The Will

Chapter Three The Fourth Mrs. Jake Spear

I sat sipping Chambord on the veranda of Breeze Point, an excellent restaurant one town over from Magdalene. It, like Lavender House, sat on a cliff and its views were stunning, by day and, as it was now, by night.

In the clear, inky, star-filled night, I could see the lighthouse jutting out from Magdalene beaming its rotating beam.

If I’d left all the lights in the light room burning at Lavender House, I would have been able to see that too.

I knew this because Gran and I had been to Breeze Point often. We’d experimented once and found this to be true.

Breeze Point was an oft-visited destination for me and Gran. From when I would visit her as a little girl to when I took her there the summer before, we would dress up and come here to eat their superb lobster bisque, sublime crab cakes and their elegant take on whoopee pies.

All of which I’d eaten that night, remembering Gran and maybe not enjoying it as much as when she’d partaken of the same with me, but still enjoying it.

I was also there because it was not close to the Lobster Market where James Spear would be. I deduced I had probably at least a week of avoiding him and I did not delay in putting that in motion.

I drew in a deep breath as I drew the soft shawl closer around me to keep the evening chill of an early Maine September at bay.

I did this thinking that the day started out with a variety of surprises and it continued in this vein.

This being, I had gone to Magdalene Bank and Trust, spoken with the manager and found that I was in error about Gran’s assets.

She had fourteen thousand some odd dollars in her checking account.

She had twenty-seven thousand some odd dollars in certified deposits.

But she also had over five hundred thousand dollars in her savings account. And if that wasn’t enough of a surprise, she had over five million dollars in investments.

Further, the bank manager shared that a recent appraisal of Lavender House put it at over seven million dollars.

Seven.

Million.

Dollars!

The house had a great location, five bedrooms and was fabulous, but seven million dollars?

I had not stopped at Lavender House to pick up the key to her safe deposit box and I was glad of it. Knowing Gran was worth nearly thirteen million dollars was enough to take in for one day.

As promised, when I got back from the bank, I’d phoned Henry to check in. I’d told him of the rude Terry Baginski. I’d further told him of the money I’d found in Gran’s accounts and the appraisal of Lavender House (to which he’d whistled low in shock).

I had not, of course, told him my grandmother left me to an unknown, extremely masculine, quite attractive (okay…exceptionally attractive) man who had three children. Nor did I tell him of Gran’s gifts to his children.

I’d wait until later, when we were together in Rome (I hoped) or Paris (I vowed) and all of this was behind me.

“My Josephine is loaded,” Henry had remarked when I was done sharing my surprising day with him and he was not wrong.

I was. Between Gran’s money, as well as mine, I was loaded.

This was because I was paid well and I traveled so frequently and was so busy with Henry’s life, I’d never had a home of my own so I’d also never had that expense. When we settled for the brief periods of time that we did, I stayed in the pool house at Henry’s home in Los Angeles. And Henry paid for everything when we traveled. Therefore, with very few expenses of my own, I’d saved a great deal over the last twenty-three years.

A great deal.

So much, many could retire on what I had in my own accounts.

Add the money in Gran’s, I could be a lady of leisure.

Of course, this would bore me out of my skull so the thought entered my mind and left it precisely one second later.

That didn’t mean I wasn’t taken aback by what I’d learned that day about Gran’s finances.

She’d divorced my grandfather before I was born and he’d died before I was old enough to know him.

She had shared about him, of course, when I was much older and could take the stories she had to tell, stories she told in order to try to explain my father’s behavior and why I, too, seemed to make poor choices when it came to men.

Not excuse it. Explain, “for understanding a soul, buttercup, can settle a soul.”

It hadn’t settled mine but I’d hoped it settled hers.

It was, however, my understanding that in order to be done with him, Gran had left my grandfather and done it taking nothing with her.

She’d also worked, doing so until she was seventy-eight years old. She was the receptionist for a doctor’s office. She’d loved it. They’d loved her. And she’d been so sharp and sprightly, she had no problems working well past retirement age and only quit so she’d have more time to cook, knit, play bridge with her cronies and meddle in everyone’s affairs.

But apparently her parents, who had a fabulous home on the water, also had a goodly amount of money to bestow on their daughter for there was no way she made that kind of money as a receptionist at a medical practice.

And as I stared into the dark night, I found all this disquieting.

It wasn’t that my grandmother was wealthy and I didn’t know it. I was glad she was comfortable but I knew that. She’d never given me any indication not to think precisely that.

