The House that Love Built Page 7

  Seven

  Saturday morning Brooke made her trek to the calendar in the kitchen and drew another big X. Thirty-five days left. Then, after their pancake ritual, she dropped the kids off at the store for Juliet to watch them while she went to see Lennie at his locksmith shop. An hour later, key in hand, she was crossing Main Street toward the Treasure Chest.

  So far she’d opted not to say anything to Spencer about the wild tale he’d told Owen. She needed to. She couldn’t have him lying. But talking to him would mean a long conversation about why her father had sent the flowers, and Brooke had no answer for that anyway. I hope to see you soon, he’d written on the card. What was her father thinking?

  Maybe she would talk to Spence tomorrow. For today, going into the store would be enough of a feat.

  She took a deep breath and turned the key in the lock, halfway hoping it wouldn’t work. But it did. The door stuck a little at first, but when she pushed harder it swung wide. The familiar aroma of old books filled her nostrils and she breathed it in, closing her eyes for a moment, picturing Travis sitting at the desk in the corner. The room was dark and cool because she’d kept the electricity on to protect the merchandise. She reached for the light switch without looking, keeping her eyes on the desk, picturing Travis smiling at her.

  Once the lights were on, despair filled Brooke’s heart. Not only did she miss Travis more than ever in this place, but she’d allowed his most prized possessions to become covered in dust. As she moved between two tables covered with some of his favorite collections, she ran a hand along several of the dust jackets, pulling back thick powder. Now that she was here, she realized she was going to have to do more than just find the pictures of the Hadley mansion and the letter. Mr. Knopick had been incredibly patient with her, but Travis’s things couldn’t stay here forever.

  Brooke sat down at Travis’s desk and ran her hand over the dusty surface as she eyed the picture of the two of them together at the beach in Galveston a few years ago. “I miss you so much,” she whispered.

  She looked around the small store filled with everything Travis loved. Some of it he’d collected since he was a kid, but most of it he’d picked up at estate sales—books, paintings, vinyl records, old photo albums, and an assortment of other trinkets and antiques. On a small table in the corner was a collection of vintage toys. Brooke picked up a model airplane that she recalled Travis being really excited about. She didn’t think it had ever flown and probably wasn’t worth much, but he had loved it.

  A whiff of dust blew up her nose when she picked up the plane, causing her to sneeze. She thought about what Spencer had told Owen, and she couldn’t help but smile. Owen must have thought I’m so gross. It wasn’t really funny, but as she looked around the store, she didn’t have to try hard to keep things in perspective. Without a doubt, she was going to have to make time to clean this place up and either sell the inventory or store it, a task she hadn’t felt up to doing. She still didn’t, but it needed to be done. Just not today.

  Pictures and the letter. Where would they be?

  Brooke could see every inch of the store. There were no tall bookshelves. All the inventory was arranged on desks and tables, much of the furniture also antiques. She glanced at the boarded-up windows. Big Daddy put up the boards last year when they’d had a hurricane threat and she had left them up to protect the merchandise. But if she was going to clean things up, she needed to take those boards down and let in some sunshine. Maybe my heart will open up and see some light someday too.

  On a narrow table that ran almost the length of one wall, books were lined vertically against the wall, and in front of them were old magazines Travis had collected over the years, even some old comic books. He had always been a kid at heart. And even though the store had never made much money, it represented everything good about Travis. Brooke picked up a comic book dated June 1965. She was flipping through the worn pages when she heard the bell on the door ding.

  “Hey, buddy,” she said to Spencer as he shuffled into the store. She put the comic back down. “Dusty in here, huh?”

  Spencer nodded as his eyes roamed the room. Brooke watched him carefully, hoping he was ready to be here. Spence slowly walked to the model airplane.

  “Do you want to keep that? I’m sure Dad would want you to have it.” Brooke put a hand on his shoulder, but he eased away as he shook his head.

  “It doesn’t fly.”

  “I know. I just thought you might want it.” Brooke took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “Do you see anything special you’d like to take home?”

