Chapter 1
I was on the run again, which for the last few years was the story of my life. It seemed like all it took was one thing to set me off, and then up came whatever tenuous stakes kept me where I was, and I was gone with the wind. Once it was an unfair punishment from a cousin who seemed to think I wasn’t pulling my own weight. Another time it was an uncle who was under the impression that me living in his driveway meant sharing a bed with me, his wife didn’t like that one bit and neither did his crushed scrotum as he cried in the front yard. Several times it was because of breakups with girlfriends that I found it easier to run from than work through. Had I cared more, maybe I would have fought for them, but instead I was just hurt enough to run, and not stay. But the latest had been the most bitter.
I’d had a good run with Aunt Gwen. She was my mom’s sister and had welcomed me to her home in Georgia with open arms at the beginning of last summer. For the first time in what seemed like forever I’d enrolled in the high school where I was staying instead of doing everything online as I was used to, and then tried to integrate into what most people think is normal society.
It had all gone great until my girlfriend of 6 months decided that her high school popularity was more important than our relationship was.
There was no way I was going back to school after that, so I sent an online request for my transcripts and pulled myself together for another drive. I was running out of relatives, so I decided that I’d go to the one I feared the most, if only because I missed her terribly and if she refused me there, I’d regret it for the rest of my life.
My Grandma Ruth was the kindest woman I’d ever known. She was my dad’s mother, and whenever we visited her at her little house, it was like living in a fantasy world. She would bake cookies and brownies, mix up Shirley Temples, and watch movies with me for ages, and I was always happy to go see her again. But if you put a toe out of line, then you were going to get an earful. No picking the flowers in her garden was the one that got me in trouble. That was her first rule, the flowers were off limits. But they were so pretty, and one day when I was 10 and wanted to surprise her with breakfast in bed, I’d put a single blue flower in a tiny vase for her. I remember being so proud and happy, but I can’t even remember why.
She hated it.
She told my parents I wasn’t allowed back unless I learned my lesson. I was terrified of her anger and couldn’t understand why she didn’t want me back over something that was seemingly so trivial. But she was all I had left now, so I was on my way back to see her and beg for her forgiveness. I still didn’t understand why it was a rule for her, but it was a rule she expected to be followed, so I would follow it. I knew I owed her an apology, and I had so many fond memories from my visits that I really hoped she accepted it.
I rolled over on the little mattress in the back of my van, and decided it was time to get back on the road. I opened the back door, stepping out into the parking garage that I was in and stretched. Food and a bathroom were the first things on my list, and I searched on my phone for the nearest diner. There was a decent amount of them here on the Interstate 95 corridor, and I was soon on my way. Once there I ran to the bathroom, splashing water on my face instead of a shower, noticing the dark bags under my hazel eyes and that my curly brown hair could really use a good wash. I took a deep breath and gathered myself before going back to the dining room and settling down. I ended up ordering a pot of coffee and big breakfast of scrambled eggs, hash browns and bacon. Mix them all together and you have heaven in a single bite.
Once I had both my belly and the van fueled up, I got back on the road, heading north and hoping that the weather wasn’t going to be too bad. Christmas was almost here, and last thing I wanted was a snowstorm. I knew the tires on the van were probably in need of a replacement, but my funds couldn’t support that at the moment.
I don’t know how old my van is. It was old before my parents bought it off a guy selling it on the side of the road when I was a kid, and it had obviously grown older still. But it was my home, and I loved it. When I lost my parents three years ago, it was all I had left of them. There was no inheritance other than a little money that was used up for their cremation and obituary. I couldn’t even afford a service for them, so I just sent text messages to every relative I knew the number to and told them the news, hoping they would spread it for me to those whose numbers I didn’t have. I kept their urns in the back of the van, hoping to find a place for them somewhere.
That was when I got the first offer of a place to stay, and I was on my way in the van. Did I have my license? Nope. But I’d been driving since I was 13, and I was 15 when they passed away so I was confident in my abilities. I learned quickly not to unpack the van though. Most of the first year was spent bouncing around, as most of my relatives had hoped that I got some sort of a life insurance payout, and when they realized I had nothing to my name but some clothes and the van then their doors started closing.
So, if Grandma Ruth turned me away, then I was going to have to start being creative about where I could live.
When I was somewhere in Connecticut, I dropped onto Interstate 91 heading towards Hartford. I hadn’t been here in so long, and hadn’t been paying attention to the route at the time, so everything looked new. My van had no aux cord or Bluetooth to plug into, hell it didn’t even have a functioning stereo, so I just blasted music on the phone with the GPS giving me directions and interrupting the lyrics as I drove. It was funny to be listening to The Pretty Reckless blasting out the speakers before hearing ‘in 500 feet, turn left’ and then right back to the song. It certainly doesn’t make it easy to sing along either. Luckily, I had a power adapter from the cigarette lighter to keep the phone going or I’d have never made it.
