Page 41 of My Dearest Mackenzie

I shook my head, saying a nonverbal prayer that we’d moved on from my baby who never lived a day…

“She’s in Scotland, my sister,” I explained. “Fell in love with a bartender when she went over to visit about six years ago, and rarely comes back. My parents have been to see her once, and she came back when Paps passed, but I need to visit her. At first she was helpful. But eventually she felt I was too needy after the whole divorce and baby. She said it was time for her to put herself first. I get it. I’d made what I thought was my dream life and it consumed me. And then it fell apart, and it took over even more.”

“I hope she’s happy,” was all Mack said, keeping it simple.

“My parents are going back for Christmas and they want me to come. I haven’t decided. They also want me to date, so I don’t really do much of what they want.”

I wasn’t sure why I admitted the last tidbit, but I did. Maybe as a safeguard, letting Mack know he was in the clear with me?

We pulled into the circle drive of the empty house and I wanted to turn around. I hated coming here. To me, it was nothing more than a house, but to Milly it was everything. So I’d kept it.

I had to come out today to grab an old deed my lawyer needed and saw it as a chance to see Frances—and apologize again.

“This is where you grew up?” she asked as we crossed the threshold.

“After my mom officially split. My dad sold the house they had together, and Milly had recently bought this one. I think she saw the whole disaster coming.”

I allowed her a moment to take in the foyer, watching her strain her neck in an effort to look up at the crystal chandelier.

“It’s from Germany. Milly might have loved her home cooking and hanging with the kids, but we were expected to respect her things.”

Frances moved toward the wall and ran her palm over the surface. “Silk,” she muttered.

I nodded at her back. She didn’t need my confirmation.

“Did you have friends in the neighborhood?” This time, she turned to me.

“I did, and always brought friends home from college. It made it easier to have people around.”

“And you don’t want to live here? It’s sitting here…empty.”

“No.”

My answer was firm, and she allowed us to move on without explanation.

“Come on, I’ll give you a tour. We’ll save the pièce de résistance for last.”

“Paps would have called this place a gem. He loved visiting people’s homes and helping them pick furniture. He’d say about so-and-so, they’re living like the rich and famous…” She pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail, smoothing the sides, and took in every inch of the house.

“It wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. Sure, I had it all, but I didn’t have a mom… I’m sorry to keep mentioning it. This place brings out the best and worst in me. That’s why I don’t live here. But I can’t bring myself to sell it.”

I showed her the office while I grabbed the paper I needed. She studied the photos on the wall. “Your aunt doesn’t want it? Susie is her name, right?”

She ran a finger along the gold-edged frame, looking at my dad and Susie as kids.

“She probably does, but Milly had her affairs in order and this house was left to me. Susie got shares in the company and a lump sum, which her husband was very happy with. Her daughters got their college funds and jewelry.”

“This is you?” Frances pointed at a little boy up in a chair at a party.

I nodded, walking closer. “Yes, actually Susie’s wedding. The hora…”

“I know what it is—a celebratory dance at most Jewish occasions. They put the bride and groom up in chairs and dance all around them.”

I watched her take in the photographs, a smile on her face and small furrow in her brow as she studied them.

“And the ring bearer got a turn too,” she added with the sweetest smile.

I pointed to one of the men holding up the chair. “That’s my dad.”

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