  Spencer’s expression was unreadable, but he shook his head. Lord, when are we all going to heal? Brooke would do anything to take Spencer’s hurt away. Some days she wasn’t sure she could miss Travis any more than she already did, but she’d take on every bit of Spencer’s heartache if she could. Meghan missed her dad too, but she’d adjusted quicker because she’d been only four when Travis died. Spencer still struggled, every day.

  “I’m looking for some pictures of the Hadley mansion. I think your dad had some somewhere.” She paused. “Wanna help me look?”

  Spencer’s eyes glazed over as his face turned red. “For that guy? You’re giving Dad’s stuff away to that guy?” He clenched his fists at his sides.

  “Spencer, that guy is named Owen.” Brooke pointed a finger at him before he could say anything. “And he did not give me flowers.” She paused. “I know about all the things you told him.”

  Her son had the good grace to turn red, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Spencer, I don’t want you lying.” She walked to him and lifted his chin until his eyes were locked with hers. “Seriously, Spence.” Brooke grinned. “Big, red oozing bumps on my back?”

  Spencer leaned away from her grip, but Brooke saw the hint of a smile.

  “Pretty creative.” Brooke playfully tapped him on the arm. “And gross.” She waited a couple of beats before adding, “Honey, no one is ever going to replace your dad. You know that, right?”

  Spencer’s eyes filled as he looked up at her. “I’m not stupid, Mom. I know that you’ll probably date someone and even marry him.” He pressed his mouth firmly together, his face turning red again. “But I will never like whoever it is. Not ever!”

  “Okay.” Brooke spoke softly, thinking the issue was probably moot anyway. She couldn’t see herself with anyone else either. “But I am going to look for the pictures for Owen to help him try to find the hidden bunker in his house.”

  “What?” Spencer swiped at his eyes. “What hidden bunker?”

  “Oh, you didn’t know about that?” Brooke walked to Travis’s desk, trying to be cool and casual.

  “What hidden bunker?” Spencer asked again, following her.

  Brooke sat down. “Supposedly there is a hidden bunker somewhere in that house, but no one knows where it is. I’m hoping the pictures might help Owen find it. If it’s really there, of course.”

  “You mean a secret hideout, like in the movies?” Spencer leaned his hands on the desk.

  “Yes. Just like that.” Brooke pulled out the desk drawer, knowing the pictures weren’t in there, but hoping to give Spence time to get onboard. And where is that letter?

  “I know where the pictures are.” Spencer’s face brightened before he turned and walked to a small hutch against the wall opposite from the long table. He pulled the door open and peeked inside, then turned to Brooke. “They’re in here.”

  “Really? Great.” Brooke knew pictures were stored in there, and that’s where she would have looked first, but she wanted to credit her son. She walked to the hutch and looked in. “There’s a lot to go through.” She shook her head.

  “I’ll help.” Spencer grabbed four photo albums and a brown bag that was behind them, then Brooke pulled out a couple of albums. They both sat right down on the dirty floor where they’d been standing. Brooke’s heart didn’t feel quite as heavy at the moment, and for that she silently thanked God.

 
Fifteen minutes later Spencer had made a discovery far greater than pictures of the Hadley mansion or any secret bunker.

  “Mom,” Spencer said softly, as if in awe. “Look at this.”

  Brooke leaned over to have a look. She slowly grasped the black-and-white photo as her hand began to tremble.

  Spencer edged closer to Brooke. “Who is that?”

  Brooke eyed the photo of a young boy sitting on the porch steps of an old farmhouse. “It’s my father—your grandfather—when he was about your age.” She took a deep breath. She knew what Spencer was thinking.

  “I look exactly like him!” Spencer brought the photo closer to his face.

  Brooke forced a smile, knowing that Spencer had inherited his grandfather’s pale blue eyes and defined features. In this photo, her father even sported the same tightly clipped burr haircut that Spencer wore now. “Yes, you do.”

