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The attorney sat back, causing his chair to emit a whining protest, and he rubbed one hand down his chin. “Filene had no children or close family. She was part of both the Tanner and Tucker families, so perhaps this decision felt like the right thing. Keeping the property inside the family.”
I shook my head. “Do you think she knew what she was doing? Giving something so big to both families? These particular families?”
“I assure you, she was quite lucid when we last spoke. Mrs. Easter was not suffering dementia.”
“I just don’t get it,” Addison said, sitting back down.
“There’s one other thing here,” the lawyer said, picking up the document and reading again. “A sum of two-hundred and fifty thousand dollars will convey with the house, to be used for the express purpose of enacting the repairs needed. This account is at the Singletree Credit Union and carries the names of both parties named herein. In the event the parties do not accept dispensation of the house and the sum, both shall be donated to the Singletree Historical Society with specific contents to be given to the Institute for Tasteful Taxidermy and the Chocolate Lab Rescue.”
I let out a whistle, long and low. That was a shit-ton of money.
“Would you like to dispute the trust?” Augustus asked.
For the first time since his pronouncement, Addie turned to face me, and as our eyes met. Something inside me wished fervently for her to say no. I didn’t understand why, but having Addison tied into something with me, even something this odd, gave me an unbidden sense of hope. Like I’d turned a corner in my life somehow.
But that was crazy. It had to be about the house, the money, the way it could change my life.
“I mean...” She said, trailing off.
“Maybe we should at least go see the house?” I suggested, looking for a way to prevent her rejecting this insane idea immediately. I was already envisioning the new addition to the store, my improved workshop, my furniture on display.
Her face cleared, the troubled furrow disappearing from between her brows. “Yes,” she turned back to Augustus. “Can we see the house?”
“Of course,” he said. “The house is yours,” he explained. He dug around in his pocket for a set of keys, leaned down to unlock a drawer in his desk, and pulled out a flat plastic bag. “In here is the deed, with both your names on it here”—he pointed to the line that listed our names—“and these are the keys.” My name was there, next to Addison’s on the deed to the house. It was surreal. Two sets of dark iron keys lay next to the document. “A little old fashioned maybe. Fitting, I’d say.”
“Great,” Addie said, reaching out for a set of keys. “Can you hold the deed for a bit? Maybe until we’ve had a chance to think? And talk.” She looked at me as she said this last part, and a warm thrill rose in my throat.
What a weird day.
“Let’s go check out the haunted house!” Daniel practically yelled, bounding to the door. “This is awesome.”
We headed back outside and without deciding out loud, the three of us began walking toward the end of the town center, where 54 Maple Lane sat dark and foreboding behind its iron gates on the hill.
‘Effin Creepy
Addison
We walked together past the town square and up the hill that led to 54 Maple Lane. As we got closer to the dilapidated iron gates that stood sheltered under the heavy drapery of neglected trees, I could see the old house standing beyond, quiet and still in the midst of the old overgrown property.
A strange little thrill went through me as I turned over the idea that this was my house. I’d thought I had a house in New York—an apartment, actually—but it had never really been mine. It had been Luke’s, and he’d decided to sell it without even consulting me. As a newly homeless individual, owning a house, even a dilapidated creepy house, was a big deal. But still, none of this made any sense at all. And I didn’t know the first thing about home improvement. Michael didn’t seem hesitant though.
The house was a Victorian, with a turret and a sweep of front porch that made me wish I could remember it better from my childhood. Today, it was gray and sad looking, with dark windows—some of which held cracked glass—and an eerie stillness hanging around it.
I didn’t remember ever being inside, though Mom said that I had spent a summer here when she opened The Muffin Tin—that Mrs. Easter had watched me and a few other kids from town. Including Michael. Mom said the house was somewhat dilapidated even then, and that Mrs. Easter moved out right after that summer, taking a smaller cottage in town. And since then, this place had sat empty—thirty years of neglect, and probably many more before that. There was no way a woman on her own—especially one in her sixties as Mrs. Easter would have been then—could handle all the maintenance required by a place like this.
Owning a home was something I’d imagined lots of times. But in none of my fantasies did the house sit, dark and foreboding, up on an overgrown hill behind a set of iron gates, and neither did my fantasy include any members of the Tucker clan. Luke, maybe. Although I was coming to see that there had been a lot of red flags in my relationship with Luke, and we were probably never headed in the direction of joint home ownership. Not really.
“Wow,” I heard myself breathe as we stood outside the gates, looking into the vine-covered yard.
“Yeah,” Michael said behind me. His voice was low, almost trepidatious.
Daniel, on the other hand, was practically giddy. “Let me see that key, Dad.”
As the boy fit the huge iron key into the rusty lock on the gate, Michael and I stared up at the old house, side by side. Having him at my shoulder made me feel a little better about approaching the house I’d thought of for so long as haunted and foreboding. Even if he was a Tucker, Michael was sturdy and strong. He wouldn’t let anything happen to us, and especially to his son. I wasn’t really scared, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to stay close to Dan as we checked out the place.
The house had been beautiful once, I could see that much. Three stories rose up from what might have once been lovingly tended gardens and a manicured lawn. The paint appeared a weathered and peeling grey now, but it might once have been lavender, with white trim and sage accents. The huge porch that spanned the front and one side of the house was grand, I thought, and I could almost imagine early townspeople resting there in rocking chairs, fanning themselves against the humid Maryland summers.
Daniel worked the lock, and after a moment, the gate opened inward with a groan I felt inside my bones.