That said, the fact remained that there seemed to be a good amount about my grandmother I didn’t know and I thought I knew her very well.

But that wasn’t all it was.

I just couldn’t put my finger on exactly what it was.

“May I join you?”

I turned my head, looked up at the man standing beside me and recognized him from inside the restaurant. Prior to retiring to the veranda with my liqueur, I’d eaten alone inside. He, wearing a quite nice suit, had eaten with three other men in what was clearly a business dinner.

He was not unattractive. However, unfortunately for him, I worked for Henry Gagnon, who was extremely attractive, and I’d that day met James Spear, who was extortionately attractive, so this man most definitely didn’t compare.

But that wasn’t the reason I didn’t want him to join me.

On the whole, I preferred my own company and had since I was a little girl. I had friends, all of them were good friends, but they were few.

Truly, the only two people in my life who I spent any amount of time with and shared anything deep with were Henry and Gran.

I also wasn’t in the mood for company. I had a variety of things on my mind. I wanted my mind to be on those, not on trying to pull up meaningless conversation with a stranger to pass the time.

And lastly, I was in no mood for sex and it was clear he was approaching because he was interested in me.

If the need arose, I’d take a lover and I’d do this no nonsense, finding a man who I was attracted to, who suited me and then I’d take him to my bed. On occasion, this activity would be repeated or I’d exchange contact information and when I was again in his locale, I’d seek him out.

Mostly, however, I took care of myself. I found this more efficient and, in most cases, more enjoyable.

This was because intimacy wasn’t easy for me and although the act of copulation was often quite pleasant, it was rare a man was very good at it and when he was, by the time I would return to where he was, he’d be taken.

This man, I could tell by just looking at him, wasn’t very good at it. Although he was confident enough to make an approach, there was something about his manner that reminded me of Terry Baginski. An arrogance, which meant he’d undoubtedly be selfish in bed and that was never enjoyable.

The problem with this was, his arrogance was such that I’d learned a man like him was not easily put off, certain he could talk me around to his way of thinking.

And after the last several days, I simply didn’t have it in me to talk him out of what he was certain he was going to get.

This was why I lied.

“I wouldn’t mind you joining me, however, I’ve a man in my life who would.”

“Ah,” he replied on an easy smile. “And would this man be averse to me buying you another liqueur?”

I studied him through the dim, romantic lights strung around the edges of the veranda, wondering how he could ask such a question since I’d already told him the answer.

“Indeed, I believe he would,” I shared, pretending to sound like I was disappointed and doing a poor job of it on purpose.

It wasn’t poor enough for whatever he heard in my voice made him pull up an Adirondack chair next to me and sit in it.

“If I were that man, I probably would be the same,” he told me after he was seated.

I decided to say nothing.

He didn’t return the favor and his voice lowered when he went on.

“Then again, if I were that man, I would be more averse to allowing you to dine alone.”

He’d seen me in the restaurant. This did not surprise me since I’d seen him there as well.

“He’s busy this evening and I had a taste for lobster bisque,” I replied.

This was a mistake and I knew it when I said the word “taste” and his eyes dropped to my lips. His gaze returned to mine and he declared, “If I were that man, if you had any taste, I would see to you getting it.”

I fought rolling my eyes or curling my lip and edged away from him in my seat.

“Actually, Jake knows I’m quite capable of seeing to getting what I want on my own.”

“Jake?”

“Jake Spear.”

This was another mistake and I knew it even before he sat back in his own chair and his eyes got wide right before his lips curved into a sneer.

I knew it because we might be one town over from Magdalene but Magdalene was tiny and anyone would need to go further afield for a variety of things. Therefore, anyone who had lived in that area for very long could be known further afield.

However, I’d had an unusual day that wasn’t entirely pleasant. This encounter was most definitely not pleasant. The day before was the most unpleasant of my life, save the day two days before that when I’d learned Gran had passed away. I wasn’t my normal self.

But his reaction was strange.

“You’re seeing Jake Spear?” he asked.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I took that opportunity to mentally kick myself for being foolish.

“You?” he pressed.

I continued to be silent.

He stared at me before he asked, “Did you used to dance for him?”

What an odd thing to ask.

Odd and disturbing.

Also offensive.

Therefore, I snapped, “Of course not.”

He continued to stare at me as he crassly remarked, “Class piece, Jake’s finally learned to trade up.”

That wasn’t odd even if it was disturbing and highly offensive.

Therefore, when I spoke, it was again in a snap. “I beg your pardon?”

