Chapter Twenty-One #2
“There’s a half bath here on the right. You could steal some space from the dining room to expand it into a full.”
Mary Joy seemed absolutely captivated. Her blue eyes were wide as she looked all around, making gurgling noises, like she was trying to tell us her opinion.
The dining room had an arched doorway and a built-in hutch that had, at some point, been painted. This room, too, was filled with boxes. As if Bitsy had packed up her life and simply left it all behind. It darn near broke my heart thinking about it.
A dark layer of grime seemed to cover everything.
Floors, walls, ceiling. Cobwebs hung in every corner.
Underneath the stale smell, I picked up a sweet scent.
Something floral. It reminded me of Mamaw’s gardenia perfume and immediately set me at ease.
It was as if she were here with me, taking this tour as well.
Georgia said, “You’re being awfully quiet.”
“Just taking it all in.”
“You haven’t bolted for the front door yet, so I’m taking that as a good sign.”
I smiled. “I’m definitely not as scared as I thought I’d be.”
“Good, good. Let’s take a look at the living room before we check out the kitchen.”
The hallway spilled into a surprisingly large living room. Sheets had been thrown over couches and tables, making them look ghostly. I looked straight past it all, toward the fireplace, centered in the wall, tucked in between more built-ins, just where I knew it would be.
My breath caught, and I slowly made my way across the room.
“The fireplace is original,” Georgia said. “A good cleaning will do it wonders. It looks gray now, but I bet it’s off-white.”
I gently touched the mantel, felt the coolness of the stone, chilly even in the sweltering heat. I saw the pointed curve of the firebox that matched the ogee-arched doorways. My heartbeat kicked up when I reached out and touched the carvings in the stone. Leaves. They were oak leaves.
It was such a déjà vu moment that I swayed a little, not understanding how I’d dreamed of something I’d never seen before.
Georgia crossed the room and opened one of the doors that led onto a back patio, letting more air into the house. The cross breeze brought in the scent of grass and sunshine.
I was still studying the fireplace when I felt my phone buzz in my back pocket. I pulled it out and frowned when I saw that it was a text from Scott. I quickly read his message and clenched my jaw.
Working on a big project. Not going to make the party this weekend but will visit soon. I’ll call Katy later.
“Everything okay?” Georgia asked.
“Not really,” I said, tucking the phone away. “It’s my ex-husband, Scott. He can’t make Katy’s birthday party.”
Her eyes were filled with empathy. With understanding. She let out a soft sigh, then said, “Let’s take a look at the kitchen.”
I rubbed Mary Joy’s back and told myself that Katy didn’t need Scott at her party in order to enjoy it. Did not, did not, did not. If I said it enough, I might start believing it.
Georgia stepped into the kitchen. “What do you think about the archways?”
“I love them,” I said, answering honestly.
She grinned. “Me, too. My house is open concept, and these arches make me want to start putting up walls.”
My and Scott’s house had been open concept, too.
Because I had loved it, I thought I’d want to replicate it one day.
Now, though, I was starting to wonder if a house completely the opposite of what I’d once had would be a better option.
A house I could fix up from the ground up, instead of building. A house I could repair. Heal.
Suddenly I heard Nettie’s voice in my head again, talking about new paths. I’d have to remember to tell her this story. She’d gloat for sure.
“I’m going to run upstairs,” Georgia said, “and open some more windows. Be right back.”
The floor squeaked as I walked around the kitchen.
The 1970s brown-and-green linoleum was lifting in the corners and along the cabinet kickplates.
The café curtains on the window above the kitchen sink were so dirty I couldn’t tell their original color.
Several pieces of the tile countertop were broken, and I noticed smudged footprints in the dust. Critter footprints.
A raccoon maybe. Or a cat. Katy would’ve known immediately, thanks to Papaw’s lessons.
The prints led to a cabinet that was missing a door, then abruptly disappeared. On one of the shelves sat a vintage Red Diamond coffee tin. My mamaw once had the exact same one, but like the recipe box, it had also gone missing after her death.
As I heard Georgia moving around upstairs, I quickly checked the other cabinets. Drawers. The coffee tin was the only item in the whole kitchen that hadn’t been packed away.
Goose bumps rose on my arms.
Was it a coincidence?
It didn’t feel like one.
Not the coffee can, not the gardenia scent.
Not the dreams of that fireplace.
Not the star on the stairs that looked like the one Mamaw used in her quilt designs.
Suddenly I needed air.
I slipped out onto the patio and took a deep breath.
Mary Joy pressed her head into my chest and started burrowing. Nap time had finally caught up to her. I kissed her head and started swaying. Within seconds, her eyelids fluttered closed.
I was just about to go inside when a black blur caught my eye. A cat sat on the back fence, balanced on the post cap, serene as could be. His name tag glinted in the afternoon light.
“Deckle?”
I made a kissy noise to call him to me. He wasn’t an outdoor cat, and I was suddenly worried he’d gotten loose. However, at the sound of his name, he blinked his golden eyes slowly and, in one graceful leap, hopped down behind the fence line, disappearing from view.
I stared at the spot where he’d been sitting for a good minute before turning to go back inside. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been inside, too. That it had been his footprints that led to the coffee can. That he had been leading me to something that I didn’t quite understand.
Like the possibility that this house hadn’t sold yet … because it was destined to be mine.