Page 8 of Now to Forever

“You do something special here, Scotty. The way you play this music and wear your T-shirts. Archie saw it. Everyone does. And they”—she looks at me, lines on her face deepening as she struggles to find words—“are so proud.”

Lydia is either on drugs or has dementia; it’s the only reason she’d babble like this.

I shift my weight uncomfortably between my high heels, smile feeling wooden on my face. “Somebody has to do it.”

“Archie wanted you to have the lake house,” she blurts.

My reaction would have been the same if she had ripped open her white shirt and revealed a bald eagle tattoo covering her chest. I look at her and let out a loud, abrupt “HA!”

She chuckles; it’s genuine.

“He said you’d do this. ‘Can’t take a compliment, that girl will never take a house,’he told me. It was the only thing he wanted changed in the will at the end.” She sniffs, fresh line of tears lining her eyes, and she hands me a key, pressing it into my palm as if trying to make sure it stays. “He told me, ‘You tell her there’s more than bodies in this life to light on fire.’”

I look at the key in my hand like it might vanish.

“Why?” I ask, my tone thick with skepticism. “You have kids. A daughter and a son, right? Archie told me.”

“My son doesn’t want it—he’s grown and gone. Too busy for Ledger.”

“Your daughter?” She shakes her head. “A grandkid? That one in the photo has to be old enough for a house.” My chest tightens. “Give it to them.”

“He saidyou.” Before I can argue she adds, “You deserve to be happy, sweetheart. Have some goodness and beauty in your life.”

This odd woman lets this hang as my mind reels. I think of June calling my apartment sad a mere twenty-four hours ago. Mel, asking me if I’m happy. Both of them essentially telling me to get a life.

And I’m happy . . .ish.

I think I am.

Do I even know?I know the last months have left me feeling like I’m going backward. Like every choice I’ve made and every bad thing that’s happened is hitting me with the steady beat of a drum, over and over. For twenty years I’ve been alone, and I’ve been fine with that. Fine with my life. Then came a shift—seemingly out of nowhere—where I’ve found myself wondering if things could have been different. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I know part of it’s Ford. A big part. Since I learned he was back in town nine months ago, Ledger has shrunk. Time has stopped. And seeing him outside the LL meeting . . .

“Can I pay you for it?” I ask, flipping the key around in my fingers. “I have money. Contrary to the habits of the rest of my family I have a savings account like an actual adult.”

I’ve saved. Other than the loan to buy the business and the expenses that come with it, my bills are minimal.

She waves a hand through the air, smiling kindly. “I believe you do, Scotty, but it’s a gift. No strings. It needs a lot of work. And if you don’t like it”—her eyes flick back to the window and the smalldoor that separates her from Archie, as if she’s waiting for him to crawl out of the opening and wrap his arms around her—“sell it.”

Sell it?A house on the lake, even if it’s as dated as it looks in the photos, would be worth a small fortune.

It takes a split second for a brand-new thought to slam into me: I could pay off the crematorium and I could leave.Leave. Maybe the root cause of this whole funk I’m in isn’t me being alone, it’s the town. It has to be. I need to get out of Ledger. Away from the memories and the ghosts. Ford. I could take this house, sell it, and would have enough money just to go. Anywhere. To the ocean—no, the desert. I could move to the desert: a landscape so harsh only scorpions and prickly plants survive. That would suit me. Nobody will bother me there. Pester me about the brightness of my apartment. I’d miss June, but she’ll understand. She’ll visit with her camera and take pictures. This house could be my fresh start. My new life. My happy. Could it be that easy?

“I don’t think I can,” I say, offering Lydia the key. “People will probably think I stole it.”

I want her to take it back as much as I want her not to.

She wraps her hand around mine, her skin soft and gentle as she presses it closed, and the key digs into my palm. “You think too little of people, Scotty. And who cares if they do?”

Hope fills me so quickly it makes me lightheaded.

Our gazes are steady through the window as the retort works. “I’ll miss his daily visits,” I admit.

A small smile tugs at her lips. “I know the feeling.”

We’re quiet a beat; me lost in what this house could mean if I kept it, her probably drowning in the idea of a life without her husband.

“It needs work,” she finally says, breaking the silence. “I’m sure you noticed it’s outdated. But I’ve paid for the power and water, so it should be on. I haven’t been there in over a year, but I know there’s a canoe.” She chuckles softly with a shake of her head. “God knows what else.”

I squeeze the key in my hand until I feel the teeth bite into my skin, confirming it’s real.

---