Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
T he drive to 1442 Everview Road should’ve been a peaceful one, with the quiet roads and budding spring greenery, but today, there was nothing peaceful about the forty-five-minute drive. Despite Schubert’s “Impromptu” playing from the speakers of Aaron’s rental car, I wasn’t calm in the slightest.
“Your hopes aren’t up high, right?” I asked him.
Sunglasses shielded most of his expression from view, but I did spot the way his lips tugged. “No, they are not. Nor were they the five other times you asked me, my dear. But if it makes you feel better, you can ask me again.”
I traced my fingertips in my lap, fidgeting my feet every few moments. Going home and showering off the layer of gunk had helped a bit, though. My headache was still a faint pulse behind my eyes, and my body still ached, but I at least felt more human and less corpse-like.
But still wholly uncomfortable. I’d never been inside, but I had a vague idea what the interior looked like from near decade-old photos from the realtor’s website. And even those older photos weren’t that impressive.
I’d never shared this place with anyone. Heck, Caroline and Annalise didn’t even know about it. Grant knew, but only because it’d come out one night while we’d talked about our futures. He hadn’t seen the house, though. And now Aaron Astor, of all people, would get a firsthand tour.
Granted, there wasn’t anyone else I’d rather it be. But still. Terrifying.
I needed to get my mind off it. “Why did you go out with Caroline yesterday?” I didn’t quite nail the nonchalant tone I’d been hoping for. It came off too high-strung. “If Fiona finds out you took Caroline on a date, I don’t think she’ll be pleased.”
Aaron’s small tug at his mouth bloomed into a full smile now.
“What?” I narrowed my eyes at him. “She will be upset.”
“What makes you so sure it was a date with Caroline?”
Caroline wouldn’t have broken out the Gilfman dress she wore last night for just anyone. And the mauve lip? Definitely Caroline date makeup. “Was it?”
“You told me last night that she wanted to marry me.” Aaron tipped his head to glance at me. “But that she only thinks she does. Because I’m a chameleon.”
Ugh, I had called him that. “Can we just, like, strike last night from the record?”
“Nope.” Aaron absentmindedly thrummed his fingertips along the steering wheel in time with the composition. “Just to be clear, though, it wasn’t a date. Unless people take their mothers and their colleagues on dates in this modern era.”
Colleagues? “It was a meeting about the music hall?”
Aaron nodded. “We met about the fundraiser. With less than a week left, Rhythms of Hope just wants to make sure the ducks are in a row.”
“Did Mrs. Holland try to convince them to sell again?”
“It did come up, yes.”
“What did they—oh, you’re going to turn left here. Sorry. It snuck up on me.”
Aaron flipped on his blinker. “My navigation system was just buffering, that’s all.”
I chuckled a little. “Lovisa Navigations isn’t that trustworthy, apparently.”
“I disagree.”
A little flutter rose in my chest, light as a trill on a piano. I busied myself watching the road.
Aaron turned onto Everview, which was rougher than the main road. Each pothole made me even more nauseous, but he didn’t seem too bothered by the lack in quality. If he wasn’t yet, he’d soon be when he saw the house. Nerves once more reared their ugly head, and I forgot our conversation entirely.
We were only on Everview for a few minutes until it came into view. “It’s… on the right.”
1442 Everview Road was located just outside of Bayview on the east side. It sat atop a hill that was visible from the road, and behind the house, after a little drop-off, sat the bay in its full, glimmering glory. It was a house that must’ve been beautiful in its prime—tall, two stories, with gabled roofs. Now, though, those roofs slumped with the weight of neglect, and the house’s Victorian elegance was faded by time and weather. Tall, arched windows stared hollowly at the bay below, their glass dulled by dust and salt.
Having sat empty for so long, it just looked like a shell of what it used to be.
As I stared it down, I wanted more than anything to reverse out of the driveway. The house, as Aaron drove closer through the weeds, elicited nothing but dread that churned in my stomach. It reminded me of the previous night, moments before I threw up.
“That must be the realtor’s car,” he said as he pulled up alongside a black SUV, locking the car into park. Aaron reached over and nudged my hands where they sat in my lap. I’d been tracing my fingers—specifically, the area my callouses used to be. “You ready?”
No , I wanted to say. Not in the slightest . “Of course,” I forced out instead, unbuckling my seatbelt and opening the door.
We climbed out, and after sliding off his sunglasses, Aaron took a moment to stand and look up at the house, no doubt taking in every inch of chipped paint and broken floorboard on the porch.
