1. Melody #2
His suggestion makes me uncomfortable. I don’t know any of Gran’s friends, not really. Some faces are semi-familiar from the time I spent with her in Holly Ridge over the summers, but making small talk with them over these circumstances is painful.
Still, I know it’s my duty as her only grandchild, and I power through, reminding myself it’s only for a few hours. Gran would have wanted me to do it, too, and I want to honor her.
Inevitably, the hours tick by, and blissfully, people depart.
It’s almost over.
Lincoln Adamson, the lawyer, reminds us of our meeting in the morning before he sees himself out.
“I’ll meet you back here?” he asks. “Bright and early?”
I glance at my parents, waiting for their response. The will reading has little to do with me, but I know they want me there all the same.
“Here is fine,” Dad agrees. “We have a plane to catch at two.”
The earlier, the better for me, too. I can head out early for my long drive home… to stare at the four walls of my apartment hopelessly.
“We’ll meet here at eight, then.” Lincoln hesitates. “I really am sorry about Lucy. She will be missed around here.”
“I can see that,” I muse, taking in the overflowing house. There seem to be more people at the reception than there were at the funeral.
I’m grateful when the crowd thins out. As scarce as I try to make myself, my mom keeps pulling me out of hiding to talk to these random strangers.
“It’s what your grandmother would have wanted, honey,” she continuously reminds me.
I stifle groans of protest, knowing she’s right, and say my goodbyes as graciously as I can manage, but my nerves are paper thin by this point. Everyone is lovely and supportive, talking about how much good Gran did in Holly Ridge.
At one point, an older woman corners me to discuss Gran's involvement with the local animal shelter.
"She helped so many strays," the woman informs me, her steely blue eyes intense. "The shelter won't be the same without her dedication."
Something in her tone strikes me as odd, and I find myself bristling.
"Gran did more than just help," I say defensively. "She poured her heart into that shelter."
The white-haired lady looks startled.
"I'm sorry, dear," she answers gruffly. "That's precisely what I meant. Your grandmother's passion made all the difference." She turns and walks off as I watch her retreat.
"Don't mind Edna," a voice behind me murmurs. "She comes across a little brash, but her heart is in the right place."
My head swivels to look at a shockingly handsome face, much younger than most of the other guests who are filing through the door of the house, most on their way out the door by now.
Hooded russet eyes stare down at me from beneath a rogue lock of dark hair.
Pulse quickening, I realize how quick I was to jump all over the woman, and I hang my head in shame.
“I… I might be a little sensitive,” I mutter, slightly tongue-tied.
“Understandably,” he says. “I’m very sorry about Lucy.”
He doesn’t wait for me to respond. Someone waves at him from across the room, and he excuses himself. He’s gone before I can ask him how he knew Gran.
“Do you want to stay here with us tonight, Melody?” My mother’s voice twists me around, and I immediately shake my head.
“I’m booked for one more night at the Snowy Ridge Inn. I might as well use it,” I tell her. That’s not the only reason, but I don’t explain that I want my downtime away from everyone. “But I’ll stay and help you clean up.”
“No need for that,” Dad grunts, joining us. “The caterer will be back to get all the rest of the food and pack it up for us.”
“Oh… okay.”
“Just pray that the roof doesn’t collapse on our heads overnight. How did she let this house get so bad?” He looks around the quaint but worn cabin in dismay. “Why didn’t she say anything? Was it like this the last time you were here, Melody?”
“Honey, not now,” Mom mutters, and Dad waves his hand in annoyance.
“I just wish she’d said something. It’s just like her to suffer in silence.”
I eye my parents, wondering what they would have done from Florida, but Dad is right. The house is in disrepair. It needs work.
Poor Gran. She’s been all alone here, probably not wanting to bother any of us. Why didn’t she say something? I could have helped… right?
It’s too late to ask her now, but my parents can sell the property, and someone else can fix up the house my grandfather built for her with his own two hands.
The thought saddens me, but it’s the cycle of life, I suppose. Depressing as it is.
Lincoln Adamson arrives a little after eight, slightly bleary-eyed, as if the early morning hour is more than he’s used to.
Mom prepares coffee for him as we gather at Gran's antique kitchen table. Warmth from the wood stove drifts over from the living area as the lawyer places copies of her last will and testament before us.
