Chapter 7 Home Run （Margot）
HOME RUN (MARGOT)
Afew days pass and I’m no closer to finding whatever big secret PopPop might’ve left in this house.
That cuts deeper than it should.
It feels like I’m failing him on the last great scavenger hunt he’ll ever leave behind.
I imagine his ghost in the corner, shaking his head, his white hair waving as he smiles sadly and whispers, “Try harder, little May.”
Try.
That’s all we’ve been doing.
Oh, sure, the metal detector and thermal scanner did confirm there’s nothing unusual tucked behind any walls or floors. And the kids have been having a grand old time playing with them when we’re not using them.
Sophie took off with the metal detector the second we were done, with Dan close behind her.
They’re convinced they’ll find some lost Viking gold along the lakeshore.
Dan gave me a whole rundown on how ancient Norsemen made it to Canada and northern Maine isn’t ‘that far’ in his humble opinion.
I actually wish their curiosity and innocence could help me.
I’m starting to wonder if there’s anything left for me to find.
After the last home inventory, Holden packed up the few remaining valuables to bring back to Portland for safekeeping before this place turned into a short-term rental. Nothing notable left behind besides a couple miscellaneous art pieces and a china set.
But what if something was taken that should’ve stayed?
Then again, I’m positive Gramps knew that could happen after he died.
He wouldn’t leave anything out in the open that could be grabbed by his loyal and meticulous servant or anyone else if he wanted me to find it.
With every room, every day that passes without finding anything, the anxiety wound around my throat tightens.
At least I’m not alone in the hunt.
When he isn’t tightening doors and cabinets or touching up little dents in the walls, Kane helps out.
He’s better at this than I am, too.
Even if he cracks his dumb Dad jokes while I’m turning blue with frustration.
The way I groan or laugh painfully forces me to take a break, to breathe, to stop myself from ripping my hair out over nothing turning up again.
“Thanks for roughing it up here with me,” I tell him now as he wipes dust off his chin.
It’s hard to breathe without coughing thanks to decades of accumulated particles thrown into the air by every footstep.
A single bright bulb dangles from the middle of the attic, which we’re searching a second time.
Yesterday, I poked my head up here for the first time and started pawing through old furniture and boxes of broken toys I haven’t seen since I was five. I gave up and didn’t bother with another pass.
But this is the last major area we haven’t picked to the bone and it’s a natural storage space. So yes, it warrants a second sweep.
Incredibly, Kane hasn’t complained once while we’re stumbling through fifty years of cobwebs. All so he can help me comb through family debris he’s not even connected to.
His eyes meet mine over a pile of boxes we’ve turned out.
“I’d say it’s my pleasure, but we both know that would be a lie.”
And we all know how he feels about lies.
“What? You mean you’re not having the time of your life?” I wipe my forehead, smearing dust everywhere. “Need some water?”
He holds out a hand for the bottle, which I toss to him.
His throat moves when he rips the cap off and drinks, and his eyes close.
Ugh!
A man drinking water has no business looking this erotic.
“Think we’re almost done. We’re getting to the end of that last stack,” he says, lowering the bottle and glancing at the pile of books he was flipping through.
Gramps was an avid book collector and I think my grandma was too. There are a ton of old overflow books from the fifties packed away up here. Mostly editions of old classics, American lit, and some thrillers from the eighties with fun cheesy covers of explosions and bloodied hands gripping knives.
My book crazy bestie and sister-in-law would die from joy.
I just want to shower off all this muck. We’ll talk about donating the books later.
If I never have to smell musty pages again for the next decade, I’m cool.
Over in the corner, behind the boxes, there’s a painting propped against the wall. I’ve noticed it a few times, but I doubt that’s the awesome secret.
I shuffle over and shake away the worst of the dust before I remove the grey tarp and gently turn it over.
I’m confronted with a picture so pretty I gasp.
It’s a striking scene: brilliant blue sky, lively yellow flowers, and lavender rioting across green grass.
In the center, next to the flowers, there’s a pair of little white shoes. They could be kids’ shoes, judging by the small size.
The big grey tabby cat sprawled out next to them adds to the sense of size, sleeping in the shade of a tree at the edge of the flowery field.
The Maine countryside.
Possibly a familiar place, if that’s the same lake I think it is in the distance.
It must be this house, a long time ago, back when it was full of love and life with perfectly maintained gardens that stretched down to the water.
“What did you find?” Kane joins me.
“Just an old painting.”
