she was hungry. I glanced at my reflection one more time before heading down the hallway and into the kitchen to make us a snack from the fruit bowl on the counter.
We spent the rest of the evening unpacking and settling in.
Uncle Mickey arrived home, carrying a box from Sadie’s favorite pizza place. She whooped with joy and ran over to give him a big hug .
“There’s my sweet girl!” He put the pizza on the table to hug her back.
Knowing my daughter well, I was already heading toward them. Before I could say a word, Sadie flipped open the lid and shoved a piece of cheese lovers into her little face. I shook my head with a sigh, quickly changed course to grab some plates from the cabinet, and slipped one under her already greasy little hands before greeting my uncle with a hug as well.
When I stepped back he was wearing an apprehensive expression, having caught sight of my treasure trove of decorating materials that I’d organized at the other end of the table.
“Don’t worry, Uncle Mickey.” I rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder with a grin. “I’ve totally got this.”
Sadie insisted on building a sand creature first thing, so we hit the beach on Sunday. We created something that looked like a crab with butterfly wings, then spent the rest of the day playing in the water and sand. As the sun started to set, we lugged our things back upstairs. After a lukewarm shower to get off the remaining sand and chill my sunbaked skin, I started running a bath for Sadie.
45 minutes later when I finally coaxed her out of the water, my mother and uncle had dinner ready .
“Bless you both,” I sighed as I sank into my seat at the table and we all dug in.
My mother put a second piece of baked fish on my plate when I finished the first. “You’ve been very active today. Eat up, honey.”
I gave her a grateful smile. It meant a lot that she’d shifted her love language of feeding her family to healthier options to help support me with my goals.
We had strawberry shortcakes for dessert and Sadie charmed Uncle Mickey into extra whipped cream on hers. He winked and added more to mine as well.
After we cleared the table, Sadie started a board game with her grandma while my uncle and I sat down to look at more of my room design suggestions. We’d started with his bedroom and the main bathroom the evening before.
We shifted focus to the kitchen, dining, and living space, one large open-concept room that would be the majority of the project.
Uncle Mickey had given me some general thoughts on changes he wanted and I’d put together several color schemes so he could see the different concepts I’d formed in my head. I could tell he didn’t care much for the first two I pulled out. I’d had another idea that wasn’t exactly what he’d described, and put something together for it as well. It wouldn’t hurt to see what he thought.
“Do you remember the collection Aunt Charlotte painted of the sea life in light, muted shades, not quite pastel though?” I asked. “She told me no one was buying them because the nautical beach house theme was so popular at the time so she put them in storage.”
Uncle Mickey nodded reflectively. “She said we’d get them back out in a decade or two when people got their taste back.”
I grinned. “So why don’t we then?”
I found the right folder and started pulling out materials.
“I think those paintings would be beautiful against pale, yellow walls, maybe one of these colors. I found this furniture collection in distressed white; look at these gorgeous living room and dining pieces. White light fixtures, like these, would go well with it instead of the black you have now. Here are some dish sets in complementary shades. I like the teals myself. Area rugs like this would be so pretty and look at these fabric colors.”
I spread everything out so he could see it all at once. The hues were not overly bright, and I thought, along with lighter furniture, they were neutral enough to lighten up and refresh the space without over-feminizing it.
Uncle Mickey studied everything for several minutes before glancing at me. He looked down again and nodded as he blinked moisture from his eyes. “This is perfect, Madison.”
I had to get my own emotions in check as I put my hand on top of his. I knew how much he still missed his wife and was so happy he liked the idea of using those paintings. A piece of the collection was in my room at home and I always thought it was some of my aunt’s best work .
I smiled fondly at my uncle, a man who felt more like a father to me. Our relationship was worlds stronger than the one I had with my own.
I’d never felt close to my dad growing up. He’d been strict, with little patience for my sister and me. He’d rather be fishing, golfing, or with girlfriends when we were little so we’d ended up at our grandparents’ house more often than not on his weekends.
The only sign little girls “lived” in the extra bedroom in his apartment occasionally was a small bookcase where we were supposed to keep the few toys we were allowed when they weren’t being played with. It was never decorated for us. Even as we got older, we weren’t allowed to hang posters on the walls, pick out bedding, or really make the room ours. I’d always felt like I was just a guest.
My sister had a decent relationship with our father now, but he and I only drifted further apart over the years. It was hard to feel like he even wanted to be a part of my life.
I never asked him for financial help until my first semester of college when I needed to purchase expensive books on top of my tuition. He’d begrudgingly given me a check and said it was a loan, not a gift.
The last time I’d requested something from him was four years ago when I purchased my home, finally able to leave the apartment I’d continued to live in after my divorce. I’d called my father, excited and proud of myself, and asked if he could help me move. He hadn’t flat out said it would be an inconvenience, but everything he did say made it clear he saw it as one, grumbling about his vacation time and how a trip he was planning to some lake over the summer would have to be shortened.
That same night, Uncle Mickey called to congratulate me after my mother shared my big news with him and offered to make a trip down to help me move. The next day, I’d let my dad know I wouldn’t need his help after all.
My uncle had never done or said a thing to make me feel like a burden or chore. I grew up feeling like I was an important part of his life and that had never changed. Doing this project for him felt like a small way of expressing my gratitude.
I squeezed his hand with excitement. “Should we start a list then?”