Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
My heart sinks into a deep hole, comprehending that she’s been mentally ill for years, and I did nothing to help her. How did I not see the signs? How could I have sat by, chalking up her extreme behavior to a textbook case of eccentricity?
I swallow hard, a wave of guilt steamrolling over me. I did nothing to help her. Nothing.
Grandma gasps and clutches her chest, sputtering out her words, “Hide my journals in a safe place after you read them. And if you fuck up, burn down the house. It will buy everyone time to hide.” She closes her eyes.
“Grandma Rain?” I grip her shoulder and give it a shake, but she doesn’t respond. “Grandma, wake up.” The tears pool in my eyes. “Grandma!”
Like a switch has flipped, I watch the muscles in her face relax. All signs of life evaporate like a wisp of steam.
This can’t be happening. She can’t be gone.
A bolt of lightning strikes just outside the window, and thunder explodes, rattling everything in the room. The ground tremors beneath my feet.
Holy shit. Was that an earthquake?
My gaze slowly returns to the face I’ve known my entire life, and suddenly, I don’t recognize it. Grandma Rain is at peace. And one thing everyone knows? She was never at peace.
“Goodbye. I love you.”
CHAPTER TWO
“Marvin. Enough. Can you just answer my question?” Standing alone on Grandma’s front porch with its massive water-stained pillars, I hold my cell phone to my ear and look out at the dense forest surrounding the property. The maples are beginning to turn red, meaning winter will be here soon. Not good for selling real estate. Not good for me. Which is why I need Marvin to bring his A-game. Marvin is one of three local Realtors. He’s the least stupid.
“Will you be able to sell River Wall Manor quickly?” I ask.
“You betcha, Miss Norfolk. We’ll have someone out to do the appraisal by the end of the week and have the place listed and sold by the end of the month.”
I’m not convinced. “You’re going to have to place ads and be aggressive on social media. This is a two-hundred-year-old estate. Not a lot of people will want to take on such a huge project.” The main house needs new wiring, plumbing, and a roof. God only knows the termite situation. Most of the windows are single pane and riddled with dry rot. Heating is a mess because half of the mansion still uses fireplaces. Some of the smaller bedrooms have space heaters—incredibly dangerous considering the wiring was installed by my great-great-grandfather. Don’t quote me, but I’m fairly sure electricity has made a few advances over the last century when it comes to safety.
Then there are the grounds—one hundred and fifteen wooded acres that include a family cemetery, pond, barn, and the creek that turns into a raging river when the rain comes or the snow melts. Maintaining the old stone floodwall is essential.
I honestly can’t think of one thing here that doesn’t need replacing, fixing, or a full-time employee to manage, but it’s the sort of grand historical home that could be beautiful again if put into the right hands.
“Miss Norfolk, I already have several interested buyers lined up. It’ll sell.”
And I have oceanfront property in Arizona to sell you. Marvin is blowing smoke. “Thanks, Marvin. Keep me posted.” I end the call, tormented by what I’ve always known I’d have to do when the time came: Sell off two centuries of family history. But I can’t afford the inheritance tax or the upkeep on this massive estate that includes the servant’s cottage, where Bard lives, and a guesthouse, where I’ve lived most of my twenty-eight years. The main house has ten bedrooms, twelve bathrooms, two kitchens, a ballroom, study, two dining rooms, and a parlor. And the brutally cold winters make it all impossible to keep warm.
I hate winters here. After a few months, you start to feel like Mother Nature is punishing you just for fun.
The only nice thing about that time of year is how the pond freezes over. I used to ice-skate there with my parents when I was little. Summers were always my favorite, though. We would camp in the forest on the property, catch fireflies, and make s’mores.
A cold wet nose on my hand jars me from my thoughts.
I look down at Master, Grandma’s black-and-white Great Dane. “I just fed you. No begging.”
He sits and stares up with his expressive brown eyes.
“No. I don’t care if you miss her. I’m not going to let you eat away your sadness.”
Master lets out a grumble and walks across the porch to his ratty old bed covered with random branches and things he’s dug up. He plops down and whimpers. It breaks my heart.
“I miss her, too.” And leaving here will only make things worse. Once the estate is sold, I’ll pay off Grandma’s debts, give some to Bard so he can find a new place to live, and with the five dollars left over, I promised myself a really cheap bottle of tequila.