  She recalled the day she’d been spring cleaning and found a bag of old pictures in the closet. She’d pulled out all the ones of her father, stuffed them in a separate bag, and told Travis to destroy them. She’d known her mother had her own stash of pictures, and that was her mother’s business, but she hadn’t wanted any pictures of her father in her possession.

  Obviously Travis hadn’t followed instructions.

  Spencer began pulling out more pictures, and with each one Brooke felt like a wound was being ripped open.

  “Put them back, Spence.” Brooke hastily took the pictures and shoved them back into the bag. “We’ll look at them another day.”

  Spencer grunted, and after a few moments he asked, “Why’d he leave Grandma?”

  Because Harold Miller is a selfish, cheating man who doesn’t care anything about his family.

  “Sometimes things just happen between people and it causes them to split up.” Brooke stood up, shoved the bag back into the hutch, then sat down again. “Let’s start looking for the pictures of the Hadley place. And we’re looking for a hand-written letter too.”

  Spencer was perfectly still for a few moments, staring up at the bag in the hutch. “Can I have that bag?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I said so.” Brooke opened a photo album and began flipping through pictures she didn’t recognize—some old portraits and a few landscape shots.

  “Grandma said you don’t really hate Grandpa. You just don’t know how to process your feelings.” Spencer folded his hands in his lap.

  Brooke bit her tongue. “Really? Is that what Grandma said? Well, I don’t feel like processing my feelings today either.” Being back in the Treasure Chest was bringing up all sorts of feelings to process, and she didn’t plan to add her father into the mix. “Now, help me look.”

  “What are we looking for?” Spencer finally opened up one of the albums.

  “Any pictures of the house that Mr. Saunders lives in. Also a short letter signed by a woman named Adeline.”

  “Like this one?” Spencer held up a yellowed piece of paper. “It was loose in this album.”

  “Yeah.” Brooke took the letter and tipped it toward the light. “Exactly like this one.” She hadn’t seen the letter in at least a decade, but she recalled the shaky penmanship and the black ink. “Do you want me to read it out loud?”

  Spencer nodded, and Brooke took a deep breath.

  “’To Mr. Jack Cunningham, attorney-at-law, As you know, I recently received word that my beloved John has been killed in action. It is too painful for me to carry on here without him, to wander within these walls, praying for a miracle that isn’t meant to be. Therefore, with haste, I have chosen to relocate. All of my worldly treasures are those of the heart, buried safely beneath this house that love built. Everything else no longer holds meaning for me. Please sell my homestead and furnishings, keeping a percentage for your efforts. My forwarding address in Little Rock, Arkansas, is below. I will be leaving on the train and will contact you soon. Best always, Adeline Hadley.’”

  Spencer fidgeted with the hem on his shorts. “That’s a sad letter.”

  “Yeah. I know.” Brooke could relate to Adeline. If it hadn’t been for her children and mother, she might have felt the need to flee after Travis died. She reached for the photo album in Spencer’s lap. “Here, let me see if this is the one with the pictures I remember seeing.” She quickly fingered through the pages. “Yep, this is it. I’m going to lend it to Mr. Saunders.”

  She stood up and started putting the other albums back in the hutch. “And I’m going to take it to him this week, Spencer. So I’d appreciate you not telling him any more stories about me, now that you know the flowers aren’t from him.”

  Spencer stood up too and handed her another album. “Then who did give you the flowers?”

  Brooke knew she wasn’t going to get out of this. “My father. Your grandfather.”

  “What? Really?”

  “Yes, really. I have no idea why, and it really doesn’t matter.” She walked back to Travis’s desk and sat down.

  “Does Grandma know?”

  “Yes. And I don’t want to talk about it.” She spoke firmly, hoping to end the conversation. “Now, what should we do with all this stuff of your dad’s?”

  Spencer looked around. “Nothing. Leave it all here.”

  Brooke gazed at Spencer, whose eyes were scanning all of Travis’s treasures.

