bedrooms upstairs, clothes strung across it so that it was almost hidden, with a kitchen sink and bicycle handlebars on top. My granddad had built it for my grandma, a honeysuckle vine carved into the doors. The armoire had held my mother’s china from her wedding and frames of our family.
I found two of our wood chairs in the master bedroom, upside down, near a car engine, two shovels, a tent, and a tarp. Each had a wobbly leg. My granddad had made them, too. My mother would sit in them while braiding my hair.
All the furniture had to be restored. Every piece needed to be sanded and restained. There were dents and scratches and structural problems, and they were filthy. They would all look much better when a trained hand was done with them. I had never thought of them as special when I was a kid, but now they were priceless.
They had belonged to my parents and grandparents. They were part of our past, our history, and our memories.
I missed my father. I missed my grandma and granddad. I even missed my ball-breaking mother in South Africa already. Contact with her for the next year was going to be sketchy because of the phone service.
I missed our life here in Scotland. I missed Bridget.
I heard a grumbling truck and peeked out the window. It was Toran. I wiped the tears off my face, refastened the clip on top of my head, forced myself to think of Madame Curie and her research to gain my composure, and headed out.
He smiled, then his face grew concerned. “What is it, Charlotte?”
I waved my hand. “Nothing. Dust in my eyes.”
“Ah, Char.” He gave me a hug. “I know. You have not been home in so long and yet this is what you find. Your childhood home in disrepair, a wreck, filled with the trash of someone else, nothing of what you remember here. The house has changed, but the memories remain of your father, bless his soul, your mum, your grandparents, and how you were as a family here together.”
I nodded, sniffled too loud.
“This was your life, your home, and it was all lost to you so quickly. And here you are, twenty years later, a huge task ahead of you, to clean it out, and maybe sell it. Ah, too much. Too hard.”
I took a tissue out of the pocket of my skirt. Never travel without a tissue. I couldn’t help but snuggle into the warmth of his arms.
“I cannot take away the pain of what you’re feeling, the loss, but I can help you. I have taken the rest of the day off to get this cleaned up.”
“No, Toran. This is not your problem.”
“Aye, it is. I want to help. I got up early to work on the farm. I thought you would be asleep for hours after your long flight. My employees are doing what needs to be done. So I’m here. Let’s have a look, shall we?”
He stood in the doorway, those shoulders filling it. “Worse than I remembered from yesterday. Give me a minute, and I’ll make a call. We’ll get this fixed straight away.”
He drove off, went home, came back, and half an hour later at my house there were six men who worked for Toran. They were friendly, cheerful.
“Here’s what we have to do,” Toran announced.
It was amazing what eight people could do. We had to get another giant bin, but by the end of the day—and it was a long, endless day, the sky dark when we were done—the house was cleared. Even the gross, moldy, yucky mattresses that probably had snakes living inside of them and a pantry full of the worst throat-clogging junk food were cleared out. We also removed an empty hornet’s nest, a pair of antlers painted pink, and a freakish clown puppet.
The kitchen had been removed. There was no way to sell the house with it there. The curtains were ripped down, the garage cleared out, the carpets Mr. Greer had had installed ripped up. I did not gape much when Toran took off his shirt, as the other men had, and lifted furniture in a white undershirt. He was muscled up, tight and hard.
I chatted with the men who came to help. They were interested to know that I live
I found two of our wood chairs in the master bedroom, upside down, near a car engine, two shovels, a tent, and a tarp. Each had a wobbly leg. My granddad had made them, too. My mother would sit in them while braiding my hair.
All the furniture had to be restored. Every piece needed to be sanded and restained. There were dents and scratches and structural problems, and they were filthy. They would all look much better when a trained hand was done with them. I had never thought of them as special when I was a kid, but now they were priceless.
They had belonged to my parents and grandparents. They were part of our past, our history, and our memories.
I missed my father. I missed my grandma and granddad. I even missed my ball-breaking mother in South Africa already. Contact with her for the next year was going to be sketchy because of the phone service.
I missed our life here in Scotland. I missed Bridget.
I heard a grumbling truck and peeked out the window. It was Toran. I wiped the tears off my face, refastened the clip on top of my head, forced myself to think of Madame Curie and her research to gain my composure, and headed out.
He smiled, then his face grew concerned. “What is it, Charlotte?”
I waved my hand. “Nothing. Dust in my eyes.”
“Ah, Char.” He gave me a hug. “I know. You have not been home in so long and yet this is what you find. Your childhood home in disrepair, a wreck, filled with the trash of someone else, nothing of what you remember here. The house has changed, but the memories remain of your father, bless his soul, your mum, your grandparents, and how you were as a family here together.”
I nodded, sniffled too loud.
“This was your life, your home, and it was all lost to you so quickly. And here you are, twenty years later, a huge task ahead of you, to clean it out, and maybe sell it. Ah, too much. Too hard.”
I took a tissue out of the pocket of my skirt. Never travel without a tissue. I couldn’t help but snuggle into the warmth of his arms.
“I cannot take away the pain of what you’re feeling, the loss, but I can help you. I have taken the rest of the day off to get this cleaned up.”
“No, Toran. This is not your problem.”
“Aye, it is. I want to help. I got up early to work on the farm. I thought you would be asleep for hours after your long flight. My employees are doing what needs to be done. So I’m here. Let’s have a look, shall we?”
He stood in the doorway, those shoulders filling it. “Worse than I remembered from yesterday. Give me a minute, and I’ll make a call. We’ll get this fixed straight away.”
He drove off, went home, came back, and half an hour later at my house there were six men who worked for Toran. They were friendly, cheerful.
“Here’s what we have to do,” Toran announced.
It was amazing what eight people could do. We had to get another giant bin, but by the end of the day—and it was a long, endless day, the sky dark when we were done—the house was cleared. Even the gross, moldy, yucky mattresses that probably had snakes living inside of them and a pantry full of the worst throat-clogging junk food were cleared out. We also removed an empty hornet’s nest, a pair of antlers painted pink, and a freakish clown puppet.
The kitchen had been removed. There was no way to sell the house with it there. The curtains were ripped down, the garage cleared out, the carpets Mr. Greer had had installed ripped up. I did not gape much when Toran took off his shirt, as the other men had, and lifted furniture in a white undershirt. He was muscled up, tight and hard.
I chatted with the men who came to help. They were interested to know that I live
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