“That’s a stunner. Damn, those colors—looks like it was just finished yesterday. What’s up with the shoes? Sophie had a pair almost like that when she was a baby.”
“No idea. It’s a little odd.”
I tilt my head, studying the scene.
There’s something familiar about the style, too, though I can’t pin it down.
Did they hire someone to paint the backyard?
I gently wipe more dust off the glass frame, revealing the signature, and frown.
Where have I seen this before?
Another painting at Mom’s house comes to mind. But this one was a close-up of vibrant red flowers in a tall white urn with wavy blue stripes.
It might’ve had the same signature.
No, I’m sure it did. Just like this one, it’s gold, and I’ve seen that art a thousand times.
“Huh,” I mutter, sinking down on my knees.
“You think this is it? Your holy relic?” Kane’s gaze sharpens.
“No, but… I think my grandma might’ve painted this. I never knew her. She died a long time ago.”
I look closer at the corner and wipe more stray dust until a gold signature pops out.
May Blackthorn.
My heart skips.
Gramps called me May until his dying day. Because I reminded him of my late grams in spirit, he told me.
“You think he wanted you to give her painting a good home?” Kane asks.
“I mean, probably. It couldn’t hurt. But I don’t think this is everything.” I brush my fingers over the gold frame, feeling this odd longing. “I wish I’d known her. Things were never the same with this family after she was gone.”
He nods silently as he admires the painting.
“It felt familiar when I saw it. There’s another like this at my parents’ house.”
“Part of a series?”
“Could be. Mom still has a few here and there, hanging around the house. I should probably take this back to the fam.”
“Why don’t you ask your mom if she knows what you’re looking for? Might speed up the search,” he suggests.
His eyes scan my face as it heats.
Oh, if only it were that easy…
The truth makes my heart hurt, which isn’t new.
It’s been this way for as long as I remember.
“My mom and grandfather were pretty estranged before he died,” I say. “She wouldn’t know. She wanted nothing to do with him.”
“Harsh. I’m sorry,” he rumbles gently.
“But I bet she’d love this painting. It was her mother, after all.” I pick it up and tuck it under my arm. “At least we didn’t just get mummified in cobwebs for no reason. Sorry you wasted your time.”
“No waste if it’s important to you, duchess. We’ll keep looking.”
“Hopefully!” I snort.
“Don’t give up. If it takes effort, it must be worth it.”
Yeah, we’ll see.
I’ve had my doubts, but he could be right. Whatever Gramps left has to mean something if he decided to be this cryptic, right?
Right???
He knew me better than my own parents. Sometimes, it felt like my childhood was only real when I’d stay with him.
Losing him tore away a piece of my soul. Especially when he went out as stubbornly as he lived, hiding his illness until the bitter end.
We didn’t even get to say goodbye.
This summer was the first without him, and so many things have changed in less than a year since he’s been gone.
Mostly good things. Hattie and Ethan tying the knot, that was a huge happy surprise, and it’s all thanks to Gramps playing cupid from beyond the grave.
Unlike Ethan, I’m not getting a spouse out of this deal. No way.
For me, this is it.
The very last piece of him, and whatever’s hidden away was something he thought was important enough for me to have.
I desperately want to push through and find it.
Like maybe it will somehow shake me out of this slump with my designs, my life. My entire world after Leonidas Blackthorn.
I’m almost at the pull-down staircase when a loose board splinters.
“Whoa!”
I stumble.
Scream.
My foot pitches into the sinkhole, which makes me drop the painting.
And I’m bracing for a rough landing before my brain catches up.
The impact never comes.
Strong hands grab my waist, swinging me back up before I can face-plant on the floor.
There’s a huge wall of a chest in my face instead and a cloud of pine-scented man.
When I open my eyes, I’m safe in Kane’s arms.
He’s above me, scanning my face, breathing hard.
Holy shit.
“W-what was that?” My mouth goes dry and I lick my lips. My heart hammers like mad. My fingers tremble.
I’m lucky I didn’t break a few bones. That sinkhole could’ve snarled my ankle and sent me crashing down at a nasty angle.
“Loose board death trap,” he growls. “You’re lucky I was right behind you.”
No argument there.
I nod fiercely.
“You okay? Did you hurt your ankle?” He brushes stray hairs from my face. For such a big man, he moved like lightning, and now he’s so gentle as he holds me.
He envelops me, anchoring me to him with one big arm around my waist.
I’m trembling now for a different reason as adrenaline whips through my body.