When Jasmine Blooms: A Novel by Tif Marcelo

Author:Tif Marcelo [Marcelo, Tif]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lake Union Publishing
Published: 2023-04-10T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

“Achoo.” I sneezed for the third time in a row from the dust in the air.

“Gesundheit,” Nelson said, through the speaker on my phone.

“Thank you.” I rubbed the back of my hand against my nose, which itched still. “But as you were saying?”

“Yes . . . we’re already scheduled to come out tomorrow to start sorting the house inventory. I fully empathize that you don’t want to go through the attic, and you certainly don’t have to.”

“Do we have to do the estate sale? Why can’t we just donate everything? That way, we can turn in the house sooner than later.”

Robin, who was also on the call, hummed in disapproval. “We can certainly turn in the keys earlier, but I’m not sure canceling the estate sale is a good thing. Nelson—”

“Yes, ma’am. Ms. Lakad, I oversee a very honest and hardworking group of people. And we have been planning and advertising this estate sale for a couple of weeks now. To cancel it altogether . . . that doesn’t look good for me.”

I growled, though my conscience sided with Nelson. He hadn’t said it, but his company took a percentage of the sales, and by canceling, I would be depriving him of those earnings.

But this isn’t real, a dissenting voice reminded me. This all wouldn’t matter in the end.

And yet, with empathy coursing through me, I could not put Nelson in that situation. “No, you’re absolutely right. I guess my next question would be, when’s the earliest you can get here?”

“Tomorrow, early afternoon. And it will be fast and furious until the estate sale.”

“If you’re uncomfortable at the house, I can still book you at Louisburg B and B,” Robin said once more.

“I appreciate that, but no thanks,” I said, because familiarity still ruled above all.

We bade our goodbyes and hung up, and I looked around at the now-messy attic. Might as well pass the time and clean up.

With a trash bag in hand, I picked up garbage, filling the bag up to almost halfway before the slam of a car door brought me to the window. It was Elizabeth, loading boxes into the trunk of a small sedan. She must have been taking a load to her new place.

Questions arose as naturally as the sunrise: Where was she going to live? Was it a safe place? Would she have a roommate? Was anyone else helping her move?

Questions that stemmed from my maternal instinct for Libby, still so ingrained despite my logic warning me away.

I should’ve backed up from the window in case she saw me, but for the life of me, I could not drag myself away. She was doing that thing where she scrunched her lips to the side when she was frustrated. I’d completely forgotten that she did that.

I was enamored by it, committing it to memory and then locking it with a key.

My phone buzzed in my pocket with a text.

Sonya:

Have you responded to your primary doctor?

I grumbled. Sonya’s steadfastness (a.k.a. stubbornness) had not skipped this world.

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