“Sweetheart, you’re aiming to be the fourth Mrs. Jake Spear, let me just tell you, he might make a fortune from that strip club so that’ll keep you in lobster bisque for a while. But in case no one else has warned you, I will. He goes through women like water and you’ll be out before it’s time for him to trade up his truck, something he does every other year.”

The fourth Mrs. Jake Spear?

Good God.

And strip club?

My goodness!

Regardless of how shocking I found this information, this man was loathsome and therefore I retorted, “You seem to know a good deal about Jake.”

“Lived in this county all my life and doing that, it’s hard not to know pretty much everything about the truck.”

He said his last two very confusing words with not a small amount of derision then he stood.

“Do me a favor and don’t let Jake know I tried to buy you a drink. Seeing as you’re how you are, he might actually like you and want to keep you and I don’t want to know how the truck would react if he knew I’d offered.”

Yes.

Most loathsome.

“Please, then, before you leave, share your name so we can see,” I returned.

He continued to stare at me for a moment before he shook his head and sauntered back into the restaurant.

I watched him go, not pleased in the slightest that that encounter made me feel even more uneasy.

However, just in case he remained at the restaurant to hit on another woman, instead of doing what I wished to do, get up and go straight to Lavender House, in order to communicate how little I thought of our disagreeable encounter, I simply looked back to the view and sipped my Chambord like it didn’t happen.

Unfortunately, it did happen.

Therefore, my eyes were to the view and my lips often tasted the deep headiness of the liqueur.

But my mind was on three previous Mrs. Jake Spears, a strip club and wondering what on earth was “the truck.”

* * * * *

I became aware of the sunlight hitting my eyelids moments before I opened them and rolled in the big iron bed with its high comfortable mattresses, flowery sheets, vast array of downy pillows and fluffy duvet.

My eyes went to the view of sparkling sea and bright sky out the big diamond-paned window across the room.

Then they went to the alarm clock by the bed.

Seven thirty.

Early for me but then again, I was still on LA time.

As ever, no matter what time it was when I woke up, I needed coffee.

I threw back the covers and then threw my legs over the side of the bed, gaining my feet.

When I did, my dusty pink nightie fell over my bottom.

The nightie had a hem that covered my lower hips and upper thighs that was a four-inch swathe of dusty pink pleats edged top and bottom in a trim of cream lace. The straps were thin and the bodice ran straight, exposing very little cleavage, but it had another one-inch wide section of trimmed pleats.

It was girlie, but alluring, and not obvious, thus not vulgar, and this was the reason I bought it.

It was also quite comfortable.

A plus.

I walked to the overstuffed chintz chair in the corner and grabbed my cream satin robe. I didn’t bother cinching the belt. I was alone in the house so there was no need. However, even alone, it was unseemly to wander around wearing nothing but a thin, short nightie.

I grabbed a ponytail holder before I padded out of the room and secured my hair in a messy knot at the back of my head as I moved down the hall and two flights of stairs.

I did this not taking anything in.

Usually, when I was at Lavender House, I consumed every inch, recommitting every vision, every smell, even the feel to memory to hold close until I returned.

This time, I didn’t do that and it wasn’t because I was still half-asleep.

I made it to the kitchen and I especially didn’t take any of that in.

This was because, outside the light room, the kitchen was where Gran spent most of her time. It was a fabulous kitchen and she was a fabulous cook. I couldn’t count the number of mouth-watering smells I’d smelled in that kitchen or the number of delightful tastes I’d experienced with what Gran created in that room.

Gran had cooked for me in that kitchen.

She’d also taught me to cook in that kitchen.

And like every memory with her in it, those I knew even before she passed would be some of the ones I would hold most dear.

Therefore, I moved directly through to the coffeepot, which I’d prepared for brewing the night before and I did it still not taking anything in.

I lifted a finger to hit the on button and saw it already lit.

I stared at the pot.

It was programmable but I didn’t program it because I didn’t know how, and to learn, I’d have to find the instructions which meant looking around, something I wasn’t going to do. In fact, the little button with its little light that would light up if it was programmed was not lit.

Instead of hitting the on button, I moved my hand close to the stainless steel carafe.

It was warm.

“What on—?” I started to say but ended this in a stifled scream while whirling when a deep voice came at me from behind.

“Not a big fan of gettin’ stood up.”

After my whirl, I went completely still as I stared at James Spear sitting in the sun pouring in the multi-paned glass that surrounded the nook where Gran had her beaten wood kitchen table.

