Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
* * *
By the time the plane lands, I’ve managed to calm my nerves. I don’t know why traveling by myself has me so worked up. It’s not like I’ve never flown before. I think it’s Mom and all her “the people of that town are mean, blah blah blah.” I’m paraphrasing but it’s the same concept. She has me freaked out for nothing. Everyone has been friendly on this little adventure. Case in point: I’m waiting on my rental car, and I’ve been asked no less than three times if I’d like something to drink. Mom had me thinking the worst… like everyone in the state of Tennessee are assholes. That’s simply not the case. And some of them, they have these Southern accents that I could listen to all day. As I sit and wait for my rental, I pull the letter out of my purse that Dad’s attorney gave to me, along with the deed to my grandparents’ estate.
Delaney,
Their hope was to always keep this property in the family. The decision is yours. I won’t make it for you. My one request is that you go spend some time there. Enjoy the town and the people before you decide.
Forever in my heart.
Dad
Folding the letter, I slide it back into my purse. I don’t know why he felt so strongly about me visiting, but it’s a small concession as a last request. I swallow hard, fighting back my tears. I miss him so much.
“Ma’am.” A young guy who doesn’t look a day over eighteen approaches me. “We have your SUV ready for you. Can I take your bags?”
“That’s not necessary.” I give him a kind smile. “Thank you.” Standing from my chair, I follow along.
He nods. “It’s the black Dodge Durango.” He points to where the SUV sits.
“Thank you.” Wheeled baggage in hand, I make my way to the car. After tossing my bag into the back seat, I take my time adjusting the driver’s seat and the mirrors. Ever since my accident, I’ve been extra cautious when driving. If my mother had her say, I’d never drive again. You can’t live your life in fear. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. Punching the address into the SUV’s GPS, my hands at ten and two, I head toward my destination.
First impression? Tennessee is beautiful. With all the mountains and the trees, how could anyone hate it here? A quick glance at the dash tells me I’m close. Just one more mile. My hands flex on the steering wheel from my tight grip, my nerves getting the best of me—well, my mother’s nerves.
“You’ve arrived at your destination,” the female voice of the GPS informs me.
Turning on my signal, I pull into the long driveway. There’s a metal arch held by two brick pillars declaring Nottingham Estate. An odd sensation washes over me, one I can’t name. It’s as if this place is home to me, but that’s not the case. My home is in California. It has to be nostalgia as this was Gram and Gramps’s home. Then again, maybe it’s because my father left it to me in the will. Something my mother was unaware of and is still angry about to this day.
I’m not sure what Dad’s motivation was, and why he left it to me, but his specific instructions were clear. The property was mine. It was mine to do with as I wished, after I personally oversaw the remodel. His hope, per the letter he left with his will, was that this will be my home, but if I decide after spending time here that it isn’t the case, he would be okay with me selling, but only if that’s what I want to do.
Mother was livid, of course. She insisted we put it on the market as is, and I quote, “We never have to step foot in that godforsaken town.” After just the drive across town, and now that I’m here sitting in the circle drive staring at my family’s history, I know without a shadow of a doubt that there are reasons, other than the excuses that she’s given me, that she hates this town, this house.
Grabbing the keys to the rental, my phone, and purse, I climb out of the SUV, shutting the door. I stretch my sore muscles and take a deep breath of the clean mountain air. The cool air burns my lungs, but in a good way. No smog. Nothing like California, and I love it already. My eyes rake over the home that’s been neglected for the past few years, and even though the landscaping is overrun, and the paint is chipping, even I can see the beauty in the home before me. Excited to see the inside, to see what I’m dealing with, I take a step forward when I hear a car approach. Turning, I shield my eyes from the sun and watch a black sedan park behind my rental.