The interior might be a neglected mess, but she had every intention of whipping the patio out back into shape for tonight’s gathering with her best friends—a little celebration of Mara and Marshall’s engagement. She’d have rather hosted the small party at the Everwood where they all lived at the moment, but considering Mara owned the place, keeping it a surprise would’ve been impossible.
Paige shifted the boxes in her hands, her short brown braids peeking out underneath her ball cap, tangled twinkle lights spilling out of the top box. “Well, I still want a tour, no matter what it looks like inside. Why do you think I offered to help you lug all these decorations here?”
Jenessa grinned. “I thought maybe you were still brown-nosing, trying to impress the ol’ boss by going above and beyond the call of duty.” And it wouldn’t be the first time. Honestly, hiring Paige at the newspaper this summer might’ve been the smartest business move Jenessa had ever made.
Sure, buying the News three years ago and bringing it back from the brink of financial ruin had been a fun challenge at the time, a nice distraction from the difficulties of caring for both Mom and Dad in their final years. But the thrill of running it singlehandedly had lost some of its luster lately.
Or maybe it was just the weight of this house and all it represented dragging down her spirits in recent weeks—months, really. Maybe once she let go, decluttered her life a little, she’d feel a glimmer of the old Jenessa. The one who didn’t have to force her buoyant disposition or stay busy to convince herself the life she’d chosen was actually the life she wanted.
“Let me get this sign in the ground and then we’ll go in.”
A light nudge was all it took for the gate to swing wide, creaking into the pull of the wind. Curled leaves tumbled over the sprawling lawn, the branches of the towering walnut tree in the front yard rustling against the usual quiet of the neighborhood.
Jenessa tucked her chin into the collar of her denim coat and stepped onto the brick path that led to the massive front door. The entrance was flanked on both sides by empty bronze urns and topped by a half-circle window of swirled glass. Prickly, untrimmed hedges lined the walkway and fanned out in front of the house.
Not exactly the homiest of pictures—no cozy porch or swaying wooden swing—but then, Belville Park hadn’t felt like home in years.
Which was exactly why she’d decided it was finally time. Mom had been gone a year; Dad, nearly two. And this place was far too big and, worse, far too crowded with memories, old sights and sounds she’d never be able to shake.
Dad’s yells and Mom’s tears and Aunt Lauren running from the house . . .
Closure, that’s what she needed. No more stalling, hoping if she waited long enough all her old questions might somehow find new answers. Wasn’t going to happen. The returned letter Aunt Lauren, Mom’s sister, hadn’t even bothered to open made that much clear.
She halted halfway up the brick path and pulled the For Sale by Owner sign from underneath her arm. Grass and dirt gave way easily when she pressed the metal stakes down, using the wedged heel of her ankle boot to push the sign into place.
She took a step back, resolve or maybe relief filling her sigh. And then, a smile. Because she was being dramatic. Sam would make fun of her if he were here. Mara and Marshall would laugh. Lucas would stand by, quiet as ever at first, but then he’d most likely be the first to ask if she was sure she wanted to do this.
“Yes, I’m sure.” The wind hushed her whisper.
But Paige must’ve heard it anyway. “Um, if you’re, like, having a moment or something, I can wait back at the car.”
A laugh pushed free. “I can’t help being theatrical. It’s in my blood. My mom was an actress back in the day.” Before she’d married Dad and settled into her role as a senator’s wife.
Jenessa hurried to the entrance, balancing her box in one hand and with her other, plucking a key from the pocket of her maroon skirt—a perfect match for the scarf taming her near-black waves. The moment she opened the door, the familiar scent of Mom’s old lavender perfume wafted over her. Stupefying, how it managed to linger even after all these months.
Paige’s gasp accompanied the sound of her steps as she followed Jenessa.
“I’m telling you, Parker, don’t let the foyer fool you. It goes downhill from here.”
“The floor is marble.” Paige set her box on the antique accent table near the bottom of the open, winding staircase.
“And ridiculously cold in the winter.” Jenessa draped her jacket over the stairway banister, then moved into the sitting room. With its pale blue walls and gaping windows bordered by paisley-print curtains, it was the most formal of all twenty-four rooms.
The most cluttered, too. Mom and Dad had loved their things—figurines, books, travel souvenirs. A mess of carelessly packed boxes edged up to one wall.
“Jen, this place is . . . it’s . . .”
“Prim and overly decorous?”
“Elegant and incredible.” Paige was already moving through the room, skirting around the pearl-hued, tufted chaise lounge and craning her neck to take in the tray ceiling. She crossed into the music room, where the only thing more impressive than the floor-to-ceiling white bookshelves on the far wall was the grand piano in the corner.
Paige’s gasps trailed from room to room—Dad’s mahogany wood-paneled study, the adjoining library, the dining room with its waist-high wainscoting and crystal chandelier, family living room, spacious kitchen.
She could understand Paige’s awe, she supposed. The house itself was in good shape—modern enough for daily living, yet awash with the kind of character that came only from age and craftmanship. It just needed a thorough purging and some homier touches.
Finally, they passed through the French doors that led into the sunroom at the back of the house. Orange sunlight poured through generous windows, skimming over the surfaces of the wicker loveseat and glass table.
For the first time since they’d stepped into the house, Jenessa grinned. “Did you finally run out of gasps?”
“Maybe words, too.” Paige’s gaze was fixed on the expansive yard—two acres of land including Mom’s once-glorious flower gardens, a riot of color in years past, complete with a quaint stone path and a fountain, currently nonfunctional, in the center. A thicket of ancient, craggy trees bordered the property.
And there at the back, nestled in the brush—the little caretaker’s cottage with the pretty blue shutters and matching flowerboxes Aunt Lauren used to fill like clockwork each spring.
Paige turned to her. “I can’t believe you’re really going to sell this. It might be a little messy but—”
“A little messy? Paige, this house is like a massive garage sale gone wrong.” Maybe she could hire someone to sort through everything or organize an auction or estate sale. She’d need to do something about the overgrown gardens, too. The broken fountain. That tree that had fallen down during the tornado of 2014 and crushed the shed.
Huh, perhaps sticking that For Sale sign in the ground had been a little hasty. Still, it was the symbolism of it all. She might feel differently about the whole thing if the family legacy hadn’t crumbled years ago. If she wasn’t the last Belville left.