He had a cup of coffee on the table in front of him.

“Wha-wha-what are you doing here?” I stammered.

He didn’t move, except his mouth. But when he moved that mouth, he didn’t answer my question.

“Pain in my ass, gettin’ Amber to look after her brother. First, she charges a shitload, fuckin’ twenty dollars an hour. And since she had plans with some of her friends last night and I needed her to change them, she upped that shit. Drove a hard bargain. That bein’ her gettin’ an hour added to her curfew on Saturday night and fuck knows, Amber and an hour on a Saturday night could mean anything. A visit to a bondsman or a different kind of visit in a few months to Babies ‘R’ Us.”

It was clear he was there because he was angry I didn’t join him for dinner so I didn’t need to repeat my question, thus I asked another one.

“How did you get in here?”

He shoved his hand in his jeans pocket and lifted it. I saw a key dangling from a thin ring looped on his long forefinger before he dropped his hand, shoving it back in his pocket then he pulled it out to rest it again on the table.

“Looked after Lydie and sometimes Lydie looked after Ethan after school. Me and all the kids got keys.”

“I, uh…well, I’ll have to ask for all those to be returned,” I told him.

“Are you fuckin’ serious?” he asked, his dark brows rising.

“Well, yes,” I answered and I saw his dark brows snap together.

“Jesus Christ, Josie, you stood me up.”

“I can obviously see that you’d see it that way but since I didn’t actually wish to go to dinner with you in the first place, I don’t see it the same way.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he murmured.

“And really,” I foolishly went on, “your language is quite—”

“Do not fuckin’ tell me what my language is,” he cut me off to bite out. “And do not stand across Lydie’s fuckin’ kitchen and give me your bullshit,” he ordered and I blinked.

Then my back snapped straight. “Pardon me?”

“You’re standin’ in Lydie’s kitchen knowin’ what she wanted for you, and what that was is me.”

He jerked his thumb to himself on his last word but he wasn’t done speaking.

“You jacked me around last night, made my daughter change her plans and she was lookin’ forward to that shit. Made me sit in a restaurant by my-fuckin’-self for forty-five fuckin’ minutes waitin’ on your ass, when not a lot of people have forty-five minutes of their lives to piss away and I’m one of them. You’re a no show and you give me this bullshit?”

Unfortunately, this made me uncomfortable. This was because he was right. His daughter changed her plans (though I couldn’t know that was needed, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t). And he’d had to bargain with her to do that. Not to mention, he’d settled on a bargain he wasn’t comfortable with and, by the sounds of it, it was indeed an uncomfortable bargain. And while I was enjoying lobster bisque (well, some time before, but still), he’d been sitting alone at a restaurant waiting for me to arrive and I didn’t.

If that had happened to me, I would have found it supremely annoying.

And I’d done it to him.

I stared across the kitchen into his angry eyes and I did what I had to do.

I apologized.

“That was rude,” I said quietly. “I have no excuse. I should have explained more firmly how I felt about the dinner without wasting your time or involving your family.”

“Damn straight,” he returned.

“Well, I apologize.”

“And you should,” he shot back.

I closed my mouth.

He didn’t.

“So, babe, where do we go from here?”

Babe?

I’d never been called “babe” and the angry way he did it, I didn’t like very much.

I ignored that and stayed focused.

“Where we go from here, Mr. Spear, is—”

I stopped speaking because he’d been sitting and mostly not moving but when I called him Mr. Spear, he stood.

And when he stood, the force of him invaded the entirety of the kitchen and this was no small feat. Gran’s kitchen was enormous.

“My name, Josie,” he started slowly, “is Jake.”

“All right,” I whispered.

“And I shouldn’t have asked you about where we’re goin’ from here because I don’t give a fuck about where you think we’re goin’.”

I said nothing to that.

He didn’t need me to. He kept speaking.

“You know her. You know that bullshit you pulled last night would piss her off.”

I detested this because he was right. It was clear Gran cared deeply for this man and if she knew I’d done what I’d done, she’d be angry.

Therefore, I admitted, “Yes.”

“And like I said, you know her. She said it straight up in that letter yesterday. The woman had a lot of love to give and she gave it freely. But the one person on this fuckin’ planet who had the most of that love, who she treasured above anyone, is you. And there is no way in fuck Lydie would feel that way about you and steer you wrong about me.”

It was then, I was again foolish.

And I was foolish by asking, “Did she know you own a strip club?”

The force of his presence expanded and heated to the point I felt it press against my flesh and burn in my lungs.