I’d only come to 1442 Everview Road once in my life. It’d been after my first bad day at Alderton-Du Ponte. A long shift, a reprimand from Mrs. Pine, and an embarrassing faux pas in front of the clubgoers. I’d driven all the way out here, in the dead of night, and stared at the house. I couldn’t remember what scolding Mrs. Pine gave me, nor what embarrassing thing happened in front of the guests, but I vividly remembered how I’d felt. I’d looked upon the house with determination, even with tears streaking down my cheeks. If it’s the last thing I’ll do , I remember thinking, this house will be mine .
Even back then, it hadn’t seemed so… decrepit. And maybe it’d been the shadows shielding its true colors, or maybe time had been particularly unkind to the structure.
Now, as I stared up at the house, I searched and searched, but couldn’t find a trace of that hope I’d once felt.
Aaron stepped into the open doorway first, and I straggled in after him. “Mr. Astor?” The realtor came out of a doorway, bundled up for the cool March weather. He appraised Aaron, and it was almost like a switch flipped. Money , his eyes told him. I knew it. He was quick to offer his hand. “James M. Keiser.”
Aaron slid his hand into his and gave a firm shake. “Good to meet you.”
“I’ll tell ya, I was shocked anyone was calling about this property. It’s been on the market for—shoot. I think the paperwork said fifteen years? Elderly couple lived here. The husband died, and the wife moved into a facility, I think. Too many stairs.” He gave his head an emphatic shake. “It was well maintained until then.” He glanced at me.
The Alderton-Du Ponte training in me screamed to flash him a polite smile, but I couldn’t manage it. I felt wound too tight.
“You heard it’s going up to auction, right? Best bet is to wait for that rather than paying full price. The bank appraised it high—because of the land, you see—but between you and me, it isn’t worth that much.”
Aaron hummed cordially.
“You’ll have to forgive the lack of lights,” the realtor went on. “With the last-minute showing request, we didn’t get the electricity switched on. The heat, neither.” He punctuated it with a laugh, one that puffed visibly in the air.
“Pipes didn’t freeze in the winter?” Aaron asked, glancing around.
“Oh, they did. Long time ago. There’s—well, there’s water damage because of that. Sellers shut the water off, but… damage had been done, really. Mostly in the upper floors, the drywall is pretty shot from a leaky roof, but the basement’s got some rot as well.”
Aaron listened carefully. “So, it’ll need new pipes. And new drywall.”
“And a new roof. And, most likely, updated electrical. With the amount of water that got in, it’s a house fire waiting to happen.” The realtor laughed again, as if discussing the damage was nothing more than discussing a sports game. “Told ya. Isn’t nearly worth the pretty price tag. Most logical idea would be to tear it down and rebuild.”
I squared my shoulders and walked past him. It was probably rude to show myself through the house instead of letting him guide me, but I didn’t care. Behind me, I could hear Aaron ask him, “How’s the foundation?”
“Oh, that’s pretty good, miraculously!” the realtor responded, but I tuned the rest out.
The floorboards groaned with each step I took. I came into the doorway that led into presumably the living room, which was nothing but an empty cavern of dust and echoes. The ceilings were tall, with arched windows that were north facing, so they didn’t let in a lot of light. A soot-streaked fireplace sat against the far wall, its hearth cracked down the middle.
My mother talked about this fireplace. We could roast s’mores every weekend , I remembered her saying. Her voice rang in my ears now. Every night, if we wanted!
I didn’t realize I started breathing heavily until my gaze caught on the puffs of air in front of me. Swallowing hard, I continued on.
The kitchen was right off the living room, and I hesitated as I stepped into the entryway. Much like the living area, dust dirtied every surface, but the brown cabinets were intact, and the marble countertops was whole and unchipped. There were no bar stools at the island, and no kitchen table, but there was a semblance of that homey atmosphere in the kitchen. Slight, barely there, and it might’ve had something to do with the light coming through the stained-glass window above the sink. I could imagine a little old lady standing there while doing dishes.
I could imagine my mother there.
My mother had only known the small kitchen of our apartment. Whenever she wanted to cook a larger meal, she’d have to use the dining table as counter space. There’d been no window above the sink; in fact, there’d been no windows in the kitchen at all. It’d been closed off, tiny, and suffocating.
1442 Everview has such a beautiful kitchen , she’d used to tell me. I could look out at the bay every day while I washed up the dishes .
“I asked him to give us some time,” Aaron said softly from behind me, carefully breaking into the bubble of building sadness. “He was more than happy to wait in the heat of his car.”
I reached up and patted my cheek, relieved to find it dry. “I told you it wasn’t anything special,” I muttered, looking over my shoulder and finding where he stood in the doorway, his hands in his jacket pockets.
“It is special, Lovisa.” Aaron frowned. “The word you really mean is luxurious . But it is special, because it was special to your mother.”