“We’ll make this short and sweet,” he tells us with a quick smile. “There’s not much to go over. Lucy had everything pretty organized before she went. She recently updated her will and had her good friend, Edna Monroe, witness everything.”
I think of the white-haired woman I snapped at yesterday. That woman was my grandmother’s friend.
Dad sits back in his chair, crossing his ankles as I partially zone out.
There’s no reason for me to be here, not really.
If Gran has anything to pass on, it will be some of her small pieces of jewelry, maybe, and knickknacks.
This probably could have been a Zoom call on my end, but my parents insisted on me staying, and honestly, I don’t mind.
I don’t see enough of them, anyway, and if this experience has taught me anything, it’s that life is too short.
“To my only son, David Lane,” the estate attorney reads, his gaze trained on the page in front of him.
“I leave all my savings and investments.” Lincoln looks up from the paperwork.
“I’ll turn over all the details on those matters, but it totals about thirty thousand dollars after her small debts are settled and payments are withdrawn. ”
Dad nods, a pained expression overtaking his face, and my mom reaches for his hand comfortingly.
“Along with my life insurance policy,” Lincoln continues. He stops reading again. “That’s quite a bit more than the savings.”
My parents exchange another hurt look, and I wish the lawyer wasn’t so businesslike, but I understand this is his job.
“And the house,” Dad concludes, clearly hoping for the end of the meeting.
“No,” Lincoln replies, glancing at me. I blink as all eyes turn in my direction. “The house goes to Melody.”
“What?!” I gasp. “Are you sure?”
“She left you this letter,” he says, sliding the sealed envelope toward me. “She wanted you to read it upon her passing.”
Stunned, I lean forward to accept it, glancing at my parents, who are equally shocked. Not once did Gran ever discuss leaving the house to me. A part of me wants to refuse it, but I don’t speak a word before I read what Gran had to say.
With shaking fingers, I unfold the pages.
Dear Melody,
Don’t tell your father this, but the day you were born was probably the happiest day of my life.
They don’t tell you how much joy comes with being a grandmother.
It gives you the opportunity to fix all the mistakes you made with your own children—not that I wasn’t a perfect mother. You can ask your dad.
I look at my dad, who returns my gaze expectantly.
“What does it say?” he urges as I fight a smile through blurred vision. Blinking rapidly to keep my tears at bay, I clear my throat.
“Hang on,” I mumble.
You have exceeded all my expectations for you.
In many ways, you remind me of me when I was a girl, but you made much better choices for yourself.
I always wanted to be a writer, too. Every time you visited me, or we talked, I lived vicariously through you.
I know how much you love my house and the time we spent together here.
Maybe it’s the fact that your grandfather built it with so much love in his heart, or perhaps it’s just the fact that we never let our troubles in the door.
Whatever the reason, you can’t deny there is something magic within these walls, and in this town.
Holly Ridge can spark inspiration in anyone, if you let it.
I know the place needs work. Things have fallen behind as I’ve aged, and I don’t mean to burden your already busy life.
If you choose to sell it, I won’t fault you.
A woman your age should be living her life, not adhering to the whims of generations past. But should you choose to keep it, I think you’ll find whatever you need right here.
I love you very much. Don’t be sad for me. Keep my legacy alive on your pages somehow.
Always Yours,
Gran
I don’t realize tears slip down my cheeks until Mom is at my side, gently prying the letter from my hands.
“Can we read it, honey?” she whispers.
I nod, swallowing thickly, knowing my grandmother was joking about not telling my father about the happiest day of her life. The whole tone of the letter echoes in my head in her sweet, laughing way, even in death.
Silently, my parents take in my grandmother’s words to me, and I turn my head to look out the window of her little cabin house. This morning, an elk does appear, his elegant head turning curiously toward me as if he can feel my sorrow.
Could I live here, in Holly Ridge? Is this the inspiration I’ve been looking for all along?
“Are you going to keep the house, Mel?” Dad asks, his voice husky when he finishes. “Whatever you choose to do, we support you, you know that, right? We’ll help you in any way we can.”
Thankfully, I turn my head back toward him, considering the question before nodding.
“Yes,” I answer. “I think I am.”