Three houses down, I found a beige house with white shutters and a wooden sign that read ‘The Fletchers’. A rocking chair occupied one side of the porch and there was a double swing on the other.
I rang the doorbell, hearing faint footsteps echo from the other side of the door. When it opened, I was completely taken aback.
“Mrs. Fletcher?” I questioned, astonished to see her standing in front of me.
“Grant, how are you, son?” she asked casually, clearly expecting me.
“Can you tell me what’s going on?” I asked her. “My mom left me a letter…”
“I know, dear, why don’t you come in and have something to eat,” she said with sympathy in her tone, motioning me inside.
I remember following her into the house, noticing that it was decorated identically to her house in Western. Mrs. Fletcher, a neighbor of the Carsen’s, watched us when our parents went out together and always gave us snacks and juice when we were little. Since neither Brady or I had grandparents, she was like a pseudo-grandma to us.
She sat me down at the round oak table before grabbing a pitcher from the fridge, along with two glasses and some banana bread.
“Thank you, Mrs. Fletcher,” I said, pouring us both a drink and accepting the slice of bread.
“You’re welcome.” She took the chair next to me and placed her hand on mine.
I stared down at her weathered hand and then looked back to her. “Can you tell me what’s going on?” I asked.
“You’re grandma was my best friend,” she revealed. “We grew up here together.”
“How come you never said anything before?”
“It never came up.” She shrugged her shoulders, staring out the window and I assumed she was remembering my grandma, who died a year before I was born.
“So, the house? The occupant told me a man rented him the house,” I questioned.
“Yes, my brother. He lives here permanently, and I travel back and forth during the summer, spending most of the winter here. Your mother put us in charge of the house until you turned eighteen. We’ve kept up the grounds and inside for you. These houseguests will be gone tomorrow, so why don’t you stay with us tonight and then we’ll go over after they leave.
“Why did she wait to give it to me?” I asked.
“I don’t know the answer to that, dear, but I do know your mother loved that house. She came up here many times throughout the years without your father. You’ve been here before as well, but you were young so you probably don’t recall it. I remember when she was pregnant with you, she stayed the whole winter up here. When I would bring her some of my cookies or cakes, she would always be curled up on the couch with a book on her belly.” She smiled as if reliving a happy memory. “When she asked me if I would do this favor for her, I happily agreed. You know you can sell it if that’s what you want to do,” she said, the hesitation in her voice evident.
“I don’t know what I want to do with it,” I admitted. I literally just found out this place existed four hours prior.
“You would get a lot of money, enough to get you through college at least,” she said. “But my brother and I would like to offer you something else.” I noticed the water forming under her eyelids.
“I never said I wanted to sell it,” I told her.
“We have this,” she said, handing me a check with an absurd amount of money written on it. “All the rent money throughout the years. This money is yours Grant, not ours. You’re mom told us to keep the money as payment for taking care of the house, but if you don’t sell, we’ll give it to you. The house meant too much to your mom for it not to stay in your family.”
“I can’t accept it, Mrs. Fletcher. My mom was right. It’s yours for the hard work you put in to keep it going.” I pushed the check across the table, already convinced I wouldn’t be selling the house.
“Please, Grant, stay here tonight. I just know you’ll fall in love with it just like your mother did.”
“On one condition,” I said. I remember her looking up at me with desperate eyes. “You and Fred keep the money.”
“Hello?” Jessa waves her hand in front of my face. “Whose house is this?” she asks. I look up to see we’ve arrived. I must have been driving on autopilot while remembering.
“Mine,” I answer and shock forms across her face. “Come on.” I grab her hand and pull her out of my side of the truck.
It’s dark, so I lead her to the porch and insert my key. When I open the door, I’m happy that Mrs. Fletcher and her brother are so nice. When I called them this afternoon, I was relieved to find that there were no renters for the week. They informed me that they would stock the fridge for us, and I already see a basket of fresh muffins, no doubt baked by Mrs. Fletcher.
“Wow, Grant, this is so nice,” Jessa says after she walks in ahead of me.
“Thanks,” I respond, accepting her compliment. Every summer, I come up and fix or remodel things whenever it’s not being rented. I still leave Fred in charge of that, and he and Mrs. Fletcher still receive the money. They’re doing all the work so I don’t want a dime.
We enter the great room with the new ceiling fan I’d installed last summer. It was killer getting it to hang from two stories up, but it relieved the hot summer heat. The flat-panel plasma TV is mounted to the wall and the brown leather couch sits opposite. To our left is the kitchen filled with a white, oval table and six chairs surrounding it.
Jessa plops down on the couch. “Care to join me?” she excitedly asks and I hop onto it, making her rise up a little from the difference in our weights.
“You’ve been holding out on me, Grant Bishop.” She swings her legs across my lap and I start massaging her feet.
“It’s just a cabin,” I say, second guessing my decision to bring her up here. I don’t want her to think I have money because I don’t. “My mom left it to me.” I’m not sure why I tell her; it’s not like I want to talk about it.
“It’s wonderful. Was it your parents?” Shit, I was hoping Sadie has already informed her of my asshole dad.
“No, just my mom’s. My dad doesn’t care about it.” Jesus, there it goes again. All my shit keeps slipping out.
“Oh,” she silently mouths, looking away from me. For a second, I think she isn’t going to call me out on it. “Where’s your dad?” She looks back to me and those piercing hazel eyes hit me in the gut.
“Florida,” I say, giving her the bare information.
“Does he ever come up?” And her endless questions continue.
“No,” I curtly respond. Jessa’s eyes jerk toward mine and regret washes over me. It’s not her fault my dad’s an asshole.
“Come,” she stands up, holding out her hand. “Show me the deck.” I reach for her hand and pull her down on my lap. Trapping her head between my hands, I kiss her as passionately as I feel, happy she’s not going to push me to talk about him. Instantly, our hands start roaming, her hands to my crotch and mine to her breasts. I know I should stop this before it goes too far. My plans tonight involve something more intimate. But God, her hands and mouth feel so good. The way her warm pierced tongue explores mine only makes me crave her more.
“Let’s go see the deck,” I whisper, gently nudging her off my lap. I chuckle at her disappointed pout and discreetly adjust myself. “I think you’ll love it.” I grab her hand and guide her to the back door. After I open it she gasps from alongside of me, and I place my hand on the small of her back indicating for her to go first.