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The crisp white paper had our names written on it in a spindly hand, and for a moment we both stared at it.
“X-ray vision, is it?” Anders asked us, sounding a little impatient.
I glanced up at him. “What?”
“Most folks need to open an envelope to make out what’s inside. But maybe you’re honing your X-ray vision?”
Michael chuckled as his eyes met mine, and I ignored the warm rush of familiarity I felt as I looked at him smiling. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to the document.
I nodded and waited as he opened up what appeared to be a hand-written letter. Surely this would explain everything and give us a clear idea what we were supposed to do. Michael read out loud:
Dear Addison and Michael:
I’m sure you have convinced yourselves that I was a doddering old woman, losing my faculties. I am not, I assure you. I do feel, however, that I’m losing my grip on life and suspect you’ll be reading this sooner rather than later.
At this point, you have heard my final wishes and have visited the house at Maple Lane.
You should know that house holds many fond memories for me, and for my family—which perhaps you have gleaned by now is your family too. Both of you.
I left it to you for two reasons. Number one, that house is both the root and the end of the feud between the Tanners and the Tuckers—or that’s what I hope. I’ll leave that last part to you two. Number two, you are the only people I could think of who also have history there—albeit short-lived—since you both spent time there as children. I hope that maybe you can see past the overgrown gardens and dusty rooms to find and restore the true beauty of my childhood home.
Finally, I believe you will enjoy the experience. The house holds ghosts between its walls, history and heartache, joy and devastation. I hope you will find something for yourselves there—your pasts, and maybe, your futures too.
Sincerely,
Your Cousin, Filene Easter
“That’s it?”I asked. I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting, but the letter hadn’t exactly cleared everything up.
“That’s the whole letter.”
“So what have you decided to do?” Anders asked. “Will you take possession of the house?”
“What happens if we don’t take it?” Michael asked.
“If you don’t take the house, it’ll be donated to those causes Mrs. Easter designated. And as soon as it deteriorates to the point where it can be condemned, it will be demolished so the land can be sold for proceeds to divide between them.”
“That sounds kind of awful,” I said, imagining the grand old house being pushed over by bulldozers, the contents and history lost forever as it was turned into the soil of those lush gardens.
“Right,” Michael agreed. “But you and I just walk away. So really, it wouldn’t change much. The house is just sitting there rotting now anyway.”
“But...” I trailed off, unsure what I was about to say.
“You have too much on your plate already.” Michael’s eyes met mine again as he suggested this, and I could see hope there. He wanted this.
I lifted a shoulder, considering his words. Did I have a lot on my plate? Not really. I did have—before...but now? I had almost nothing. I had Mom hovering and questioning and opining about things, I had work at the Muffin Tin, and I had the scattered rubble of my old life waiting for me to come sweep it up. “I think I want to do this,” I said, surprising myself.
“You do?” Michael sounded excited, and part of me felt happy to have made him happy.
“I think I do.”
Mice in the Mattress
Michael
“You’re doing what? Hell no.” Shelly crossed her arms over her chest, lifted her pointy chin and gave me her entitled cheerleader stare. The one that used to intimidate the hell out of me. I’d gone to talk to her on her lunch break at The Shack on Wednesday, to tell her about our plans to move into the house.
That had gone over as expected. Like a wagon full of manure.
