4. Evelyn
4
Evelyn
G ravel crunches under tires as I pull up the steep driveway. The house I’ve rented is excessive for one person to spend four weeks in. But the moment I saw the listing with its wraparound porch and swing, I was a goner.
The road, Austen Dr.—yes, as in Jane Austen—is lined with about ten houses that fit the similar mold of Victorian style homes with bay windows and cute picket fences. At the edge of each property trees tower high to give a layer of privacy.
Four weeks.
That’s how long I’ve been given to write thirteen songs good enough to convince the rest of the world and my label I’m worth keeping around. Reverb Records took a shot on me, letting me remain anonymous, and it’s mostly paid off. With the end of my contract looming, I’m doing my best to stay optimistic they’ll keep playing along with my little experiment.
Due to the fact that I’m already a hazard on the road, I’ve put off answering the texts from Mom, but if I don’t answer soon she’ll assume the worst and I won’t hear the end of it at least until after the New Year. In the past, I’ve avoided telling her about trips because of her insistence on constant updates and her general paranoia. But she’s been in the habit of sending me things I might have lost in the move. So, I needed to tell her about my trip so I don’t return to a pile of packages, or I’d have to take a shot in the dark if she vaguely asks how I like the newest item without any context clues.
Mom
Make sure to get gas before you hit quarter of a tank
Someone got lost on this trail. DON’T GO!!!!
This is followed by the exact geographical coordinates of the trail.
Mom
Tell me when you’re there.
Evelyn
Got to the house safe
I take a selfie, posing with a thumbs up and the house in the background for good measure.
Ever since I was eighteen and my brother started closing down lines of communication to us, they started getting into my business more and more. From what they’ve told me, back home in Italy mental health wasn’t something they talked about openly like they have slowly come to do in the United States. They didn’t know how to deal with his depressive episodes, so they started holding tighter to me as if trying to make sure they didn’t lose me too.
So, I oblige the worried texts and how they voice their opinions about my life choices. If treating me like I’m a teenager who lives at home helps calm their worries, I can handle it.
I wait for Mom to like my message before I pop open the trunk of the car and drag out my two overstuffed suitcases. The wheels rattle and jerk as I drag them up the rest of the uneven drive. I have to do an awkward hugging dance to lug them up the three steps to the porch. When I crouch to catch my breath, my line of vision is directed to the medium sized package obscuring the looping cursive Welcome on the faded tan mat. The only thing I had delivered was my baby grand that is already in the house and doesn’t exactly fit on a doorstep.
Leaning closer, I read the label.
To: Alina Nicolescu
Good to know I didn’t order a mystery package in a wine and cheese induced fugue state. This should be an easy fix.
I’ve been in contact with Alina Nicolescu for the last month. She’s the landlord of the property, but I didn’t know she lived in the area. The primary reason for our communication was because I needed to see if she’d agree to having me deliver my piano a few days in advance. I could technically use a keyboard but I avoid them if I can. The feeling of the keys is different without the weight of the hammer striking a chord and I want to do everything I can to make the most out of this trip.
Opening the rental app, I navigate to the messaging feature.
Evelyn
I think I have one of your packages, can I bring it by?
As I wait, I open the lock box and add the key that falls out to the novelty I Heart NYC keychain. I bought it years ago before I moved there, and would regularly stay with Avery whenever I flew out to work with my production team. Using my hip, I bump open the door and roll my two large suitcases into the entryway.
The interior has the warmth of a hug. Natural light filters through small panes of stained glass that line the wall closest to the stairs, scattering the afternoon light against the walls. From the faded but intricate jewel toned runner on the staircase to what looks like the original iron light fixtures hanging in the entryway, this is a home that wants to be lived in.
My phone chimes just as I examine the cross stitch on the wall that is a rendition of the town welcome sign and gazebo.
Alina
Happens all the time.
I’m in the green house across the street. If you want to bring it over, my grandson should be around. I’ll be back from town soon and would love to say hello. If you have time I’ll make tea and I can show you the old photos.
Evelyn
I’d love that, thank you.
I Googled Alina as part of my deep dive into everything Hartsfall and also because there was an odd sense of familiarity that came whenever I read her name. The thing is, I know her. Technically, I know of her. Growing up I never had the cool factor of listening to classic rock or niche underground artists because we were an opera and classical music household. To this day Mom has a stack of opera CDs she uses and refuses to transition to using a streaming service. But for the first time in my life, it’s given me a glimmer of insider knowledge.
The reason Alina wasn’t a name that came to mind outright was because Mom always favored Italian and Spanish operas. In her prime, Alina was known as a jewel of a mezzo who specialized in German and French, so though I’ve heard recordings, they weren’t as frequent in the rotation as Cecillia Bartoli. Alina and I bonded over this connection and she was more than happy to help me get a piano into the rental as long as I promised to come over and accompany her at least once during my stay. She has her own piano, and has proudly told me she used to be able to accompany herself but arthritis has gotten in the way of that.
The houses are all up on slight inclines from the road. Alina has warned me to be wary of rainy days since the natural drainage works as well as the experimenting with natural deodorant in the middle of summer.
There’s a pleasant stretch in my calves as I climb the opposite hill to Alina’s. A faded blue Ford truck rests at the end of the driveway, parked with the front facing the road. Denim dressed legs poke out from under the body of the truck ending in a pair of scuffed leather work boots.
I clear my throat. “Excuse me, I’m renting the house across the street. I came to drop off a package that was supposed to be delivered here. Alina said it would be okay if I came by.”
The gruff voice that rumbles from under the truck is muted. “Give me a minute.”
As minutes pass, I shift the box from one side to the other as I wait with no sign he’ll be finishing any time soon. Just as I start to consider saying I’ll come back later, a red convertible glides up the drive.
The woman behind the wheel is wearing a floral scarf to secure the gray hair flowing down her back. A bright pop of maroon is painted onto a mouth lined with wrinkles. She’s petite with a proud jut to her chin that tells me it would be a mistake to call her frail. Hers isn’t a forced type of classic look that people try on, she wears it with enviable grace.
I give her my full attention and wave. “Hello! Good to finally meet you. I got to the house and it’s just perfect. Thank you again for working with me on the whole piano situation.”
“If you play for me, that’s enough,” she says, her voice laced with an Eastern European accent. “We always need more musicians. Art makes life tolerable.”
“Well, I hope I live up to expectations,” I say, caught in the familiar need to impress even strangers.
Alina looks over my shoulder and I turn to look back at the man standing behind me.
The white cloth of his shirt covers his face as he uses the fabric to wipe sweat from his brow. He tugs the shirt up further only to expose more of the toned topography of his body. It’s like Avery bought a damn Etsy spell to conjure up the perfect local love interest to taunt me.
And maybe it’s for the best, because damn. I’m practically drooling over the guy, and I haven’t even seen his face. His sweep of blond hair remains perfectly styled, even though he was just under a truck. A breath catches in my lungs as my gaze snags on a familiar pair of browline glasses dangling from the grease-stained forefinger of one hand while he uses the other to wipe his face with the white fabric of his shirt.
Plenty of people have bent glasses with brown detailing. There’s no reason my heart has started tumbling in my chest. It’s not—
“Garrett, come get my bags. We’re going inside,” Alina calls.