“What happened to my sweet little girl who a few weeks ago thought I was the coolest person in the world?”
“She’s growing up. Finding herself. Figuring out who she is. If you’ll recall, you and your father certainly butted heads plenty when you were around Sophie’s age.”
“And after that. For quite a few years. You don’t have to say it. I was a little shit, wasn’t I?”
Eleanor smiled. “I wouldn’t go that far. You wanted your own way and didn’t want to listen to us or follow any of our house rules. But we made it through and by the time you left for the army, you and your father had a good relationship. He was so proud of you.”
“I’m sorry I put you through that.”
“We all survived. And you’ll survive Sophie’s teenage years, too.”
“I hope so.” He hugged his mother, too, feeling the thinness that hadn’t been there before his father was diagnosed with cancer. Caring for him in his last days and then grieving him the past six months seemed to have aged her beyond her years. She had turned seventy a few months earlier and had never felt so fragile to him.
“Don’t overdo tomorrow,” he advised her. “I know you’ve been feeling under the weather lately.”
Her mouth thinned briefly before tilting into a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”
“I told you, that’s part of my job description. Let me know if you need my help with anything, once you start sorting through what you’re keeping and getting rid of. I can help with the big items.”
“Thank you, my dear. Don’t worry about things here. I’m sure between Jess and I, we will have everything under control.”
“No doubt,” he said. After he said good-night to his mother, he walked the short distance to his and Sophie’s house. The lights were off in the little Airstream and he tried not to picture Jess Clayton stretched out inside, hair tousled, sleepy.
His conversation with his mother hadn’t shed much light on Eleanor’s reasons for taking on this project right now. Whatever her motives, he would support her. If she trusted Jess, he didn’t have any reason not to.
Eleanor had been withdrawn and sad for months since his father died. Perhaps clearing and organizing her house would invigorate her and help her shake off the grief.
If that happened, he would owe Jess Clayton far more than merely an apology.
6
Jess
The next morning, Jess drank her coffee while she watched the sunrise send ribbons of pink and amber across the water.
California was most known for its sunsets, of course, the sun’s nightly slide into the Pacific, but she was particularly fond of the sunrises. They might not hold the same drama as the sunsets, but she loved the way the morning light played on the water.
She tidied up her trailer, which took all of about three minutes, then grabbed her supplies and headed up to Whitaker House.
Eleanor answered the door only a few seconds after she rang the bell. Her features wore the peculiar mix of excitement and trepidation Jess was accustomed to seeing in her clients.
“Good morning. Can I get you some breakfast?”
“I’ve already eaten, thanks. I’m all ready to go.”
“Are you sure? I made blueberry muffins this morning.”
That did sound—and smell—delicious. Still, Jess shook her head. “No thank you. Maybe we could save them for a midday snack.”
“Right.”
“Should we take a look around the house so we can see where we want to start?”
“Yes. That would probably be best. What do you want to see first?”
“We can start here and then work our way through the house.”
This was always the most tense part of every job, when the client teetered on the edge of uncertainty and the wrong move by Jess could send them tumbling down the wrong side.
It was a delicate dance. Sometimes when she came into a job, it was inevitable that her clients would be moving, like when health problems required a different living situation.
Sometimes it was voluntary, when clients wanted to downsize in their golden years.
Eleanor’s case was a little tricky. She seemed to want to only clean out her house so that her son wouldn’t have to do the job after she died.
After her initial hesitancy, Eleanor entered into the tour with enthusiasm, showing Jess behind closed doors of the house.
“There are seven bedrooms in total, right?” she asked, after they had seen three.
“Yes, counting the master. I told you things were a real mess. I’m embarrassed that I let the clutter take over and get to this point.”
“I have been at this for five years, Eleanor,” she said gently. “Please believe me when I tell you Whitaker House is nothing compared to most of the jobs I’ve done.”
Eleanor seemed heartened by that information. “Jack didn’t like to throw things away. He wasn’t a hoarder by any means. I don’t want you to think that. But while his family had this lovely house, his parents were cash poor when he was growing up. Jack liked to reuse and recycle where he could. After he died, well, I honestly didn’t know where to start so it was easier not to do anything.”
“I totally understand. That’s not at all an unusual reaction upon the loss of a loved one.”
“It’s been six months, though. I thought things might become somewhat easier as the months pass. Instead, the loss seems fresher every day.”
The pain in her voice made Jess’s throat tighten. She remembered going through that after her parents died. For the first few years, the pain seemed to get worse instead of better. The regret and guilt haunted her sleep and turned her angry and hard.
Finally, right around the time she had enlisted, the ache inside her began to fade. She couldn’t point to any single event that had turned things around. But one day she had woken up feeling as if a cloud had lifted, as if the sun seemed to be shining a little more brightly and the world seemed a little more beautiful.
She still had moments of raw grief sometimes.
Did Rachel?
They didn’t talk about their parents. It was like a huge, painful topic neither of them wanted to broach.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, laying a comforting hand on the other woman’s arm.
“Thank you.” Eleanor patted her hand, then seemed to push away the sadness.
“Are you comfortable helping me go through your husband’s things?” she asked when Eleanor led the way to an office space facing the water, the desk crowded with loose papers and the bookshelves overflowing.