I retreated a step but it was only a step because I hit counter.

His voice was vibrating with anger when he shared, “Yeah, Josie, she did seein’ as she loaned me the money to buy it.”

I blinked. “She did?”

“Yeah, she fuckin’ did. I paid her back but she put it up so I could keep my gym and keep my kids in clothes and food and for once have the cake to give them a decent life.”

My voice had risen when I asked, “By owning a strip club?”

His eyes narrowed on me. “Fuckin’ hell, you ever show Lydie how far that stick was shoved up your ass?”

Well!

I never!

“Mr. Spear,” I threw out my hands and snapped, “You own a strip club.”

The instant I was done snapping, he leaned toward me and roared, “Jake!”

His behavior and this scene first thing in the morning so incensed me, very unusually (as in, I wasn’t certain it had ever happened before), I lost my control, leaned toward him too and shouted a word I’d never used in my life in that manner, “Whatever!” I leaned back and kept at him. “Your business is to subjugate women.”

“What the fuck?” he bit out.

“Subjugate. Oppress. Use women who are in dire straits to do something demeaning for money.”

“Babe, I need a dancer, I put an ad in the paper. I don’t go out on the street, kidnap them, jack them up with junk and force their asses on the stage.”

“You know what I mean,” I hissed.

“Yeah?” he asked, leaning back and throwing out his arms. “I do? Well fuck me. I’m an asshole and I never would have thought it seein’ as the least talented of my girls makes five hundred dollars on a slow night. Must suck for my girls, walkin’ to their Corvettes after work wearin’ seven hundred dollar shoes.”

Five hundred dollars?

On a slow night?

I was stunned. That was quite a bit of money.

He kept speaking.

“My girls aren’t stupid. A guy thinks with his dick, using his money to do it, all they gotta do is dance around and take it from him. They feed their kids, got good furniture in their houses, nice cars to drive and live in good neighborhoods, depositing cash in their 401Ks and taking their vacations in the Bahamas. Not sure that’s oppression but figure they don’t think of it that way. But you wanna think narrow, not my job to stop you.”

I opened my mouth to say something but he wasn’t quite finished.

“And a woman’s body is beautiful, standin’, sittin’, lyin’ down, definitely dancin’. They know that, they use it, there’s not one fuckin’ thing wrong with it. Though, says a fuck of a lot about you that you look down your nose at it.”

I truly wished I didn’t have to admit it but he was not wrong. A woman’s body was beautiful.

And I’d never thought of exotic dancing like that.

I decided at that juncture not to admit that out loud and instead move us to a different subject.

Therefore, I asked, “Has it struck you as strange that you know me but I know nothing about you?”

“No.”

“Why not?” I queried.

“I don’t know,” he answered sarcastically. “Maybe it has somethin’ to do with you bein’ a judgmental, stick up your ass bitch who’d react just the way you reacted about a minute ago if she told you about me.”

I glared at him, not altogether thrilled with his words and especially not his sarcasm. “Yes, perhaps you’re correct, as I might be a wee bit judgmental and react if she told me she was loaning a man money to buy a strip club, a man who’s been married three times.”

His arms crossed on his chest and his face got hard. “You been askin’ around about me?”

“No. A not-so-gentlemanly gentleman hit on me last night at Breeze Point and I’ve had a difficult few days, was not up to dealing with him, and unwisely used you as my pretend lover to get him to leave me alone. He then shared a good deal about you in a scathing way. The good news about this was, my ploy worked. He went away. The bad news was, he shared a good deal about you before he did.”

More pressure hit the room, making me press back into the counter before he asked, “Some dick hit on you last night?”

“That isn’t the point,” I informed him.

“And what is the point, Josie?” he asked and didn’t allow me to answer. “With this shit, you sayin’ you know me when you don’t. You got my ticket when you have no fuckin’ clue. You want me to piss off when your grandmother wanted me in your life. Is that what the point is?”

“I don’t know the point,” I returned. “I might know if it you didn’t break in and start berating me practically the moment I awoke and definitely before I had my first cup of coffee.”

“Berating?” he clipped.

“Rebuking,” I explained. His face got even harder and I correctly took that as a sign he didn’t understand that either so I snapped, “Scolding.”

“You know, babe, it’s cute, normally. And it’s real cute, you in that nightie,” he stated, throwing out a hand and sweeping it up to indicate what I was wearing.

It was also something I forgot I was wearing and doing it without closing my robe, which was something I immediately rectified, my hands going to the edges of my robe and wrapping it around me.

