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SEVENTEEN
SEBASTIAN
It had been a while since I’d gotten my hands dirty. I’d never seen so much stuck dried gum in my life, and I never wanted to again. People were disgusting.
I rubbed the back of my neck and pulled my shirt over my head. I was exhausted. I turned the shower knob and began the five-minute countdown before the water got hot. Yet another thing about this house that left a lot to be desired. The ceiling creaked above with my neighbor’s footsteps. Despite myself—and despite the stale popcorn smell that seemed to permeate everything in that old building—I’d enjoyed my time with Charlie today.
When she wasn’t treating me like I was the devil incarnate, she wasn’t bad to be around. I liked how easy it was to rile her up and how red her face turned when she got flustered. And, fine, I hadn’t minded the way she’d been checking me out, either. She hadn’t looked bad in her tight jeans and her old T-shirt. Then again, she looked pretty damn good in whatever she put on. Or took off.
The sight of her naked and splayed across my bed flashed across my mind, and I squeezed my eyes shut. I would not let my thoughts run away with me again. I’d scrape gum off an old ticket booth and play nice with my nemesis, but I absolutely would not indulge in any more carnal thoughts of her.
My phone vibrated against the pedestal sink. It was my mother. Again. She’d called me half a dozen times since I arrived here, but I’d been dodging her calls. I didn’t want her to worry about what was going on here. She’d never had any interest in coming back to this town after we left, and it felt almost like a betrayal to step foot in New Elwood. But I was here for her, in the end. So I could give my mother what she deserved.
I let out a sigh and answered her call. “Hi, Mom.”
“Nice of you to finally pick up your phone.”
“Yeah, it’s been a little busy around here.”
“You’re always busy. How’s it going over there? It’s been a long time since you’ve been back in that town.”
“It’s going.” At a snail’s pace, but I wasn’t too keen on talking business with her. She may have been Lydia Radcliffe’s daughter, but she had no interest in real estate investments. I flicked the water off and stepped out of the tiny bathroom, then glanced up at the unpainted ceiling where Charlie’s hole used to be. “Let me ask you something, Mom. Do you have any idea why Grandma would stipulate that I live in this old house for thirty days before getting the inheritance?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. All I know about that old house is that it’s the first place she ever lived in.”
“Really?” I took a seat on the edge of the bed.
“Yeah, not for too long though. They moved into a bigger house when she was still young, and split that one into apartments. It was the family’s first foray into real estate investments. I used to help her do small maintenance tasks and clean up between tenants for extra pocket money when I was a teenager.”
“I had no idea.” Interesting. I knew our family owned this house, but I didn’t know there was any kind of family history right here. I looked around and tried to imagine what it looked like when it was just one big Second Empire house for a family of five. How much nicer was this house back in the 1940s? Still, it didn’t answer my question.
Why had she wanted me to stay here?
That was the thing about dead people. Sometimes the answers died with them. Not that it mattered. I only had three weeks left before I would fulfill my filial piety, have the deeds officially transferred, and say goodbye to this decrepit ramshackle forever.
“So what are you so busy with over there?” she asked.
I hadn’t told my mother about The Bach Company. Hadn’t told her about Theo Sinclair. I didn’t want to say anything before the deals were struck. But I had to tell her something. “Strengthening the tourism economy. I’m working on turning the old theater into a hotel.”
“Not the Monticello, I hope.” There was a hint of disappointment in her voice, which surprised me. My mother had no love lost for this town, but she cared about some old dump of a theater? What was it about that place?
“It’s falling apart. It’ll probably collapse before I can knock it down.”
“That’s too bad. I’ll miss that place,” she said, not having been there in decades. Maybe she and Charlie had been secretly exchanging notes. “It was the only theater in town until the eighties. It holds so many memories.”
Yeah. She and Charlie had definitely been talking. I rolled my eyes, but a part of me didn’t mind the thought of the two of them getting along. Which was nuts. I needed to get out of this town so I could get my head straight again.
I huffed, glaring at the hole above my head. “What memories?” And why did everyone insist on keeping the structure on life support to keep their memories alive? Why was everyone around here, namely Charlie, so obsessed with romanticizing the past when we should be living in the now and creating something for the future?
My mom laughed, and it wasn’t a laugh I’d heard before. It was wistful, hopeful. The sort of laugh you’d hear from a clear-eyed young woman. Not someone who’d endured the loss of her home and the breakdown of her relationship with her mother. When she spoke, I could tell by her voice that she was still smiling. “I had my first date there when I was a freshman. With your dad, as a matter of fact. Oh, he was the hottest boy in school. I remember?—”
“Mom.”
“What? I was just going to say he was a perfect gentleman. Well, mostly a gentleman, if you catch my drift.”
“Mother,” I bit off.
She laughed. “I’m just teasing you, Sebastian. Besides, I married the guy. How could I not after he took me to see ‘Love Story.’ We shared one of those huge tubs of popcorn, and he purposefully stuck his hand in at the same time as me so our knuckles would touch. By the end of the date, your father worked up enough courage to just hold my hand without popcorn. It was really sweet.”
