Need by Stephanie Lawton

Author:Stephanie Lawton [Lawton, Stephanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Contemporary
ISBN: 9781939590084
Publisher: Inkspell Publishing
Published: 2013-05-12T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

I take the front steps two at a time, just like I did as a kid when I didn’t know what else my long scrawny legs were good for. The white paint on the front porch is chipped, but the porch swing looks newly painted. A faded wreath, lonely and battered, hangs from the front door—a gift from Mama, I think. I was here mere days ago when I met with Juli, but it might as well be another lifetime. The house is strangely silent, like it stopped breathing right along with Uncle Robert. A heaviness settles in my gut and suddenly I’m so tired.

“Do you need a minute?”

I shake my head. “No, I’m good. Just a lot to think about.”

She nods and squeezes my arm while I fumble for the right key. Like it has my entire life, the lock sticks and I have to turn it extra hard to the right. The pins finally line up and the door opens with a loud crack of swollen wood and humidity.

The first thing to hit me is the smell. Granted, Uncle Robert had begun to smell like an old man over the years, but it’s the scent of eucalyptus that hits me hardest. And it’s not the menthol smell of cough drops and arthritis cream, but the real deal. I watch as Heather’s eyes take in the room before us.

“Quite the gardener, I see. I had no idea.”

“Aunt Angela once told him she loved the scent of eucalyptus at the florist’s, so he began growing it to please her.” Now, there are pots of it in every window and dried arrangements on most flat surfaces. To me, it’s the smell of home. “Piano wasn’t the only thing he excelled at.”

“No, of course not,” she says. “We all have hidden talents and passions.”

“Hidden talents and passions,” I repeat, rolling the phrase around on my tongue. “I like that. Much better than saying we all have secrets.”

“It’s all a matter of perspective,” she says.

I head to the back of the house, past the parlor with the piano, to Uncle Robert’s bedroom. Consciously I realize he’s gone, but it still feels like I’m violating his privacy by entering. His double bed is neatly made and the furnishings are simple. Well-worn. I head straight for the closet, determined to get this over with as quickly as possible, while Heather wanders around the room.

I’m flipping through the hangers to find his gray suit when I hear her gasp. “This picture,” she says. “This was his wife?”

I turn to find Heather holding a framed picture of Uncle Robert and Aunt Angela taken in maybe the late 1950s or early sixties, judging by the clothes.

“Yep, that’s my aunt. Why?”

“She looks familiar. Can’t say how, but I think I’ve seen this picture before.”

“Weird. Not sure I’ve even seen that picture before. It didn’t used to be in here. Must have gotten it out recently. You know, just this week he told me he’d been thinking about Aunt Angela a lot more.

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