Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
ALORA
My phone dances across the table, buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz. “Hello,” I answer as I watch the swanky plane take off into the sunset.
“Hi, love.”
“Hi, Dad.” I smile. “How are you?”
“Not great.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Uncle Edgar.” I can hear sadness in his voice.
“Is he okay?” I frown.
“No, he’s had a heart attack and has passed away.”
“Oh my god.” My face falls as I get a vision of my beloved uncle being in pain with a heart attack. “Was he alone?” I stammer.
“No, thankfully he was with friends and out to dinner, so he wasn’t alone. They’ve assured me that it was quick and relatively painless.”
My eyes well with tears. “I’m so sorry.”
“Me too.”
Uncle Edgar was my dad’s brother, he married a French woman and moved there to be with her over thirty years ago but unfortunately she passed away not long after they were married.
He never met anyone else and he never left because France was where he felt closest to her.
It’s the saddest love story of all time.
“I’m on my way home, I’m at the airport. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
“Oh, Alora, there’s so much to do…we have to organize the funeral, his house and everything….”
Poor Dad.
“It’s okay,” I try to reassure him. “I’ll take some time off and we’ll go to France and figure it out. I’ll help, it’s okay.”
He sniffs and my heart breaks, he was his only sibling and the last person alive in his family. We were all so close with him. “I’ll be there soon, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Don’t cry.”
“I’m not,” he lies.
My eyes well with tears. “I’ll be home soon.”
“Sorry to ruin your weekend away.”
It was already ruined.
“Don’t be silly. See you soon.” I hang up as I visualize my beautiful Uncle Edgar, so enigmatic and eccentric, always laughing and the life of the party.
The lump in my throat begins to hurt as I glance at my watch.
I need to get home.
THREE WEEKS LATER.
“To my brother Kelvin Sorenson, who I love with all of my heart, I leave my villa in Paris, my estate in London and my car and jewelry collection.” My dad shakes his head in disbelief.
The lawyer looks over the top of his glasses. “To my nephew River, I leave my home in Beverly Hills in Los Angeles.” We gasp, oh my god, that is worth millions.
“To my niece Raylyn, I leave my apartment in Manhattan in New York.” Our eyes widen.
“And to my niece Alora I leave her my entire antique collection and my terrace house in Mont Boron, Nice, in France.”
We all exchange glances, is this for real?
“I leave you all a twenty-five percent share of my home in the Hamptons; it is my hope that you use it as a family vacation haven together. Please know how much I love you all. See you on the other side.”
Oh my god.
The car pulls up at an old run-down factory building and my dad, River and Raylyn and I all frown at each other in question. “He must have rented a storage unit inside of it.” Dad shrugs.
“Yes, he rented a space,” the lawyer replies with a heavy French accent from the driver’s seat.
He parks the car and we climb out, we wait while he fumbles through the biggest key ring I have ever seen.
Eventually he opens a huge, rusty roller door and we all stare in, clueless to what we are even looking at.
There’s an entire factory packed to the rafters with all kinds of random things and antiques.
Stuff is hanging from the ceiling and things are stacked dangerously high on top of each other.
My eyes flick to the lawyer. “What’s this?”
“Antiques.”
“Yes, but which ones were his?”
He holds his hands up. “All.”
“All,” Raylyn and I say in unison.
“All?” My father gasps as he looks around. “Surely not.”
“Yes.” He nods. “He loved his antiques so much.”
“All of these are….” I frown.
“Yours.”
My eyes widen. “But what the hell am I going to do with all of this?”
“I have no idea.”
It’s funny how life turns out.
You think you know how it’s going to go and yet somehow the choices are made for you. A higher power orchestrates your true destiny, regardless of what you imagined. No matter how hard you may try to fight it, what is meant to be yours, will always end up being yours.
I know this for certain because although I haven’t chosen this life, I feel at peace with where I am and I couldn’t imagine a different outcome.
I live in France now, with the need to sell Uncle Edgar’s antiques I originally came for a month and opened a market stall.
It did so well that I started trading and now find myself the proud owner of a boutique antique store in Nice.
Funnily enough, without any prior knowledge of the industry, I apparently take after Uncle Edgar and have a sharp eye for antiques and have carved out a very successful career for myself.