“The uppity shit you got goin’ on,” he continued, explaining what was “cute.” “What isn’t cute is you hiding behind that shit in order to shield yourself from living your life.”

I felt my eyes get big as my heart started shriveling.

“You don’t know me. You can’t say something like that,” I whispered.

And he didn’t.

Except for what Gran had told him about me.

Was that was Gran thought about me?

“Babe, I don’t have to know you to know your fucked up gig. But, just sayin’, I do know you. It’s you who’s totally clueless about you.”

And on that, he turned toward the door, prowled to it and used it.

I lost sight of him and within moments heard the front door slam.

I stared at where I last saw him for some time before my feet moved.

And they moved to the family room where I could find them on the mantel over the fireplace.

Dozens of frames of all different sizes.

My eyes scanned them and I saw what I already knew was there.

Photos of my father and uncle when they were babies and young boys, nothing later than when they were nine years of age because, as Gran explained, “That’s when they turned, buttercup, and I don’t need a reminder of that.”

Photos of me from growing up to grown up.

Photos of my great-grandparents and my Aunt Julia who’d died in town, hit by a car when she was eleven.

I moved out of the family room and into the formal living room at the front of the house.

Two long, thin tables behind the two facing couches. More frames on both, all silver. Most of the photos black and white and old. My grandmother. Aunt Julia. My great-grandparents. Their siblings and children. And even older photos of long since gone family who’d lived in Lavender House.

And me.

The largest photo of them all, taken by Henry at a Dolce and Gabbana show years earlier. I was sitting beside the runway, my elbows to my knees, my chin held in my palms, my eyes turned up, my expression rapt. It was in profile.

I loved that picture. Henry had given it to Gran the Christmas after it was taken. And Gran had put it there and never moved it so when you walked into the house, if you turned your head left, that was what you’d see.

Me.

My heart was beating faster as I moved out of the living room, into the foyer then deeper into the house. What was there tried to force itself on my consciousness but I fought it back, my feet dragging but taking me there anyway.

The den.

Gran had had her bedroom set up there when it became difficult for her to negotiate stairs.

I hadn’t been in that room since I’d been home

I didn’t want to go there now.

But I went there, opening the door and feeling her loss burn through me just like it was fresh when I saw all that was her all around, smelled her perfume.

I swallowed and moved to the bed.

It was unmade. The nurse who came in and made sure she was up, bathed, dressed and fed had found her there. They’d taken her from there.

Gone.

No one had made the bed since.

She’d died in that bed, in those sheets, that was the last place she’d been breathing.

Then she’d slipped away.

I turned my eyes from the bed to the nightstand.

Another silver framed photo. Me and Gran. Taken that summer when I left my life behind and came to her. We were outside the house amongst the lavender. It was in color. She was sitting in one of her wicker chairs and I was bent to her, arms around her, my cheek to her cheek, both of us looking in the camera one of her friends held. Both of us smiling.

I closed my eyes and turned away, taking in a deep breath, feeling it fill my lungs.

I opened my eyes and looked to the other nightstand.

There it was.

Slowly, I moved there, wrapped my hand around the side of the big frame and lifted the picture up to take a closer look.

Jake Spear surrounded by his kids, all of them surrounded by lavender, and, behind them, the sea.

It had been taken outside the house.

His daughter was at his side, her front pressed into it, her arms around his middle, her cheek to his chest, her eyes to the camera, her lips smiling.

His eldest son was at his other side, Jake’s arm was around his shoulders too, and I could tell the young man had an arm around his father’s waist as they were standing tucked close. The young man was also smiling.

And standing in front of the girl was Jake’s youngest son. He was leaning back against her body.

He, too, was smiling at the camera.

As was Jake.

I turned and sat on the bed, staring at the photo.

They were all younger. Not by much, years maybe, but with children, much changes as years pass.

And she had them close. By her bed.

Yet she never told me about them. I’d even been in this room more than once in the last seven years and had not seen this picture.

But it was there and she kept them close.

Close until the day she died.

They all had keys to her home.

She’d given them large sums of money.

She’d given me to that man.

“Why didn’t you tell me about him, Gran?” I whispered to the photo then looked up.

I aimed my eyes across the room to the window seeing lavender grown high and beyond that, sea.

“What did you tell him about me?” I asked the window.

The sun glinted on the sea and the lavender swayed gently in the breeze.

I shook my head.

“What did you want him to do with me?”

The lavender, the sea, the room, all of them had no answers for me.