I turned around then, giving him my back, because there was a sudden prick behind my eyes.
“Tell me the lore about this place,” he said, and I could hear his footsteps as they creaked over the wood floors, venturing further into the kitchen. “If you’d like. Why was this so special to her?”
“She came inside once. As a little girl.” I tucked my fingers into my jacket sleeves, cold. “Her dad was working on wiring for the couple that lived here—the elderly couple the realtor talked about. She said that he brought her because he thought the house was so nice. She fell in love with it then. Especially the view of the bay. I never… asked if there was another reason other than that.” I looked around at the grime, quieting. “I think she’d be a bit less enchanted with it now.”
“I don’t know.” Aaron went over to the sink and pried apart the stiff curtain that’d yellowed with age. He peeked out the stained glass. “It seems quite magical to me.”
I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic. “Really?”
“Underneath the dust? Absolutely.” Aaron turned around to face me from across the island, and he leaned forward to rest his forearms along the surface of the counter. The dust latched onto his jacket sleeves, but it was like he didn’t even notice as he peered into my eyes. “But it… it does need a lot of work.”
The truth of that statement made my next inhale hurt. “Yeah.”
“A lot of work to be livable , Lovisa. No water, no electric, no heating, broken roof.”
“But the foundation’s good.”
A corner of his lip curled up briefly, catching my attempt to lighten the mood, before falling back into his serious mask. “Why do you want this house?” he asked me.
It was obvious. “Because my mother wanted it.”
“It’ll make you happy to have this house?” He tilted his head. “It won’t make you sad that you have to live in her dream house without her?”
“I have to do this.” I glared at him through the growing mist in my eyes. “I need to do this for her. Just like—just like you need to get married. We’re the same. You don’t have to understand it, but I?—”
“A posthumous completion.”
Everything inside me stilled. I had the strongest sense of déjà vu standing before him. A phrase no one in my life would even know to say, let alone what it meant. He knew. I’ve heard the spiccato’s tough , he’d said once upon a time. Aaron had always been able to speak to a side of me no one else in this world could, the two of us sharing the same language. I’d never considered what I was doing as a posthumous completion, but he was right. It was.
“When a composer dies, sometimes someone takes it upon themselves to finish the piece for them,” he went on, as if he wasn’t in the current process of reading my mind. “That’s kind of what you’re doing. Finishing her dream for her.”
My mother went downhill fast after her diagnosis. She’d been fine up until she’d been diagnosed—had a hard time swallowing, felt a lump in her throat, put off getting it checked out—but once she’d started treatment, her body turned on her fast. Suddenly, her bucket list was full of things she didn’t have the energy to do, and one of them had been touring her dream house, the house she’d worked hard and saved up for, one final time.
And then she died, and it was like a concerto cut off mid-piece—cello bow frozen in the air, leaving a silence that echoed with the aching reminder of what was left unfinished.
Aaron straightened from the counter, taking the dust with him. “Some people would debate that the unfinished piece is what makes the composition so significant. That leaving the composer’s piece the way they left it is the best way to honor them.”
My eyes couldn’t move from the smudges he’d left on the counter. “This is different.”
“You’re not taking a trip to honor her. You’re buying a house that…” He gave a small sigh. “That you can’t live in. You’ll buy it, and then what?”
I scowled to stop the tears from tipping over. “Stop.”
“You’ll pour all your money into it? Spend decades fixing it up—and working to afford it all in the meantime? Would your mother want you to make a poor financial decision?” His voice was incredibly gentle. “To buy a house that’s unlivable without the means to repair it?”
“ Stop .”
“She’d want you to tie yourself to her dream? To give up your own?”
“This is my dream.”
Aaron sounded sad. “Your dream was the cello.”
As soon as he spoke it, it was like I was transported back in time to the last time I’d picked up the cello. The final time I’d played.
Elgar’s Cello Concerto. It was the last piece I’d ever covered, the last one I uploaded to my YouTube channel before Mom died. Mom had been on a steady decline, but she’d pushed me to play so she could sit and listen. I almost refused—she’d been so weak. I’d been afraid she wouldn’t be able to make the drive to the studio. She’d never understood classical music as I did, but it’d been the only thing she’d wanted to do that day—to sit and watch her daughter play her favorite piece. She’d had me play it through twice, convinced I’d screwed up somehow the first time.
I could still remember the way she’d looked at me when I played the final note. Her eyes had been full of tears. Even though I’d performed many recitals, played in grand halls, I’d never seen her look so proud. She’d said something to me when I’d finished. I couldn’t remember what.
And then she’d died one week later.
