9. Ashlynn
9
ASHLYNN
The drive to Gilbert’s house is quiet at first, the silence heavy with unspoken fears and doubts. With my cheek pressed to the window, I watch the familiar streets of my childhood slip by. The medium-sized, cozy houses with neatly trimmed lawns slowly give way to larger homes with manicured gardens. Each passing block feels like a step further away from the life I know and a step closer to an uncertain future.
“How are you feeling about tonight?” Aunt Bonnie asks, breaking the silence that hangs heavy between us.
“Not sure how I’m supposed to feel,” I admit with a shrug. “It feels strange going back to that house. In my mind, it’s still Rachel’s house, you know? Mom and I spent so much time there, and I have so many memories there. Mostly happy ones, and now… painful ones. Speaking of,” I turn to face her, “Why did Dad punch him?”
She reaches over and squeezes my hand, her touch a lifeline. “It’s complicated.”
“Try me.”
“It’s ancient history.”
“Psychiatrist or not, he has to be feeling some type of way about taking in the daughter of the man who nearly broke his nose at his wife’s funeral.”
She laughs at that. “Yeah, well. It’s what your mother wanted, and Gilbert is not the type of guy to shirk off his responsibilities.”
I nod, turning my gaze back to the window. The houses grow even larger now, their architecture more elaborate and their lawns sprawling. We pass a park where I used to play as a child, the swings now empty and swaying gently in the evening breeze.
“Do you like him?”
Her hand on mine tenses up, albeit slightly. “That came out of nowhere.”
I heave both shoulders. “You don’t seem all that concerned about me living with him. I also saw how you were with him outside the Greenfield and Barret Legal Group’s office building last week.”
“Lynn,” She squeezes my hand once more. “In case my dating history hasn’t made things clear enough, I like women.”
“And men,” I add, to which she doesn’t deny, “but you haven’t dated one in a while. Except for leading on poor Mr. Greenfield, that is.”
Her groan of frustration is music to my ears. “When are you going to let that one go?”
“When are you going to give me a straight answer?” I counter with a question of my own.
She blows out a breath. “I don’t know why Everett punched him, okay?”
“And I’m going to pretend you didn’t just lie to me, Aunt Bonnie.”
We drive through the more affluent part of town, and the houses grow larger and more extravagant, with grand driveways and ornate gates. Each one is more impressive than the last, a glaring reminder of the wealth that surrounds us.
“Sometimes I forget that you’re too smart for your own good,” she eventually says. “It’s not him I like per-se; it’s his house.”
“You’re going to flirt with him for access to his house?’
“No, I want to buy it from him.”
My eyes narrow to slits. “Did he say it was for sale?”
“Not exactly.” From the corner of my eye, I see her shake her head. “He decided to stay after all, because he’s not one to shirk off his?—”
“—responsibilities. Yes, you said that already. You have a house; what do you need his for?”
“It’s not for me, Lynn.”
Her meaning sinks in, and my heart starts to race as we turn onto the street where the McKenzie’s home stands. The familiar street stretches out before us, each house grander than the last, like little palaces. We pass the old oak tree where Mom and Rachel taught me to ride a bike. The memory pierces me, but it’s a bittersweet kind of pain, a reminder of happier times.
“We’re here,” Aunt Bonnie says as she pulls up to the gate. The mansion looms ahead, grand and imposing, a stark contrast to Dad’s house. A rush of emotions hit me all at once — nostalgia, sorrow, and a flicker of hope.
She lowers her window, leans out and punches in the code. “Huh. He never did get around to changing it.”
“My birthday,” I whisper, more to myself than to her. Rachel set it to that years ago, as it was easy enough for me to remember my birthday.
As we drive through the gates and up the long driveway, a mix of dread and anticipation churns in my stomach. We park the car, and I take a deep, steadying breath. This house, this new chapter — it’s overwhelming, a storm I’m not sure I’m ready to face.
Stepping out of the car, I glance at Aunt Bonnie, who gives me an encouraging smile. The towering oak tree in the front yard, once my castle and fortress, looms large and familiar. The sight of it stirs up yet another whirlwind of memories.