The tiny town of Granville was tucked in along the border of Connecticut and Massachusetts, and you could easily travel from one state to the other without even realizing it. There was thankfully no snow on the streets, but there was quite a bit in the treetops and on the yards of all the houses I drove past. My grandmother’s house was a cute little Cape Cod style house at the end of a cul-de-sac nestled up next to the Granville State Forest, and the trees pressed in tight all around. It was still the idyllic house that I’d remembered from my past, and I suddenly felt my heart clench at the loss of over 8 years’ worth of visits that were gone because of a single flower.
Snow sat upon the roof and gave all the tiny shrubs outside white wigs as they sat flanking the front door. The brick walkway had been shoveled, no doubt that would be one of my chores soon, and the weathered wooden shingles looked as though they’d been there forever. I sat in the van just staring at the house once I’d pulled into the driveway, trying to get up the courage to ring the doorbell. Taking a deep breath, and releasing it slowly, I finally felt the motivation.
The van’s door creaked as I opened it, and I stepped out into the cold, instantly regretting ever trying to fall in love back in Georgia. I could have been there and warm with Aunt Gwen instead of freezing my little ass off up here with a grandmother that might kick me right back out. Once I slammed the door closed, I stomped my way towards the front door, hoping to get some circulation back after sitting on my ass for 5 hours of driving.
I realized quickly that I needed to buy some gloves and a new jacket. The stuff I have now isn’t going to make it through the rest of the winter. I tucked my hands under my armpits as I walked, praying they wouldn’t break off after becoming brittle. When I got to the front door, I noticed a worn plastic Ziploc bag attached to the door knocker but ignored it in case it was for my grandmother. I pressed the doorbell and waited. After a minute, I pressed it again. I tried the handle, but as expected it was locked. At her age, my grandmother never went anywhere, so I was surprised there was no answer.
Walking back towards my car, I made a detour to the side door in the walkway between the kitchen and the garage, and tried knocking there. Still no answer, but a similar bag was attached with a rubber band to the doorknob. I checked to see if it was unlocked, and unsurprisingly it wasn’t. I had no way in.
Feeling like an intruder, I sighed and opened the plastic bag from the knob, taking out an unmarked white envelope from within it, and then opening the envelope. There was nothing in there but a business card for a Mr. Oakley Foster, and his phone number.
Huh.
Well, having nothing better to do, I took a deep breath and dialed up the number. I hated talking to strangers like this, even ordering a pizza over the phone felt weird to me, but it was the only way I could think of to get in the house.
“Hello?” came the voice after two rings.
“Hi, is this Mr. Foster?” I asked while my teeth chattered.
“It is. Can I ask who this is?” He was very polite this Mr. Foster guy.
“Oh, I’m sorry. My name is Cristyn Moss, and I got your card from an envelope on the front door to my grandmother’s house. Her name is Ruth Moss. I was trying to find her, but nobody is answering the doorbell. So, I was hoping you might be able to tell me where she is,” I answered.
A grunt came from the phone on his end. “Well, you’re on the list. Are you at her house?”
“I am, yes.”
“Excellent. Stay right there, I’ll be there in 15 minutes,” he directed. The call was dropped before I could even acknowledge him.
“Drive fast!” I muttered to myself while stomping back to the van. I wasn’t waiting outside for 15 minutes; my feet would be numb. Hopping back into the front seat, I cranked the engine and turned the heat on.
As promised, 15 minutes later a white Audi pulled up next to the van, and a kindly looking man with greying hair and a moustache got out while holding a black briefcase. He pressed his nose to the passenger side window, trying to see me through the tinted windows of the van. Hey, I sleep in this thing, I don’t want peepers checking me out while I’m in bed! Just to make things easier, I got out of the van and walked around to meet him.
“Mr. Foster?” I asked in confirmation.
“That would be me,” he answered with a genial smile. “And you must be Ms. Moss. Come, let’s go inside, it will be warmer.”
He led the way back up the walkway, and pulled out a key, unlocking the front door and letting us both inside. I didn’t know why he would have a key to the house, but it was nice to be back inside the house. Everything was almost exactly as I remembered it, from the bookshelf with Nancy Drew mysteries to the couch with a hideous green and yellow flowered pattern and the claw footed oak coffee table covered in water rings from ages of teacups.
Mr. Foster led the way into the kitchen, where he sat at the table, opening his briefcase, and removing a folder. He looked through the folder, as though he was reminding himself of the contents. “Can I see your ID please?”
I fished my wallet out of my jeans. Yes, I know, no purse, and handed over my license. I’d finally got it last fall while in Georgia, and it had my Aunt’s address on it. “Here you go.”
“Mm hmm. Very good. I think that is about everything,” he whispered to himself. “Ms. Moss, I assume you haven’t talked to your grandmother in quite some time?”
I looked down, ashamed. “No. I used to try texting her, but she never answered. She stopped letting me visit when I was 10.”
“That is to be expected. As I understand it, she was trying to isolate herself from certain family members,” he replied with a soft smile.
Awesome. Nice to know she talked to some family and not me. Now I felt even worse about the damned flower! I just hung my head, tears gathering in my eyes while I tried not to cry.
“You misunderstand Ms. Moss. It wasn’t because she didn’t love you, it was because she was testing you. I’m the executor of her will, and while I don’t understand everything, this house and everything else she owned is now yours. Well, it is yours if you agree to all of the stipulations.”
Huh?