  “We can’t leave it here forever. It’s been two years, Spence. That’s why I asked if you wanted anything to take home.” She paused, but kept going when her son didn’t respond. “I guess we need to sell it.”

  “No!”

  “Well, Spencer, we don’t have room for all of this at the house. Mr. Knopick has been very nice to let us keep storing everything in here, but that’s also probably part of the reason he hasn’t had anyone interested in leasing the space.”

  “Not yet, Mom.” Spencer blinked his eyes a few times, and Brooke swallowed back a lump in her throat.

  “Okay. Not yet.” She picked up her purse and the photo album with the loose letter tucked inside. “Come on. Let’s get to the hardware store. Juliet is probably giving your sister free rein with the candy jar.” She rubbed his head, and he jerked away as expected.

  Brooke stared through the glass door as she locked it, unsure when she’d go back in. It needed to be soon, before she let another year or two slip by.

  As she and Spencer crossed the street, she thought about the bag of pictures. She’d been so venomous about her father, so determined to write him out of her life. Not that she still wasn’t, but there must have been a reason Travis held on to those pictures. Maybe as a legacy to their children—or maybe he suspected Brooke would want to go through them someday.

  Today was not that day, but she kept turning over in her mind the fact that her father was suddenly wanting to make amends after all these years.

  Why?

  Eight

  Patsy placed a bowl of cereal in front of Harold on Tuesday morning. They’d spent a glorious three days together shopping, dining out, and lots of other things that Patsy hadn’t done in twenty years. She felt like a new bride, and although she felt wrapped in a cocoon of euphoria, she knew that one thing stood in the way of her happiness with Harold.

  She sat down at the other end of her small kitchen table, wearing a blue satin robe she’d picked up while shopping, and circled her spoon in her bowl of cereal.

  “Patsy . . .”

  She looked across the table into Harold’s blue eyes and smiled. “Yes, dear.”

  Harold reached across the table and latched onto her hand. “I can see the pain on your face. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

  Patsy squeezed his hand and forced another smile. “Brooke is very bitter.” She paused, closing her eyes for a moment. “If she knew about us, she might disown me right along with you.”

  “You don’t really think that, do you?” The love of her life released her hand, then leaned back against the chair and rubbed his chin. “Because I can’
t live with that.”

  Patsy shrugged. “I don’t know.” She cringed just thinking about Brooke’s reaction to the renewed relationship between her parents.

  “I’m going to talk to her.” Harold sat taller and gave his chin a taut nod.

  Patsy swallowed hard. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not yet anyway. I probably need to ease Brooke into a conversation about you.”

  Harold blinked a few times. “Can you ever completely forgive me, Patsy?”

  She smiled. “You know I forgive you, Harold—you don’t have to keep asking. But when Brooke knows everything, she’s going to need to find it in her heart to forgive me too.”

  “You did what you felt was best.” Harold hung his head. “I deserved it. And I want Brooke to know that.”

  Patsy took a bite of her cereal and swallowed. “We both made mistakes. But let’s not say anything to Brooke yet. We’re just getting to know each other again, and I want to relish these moments before we invite the rest of the world to share with us.”

  The truth was that fear twisted around Patsy’s heart every time she thought about Brooke’s reaction to the news. Would she pressure Patsy to give up Harold—or to choose between them? Would she understand the choices Patsy had made? She was praying almost constantly these days that the good Lord would open Brooke’s heart. Brooke had been through so much. Patsy didn’t want to cause her daughter more pain. But she wasn’t sure she could survive losing Harold again.

  “I will let you set the time frame.” Harold scooped the last of his cereal into his spoon. “I’ll talk to her when you think the time is right.”

  Patsy was pretty sure that there wasn’t going to be a right time. But maybe, little by little, she could casually mention Harold to Brooke, reminding her daughter of the good times the three of them had shared, what a wonderful life they’d led before Harold left. Patsy refused to focus on all they’d missed in the past twenty years. Instead she set her dreams on what they could all have in the future, for however long God’s grace provided for them.