I walk up the path to the front door, my heart pounding in rhythm with my steps. After another deep breath, I ring the doorbell, the chime resonating through the quiet evening air. Seconds stretch into what feels like an eternity before the door swings open.
He stands there, framed by the doorway, looking effortlessly casual yet undeniably attractive. The few strands of gray in his dark brown hair catch the light, adding a distinguished touch. It should be criminal for anyone to look this good in gray slacks and a crisp white T-shirt. The simple attire accentuates the natural grace of his movements and the effortless confidence he carries with him.
His eyes, a mesmerizing mix of blue with hints of gray, lock onto mine with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe, a stormy sea threatening to pull me under.
It does nothing to ease the nervous fluttering in my stomach.
“You made it,” he says, his voice a rich, soothing timbre that sends shivers down my spine.
He steps aside to let us in, and I can’t help but notice how his gaze lingers on me for a moment longer than necessary.
Why? Is he worried I’ll fall apart?
Is everyone?
Oh well. It’s always going to be like this. I might as well get used to it.
“Thank you for having us,” I manage, my voice sounding much steadier than I feel.
As I step over the threshold, a fresh wave of nostalgia washes over me. The foyer is almost exactly as I remember it — the same polished oak floors, the same ornate mirror reflecting a slightly older version of the girl who used to twirl in front of it. I can almost hear Mom’s laughter and see Rachel’s proud smile. The memories are a comforting balm and a sharp sting all at once.
My heart is racing, and my mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions — attraction, longing, and a sharp pang of guilt — all crashing together in a chaotic symphony. As Aunt Bonnie and I follow him inside, I steal glances at him, each sending another wave of desire crashing over me.
His fair skin, dusted with light freckles across his nose and cheeks, gives him a boyish charm that softens his otherwise serious demeanor, making him seem more human, more touchable.
More unattainable.
Gilbert turns to me, a warm smile laying on his lips. “Please, make yourselves at home. Dinner will be ready soon.”
“Thanks,” I manage to say, hoping my voice doesn’t betray the turmoil inside me.
I try to focus on anything else — the décor, the scent of something delicious wafting from the kitchen — anything but the man who makes my heart race. It’s all futile because my thoughts and eyes keep circling back to him.
And he’s right there, larger than life and damn near impossible to ignore.
“I’ll just check on dinner.” He flashes a quick smile at Aunt Bonnie before disappearing into the kitchen. That smile, brief as it was, leaves me breathless and unsettled. Aunt Bonnie follows and starts a polite conversation with him, allowing me a few moments alone.
My brain tells me to follow them, but my feet carry me in a different direction. I wander up the stairs and down the hallway to the guest sleeping quarters, my fingers trailing along the wallpaper, tracing the familiar patterns. My old bedroom door is closed, a silent sentinel guarding the remnants of my childhood.
It’s been so long.
What will I find on the other side of this door?
Pushing the door open, I step inside. The room is a time capsule. The pale blue walls, the ballet posters, the shelves filled with trophies and ribbons — it’s all there, untouched. My old music box sits on the dresser, and I wind it up, letting the delicate melody fill the air. I close my eyes, and for a moment, I’m nine years old again, dancing without a care in the world.
But the memories aren’t all sweet. I turn to the corner where Rachel used to sit, listening in as Mom read me bedtime stories. The emptiness there now feels like a void in my chest.
Can I really live here again, surrounded by ghosts of the past?
I head back downstairs, the weight of my thoughts pressing heavily on me. The dining room is set beautifully, a stark contrast to the turmoil in my mind. Gilbert and Aunt Bonnie are already seated, deep in conversation. He looks up as I enter, his stormy blue-gray eyes just as intense as I remember, filled with a depth that seems to pierce through everything and everyone.
Including me.
“Ashlynn,” he says gently, “I know this must be difficult for you, so take your time to decide. Your old room is ready if you choose to stay. Although, we will need to update it.”
I nod, unable to find the words. As I sit down, the aroma of home-cooked food fills the air, mingling with the bittersweet scent of memories.
This house holds so much of my past, but can it be a part of my future?