“Last June, you told me you were at a metaphorical bridge. Do you remember that?” Aaron ducked his head, leveling his face with mine. “To buy a house, or to return to the cello.”
I forced my gaze away from him, hating that he, too, went back to that same June night. “I was being selfish.”
“Back then, you knew the house wasn’t the right path. And this?” He gestured to the room around us. “This isn’t what you want. It’s what you think you should want. But tell me—if your mother were standing here right now, would she want you to spend your whole life chasing her dream instead of living your own?”
“Is that why you brought me here?” I demanded, anger filling my words. “To tell me to say ‘screw it’ to the one thing my mother always wanted? To get out of buying me the house?”
“I’ll buy it.” Aaron’s steady stare never wavered as he took a step toward me, the seriousness in his expression inescapable. “On the day of the auction, I’ll make sure I’m the highest bidder. But you will be rooted here for the rest of your life. Rooted to the fact that you’re stuck at Alderton-Du Ponte, stuck in a place your mother never got to enjoy, stuck in how unhappy you are.” Aaron’s words lowered to a tone just above a whisper. “And then it will be too late to jump.”
I looked away from him to glare at the stained-glass window, at the sink my mother would’ve loved washing dishes at. She would’ve loved peeking at the bay through it, seeing the waves crash against the shore.
“I didn’t tell you to screw everything back in June because I thought it’d be fun to say.”
She would’ve opened the window on warmer spring days, smelling the salt air. She would’ve complained it made her hair frizzy, but she would’ve secretly loved every second of it.
“I said it because I can see you, Lovisa.”
My mother would’ve called me to talk to me about her day, because whenever she spoke of her dream before, whenever she spoke of this house, she never talked about it as if I was staying in it with her. Her house . Not our house. Because she knew, throughout all her dreaming, that her daughter envisioned concert halls and orchestras, opportunities that small-town Connecticut did not offer. She knew I’d always come back to visit, but allowed me to come up with my own dreams.
“I can see you drowning .” Aaron’s voice was suddenly so soft and quiet and close, and through the blur of the mist pooling in my eyes, I could see him in my peripheral. “And this house? It’s an anchor .”
A tear trekked its way down my cheek, the pain in my chest cracking open like broken glass, tearing open old wounds with ease. “I’m supposed to just walk away?” I tried to keep my words stable, but my lower lip quivered. “To turn my back on her?”
“You keep her with you always,” he murmured, reaching out and gently swiping his thumb along my cheek, chasing away the tear. Another chased its heels, and he swiped at that one too. “You’re clinging to this house like it’s some last piece of her, but your mother isn’t in these rotted walls, Lovisa. She’s with you in all the places you go.”
I choked on the breath I tried to pull in, one that turned into a sob. My face crumpled, along with everything else inside me, caving in as if someone wrapped their hand around my frame and squeezed. The truth, as obvious as it was, had no mercy as it hit me.
A magnetized pull drew me into Aaron’s chest without warning. His arms wrapped around me in an instant, embracing me as if he could embrace my pain, too. I gripped the back of his jacket, feeling as if the second I let go, I’d be swept away by the tempest inside me.
Aaron’s hold was equally as tight as he pressed me to him, weathering the storm with me. “She’s in the moments you smile,” he murmured directly in my ear, lips brushing my skin, barely audible through my sobs. “She’s in the music you play.”
My mother could never buy the house she’d spent decades imagining herself in. She’d never be able to fix it up, to enjoy the sea breeze as it coasted off the bay. She’d never get to grow old in this house. I’d never get to see her live her life in these walls.
My mother was gone, and her dreams went with her.
But she’d also never get to see me play again. In an audience or on the other side of a camera, she would never see me do what I loved. In her final moments, she didn’t muster up the energy to see her dream. Instead, she chose to listen to mine.
My mother never wanted me to have her dream. Every step of the way, she just wanted me to have one of my own.
I cried harder into Aaron’s chest, surrounded by his strong arms and lulling scent. Through the thick tears and the razor-sharp ache in my chest, I could hear Aaron’s heart thump, a fast, steady pace that paired with his hand coasting down my back. He let me cry it out, allowed me to feel it all for the first time.
And I did. I felt the weight of every sacrifice, every moment I had spent chasing something that no longer existed. The grief I had ignored for so long swelled and cracked open inside me, unrelenting. But beneath it, there was something else—a quiet relief, like taking a deep breath after holding it for too long.
Aaron didn’t say anything. He didn’t try to fix it or tell me I’d be okay. He just held me, his touch solid and real in a way that made me think maybe I could let go. Maybe, for the first time in my life, I didn’t have to carry everything alone.
And that was another part of why I cried—not just for what was gone, but for what still remained.