My store is a true piece of my heart, the people who work for me are my close friends, I have a beautiful terrace house in Mont Boron and the most wonderful boyfriend in the world.
Life is…. Blissful and full of joy.
Simple.
I’m laid back and feel at ease with where I am in the world, and although I miss my family in the States, they come to visit often.
My left arm holds out as I turn the corner, weaving between the cars like a pro, I ride my bicycle to work every day. It’s baby blue and has a wicker basket on the front, it even has a bell. So French, that some days I hardly recognize myself.
“Morning, Alora.”
I ring the bell on the handlebars as I pull up onto the sidewalk. “Morning, Franck,” I call back as I dismount my bike.
“Beautiful day.”
“It is.” I inhale the heavenly scent drifting out of his patisserie. “I will never tire of that smell, Franck.”
“My strategy is working, then.” He disappears back into his store.
Franck is the best pastry chef in all of France, also a very bad influence.
“Good morning.” I check the mailbox on my way through the front door.
“Bonjour,” Jonty says as he fills the cash register with money.
“Bonjour.” I smile.
“Good morning,” Helene calls as she carries the heavy sign out the front and sets it up on the pavement.
I’m lucky enough to have the most beautiful people working for me.
Jonty is twenty-eight and a budding artist, he was supposed to be here for a month helping us through a busy period but was too amazing to ever let go.
He’s funny and quirky with long auburn curly hair that he pulls back into a ponytail.
He wears little circle gold glasses like John Lennon.
Helene is twenty-six and the hardest worker you will ever meet.
She’s the exact opposite of me but has somehow become my best friend.
While I am easygoing and carefree, she is highly strung and wild.
Where I have long dark hair, she has a blond bob cut.
She dates everyone and anyone, is never home, hates to cook and loves to club.
While my favorite place to be is at home, chilling out while cooking or gardening.
She says that I am the yang to her yin and somehow even through all our differences, we just work.
To be honest, I think that Misty organized our friendship from heaven, she had to.
There’s no way I would be lucky enough to have two best friends in one lifetime that were so similar unless someone pulled some strings from above.
“Morning, Alora,” Jonty says as he powers up the cash register. “You have five messages on the answering machine.”
“Thanks,” I say as I flick through the letters.
Ugh…. Bills. I look around my store and smile, no matter how long I work here, I will never take it for granted.
The vivid rich colors of the furnishing and that distinct antique-store scent, I love this place.
It’s quaint and has an eclectic beauty about it, one person’s trash is another’s treasure.
Luckily for me, my idea of treasure seems to be appreciated by the masses.
Who knew I would turn out to have good taste?
I walk around the store and turn on all of the lamps, they are varied in size, style, and texture but I always put in a warm glow lightbulb to tie them into the ambience.
“Are you ready?” Helene calls.
“Hang on.” I quickly straighten my hair up in the mirror and walk over to her. “Let’s go.”
She holds her phone up and smiles. “And go.”
“Good morning.” I smile. “I’m Alora from Sorenson Antiques and this is our morning run-through of our store.
This arrived yesterday and isn’t she beautiful.
” I run my hand over the double doors, “This is a Baroque armoire, circa early seventeen hundreds.” I point to the carved details.
“As you can see it has beautiful craftmanship, fully hand-carved cherubs and detailing around the edges.”
Helene twirls her finger in the air to symbolize to keep going, ugh…social media, the bane of my existence. Unfortunately though, it’s what sets our store apart and why we do so well, many people tune in each day to see our new arrivals.
“This armoire has been in the one family for many generations and is in perfect condition.” I open the doors and drawers.
“The lock has both solid brass keys still working.” Helene walks around the armoire as she films it.
I wave to the camera with a smile. “Have a beautiful day everyone, au revoir.”
“And that’s a wrap.” Helene begins to rewatch our video on the phone and posts it. “It’s up, now we can open.”
I turn the sign on the glass door.
OUVERT — OPEN
Jonty flicks on our playlist and jazz music begins to play, loud and boisterous. “You’re feeling energized this morning,” I call, we usually start the day off with a calming piano orchestra.
“Let’s pretend it’s five o clock already.”
“First comment.” Helene reads from the work phone. “What cardigan are you wearing, Alora?”
I roll my eyes. “Why the hell do they always obsess about what I wear?”
“Because you have great taste, that’s why.”