Page 20 of Bitter House

“Arguing about something, yeah. I remember Mom talking about it, about Vera being upset. I never thought anything about it because it didn’t seem like a big deal, and it happened like three or so months before she died, but now with them trying to force their way into the house…” He pauses, running a hand through his hair. “What if there’s a reason they want this house so badly? What if they’re the ones writing the letters? Trying to scare us away?”

“Call your mom.” I can hardly muster the words.

“What?” Cole stares at me.

“I want to hear it from her. Better yet, ask her to come here. She has to know more than she’s told us, and it’s time we got to the bottom of it.”

“You want her to come here?”

“Yeah. We need to ask her about the man Vera was fighting with the night you overheard them, and I want to know about Zach.” I don’t say the rest, but the truth is, I want to know the truth about everything. Why Vera kicked me out, why there was a rift in the family in the first place, why Vera would’ve left the house to the two of us, and I need to see Edna’s face, to search for hints she might be lying when she gives us the answers.

“Okay. Sure. I’ll see if she’s busy.”

CHAPTER TEN

BRIDGET

Three hours later, we’ve had breakfast and are waiting impatiently when Edna arrives at the house. She looks just like I remember—graying, blonde hair cut short around her head, her warm, silver eyes matching her gray eyeshadow almost perfectly.

We find her at the door with arms loaded with grocery bags.

“You didn’t have to bring us anything,” Cole says, hurrying to take the bags from her arms as he kisses her cheek.

“I know, I know.” She hands them off without a fuss. “But I know how the two of you like to eat.” She winks at me, but there’s a hint of sadness I hadn’t expected. The moment is heavy. It’s been so long since I last saw the woman I considered to be a mother figure. The woman I trusted more than anyone else for most of my life. Her shoulders rise with a deep breath, and she holds her hands out to her sides, waiting to see if I’ll accept her hug. “Bridget.”

In the end, it’s not really a question. No matter how conflicted my feelings are about Edna, she’s the last mother figure I have left. I hug her back, squeezing for an extra long time as I breathe the scent of her citrus perfume.

I’ve missed her.

The thought cracks me open. I’ve missed her so much it hurts. And I’m angry with her. And hurt. And somehow, that all fits inside of me like a neatly packed suitcase.

“It’s good to see you back here,” she says softly, cupping my cheek with her hand.

“It’s…strange…to be back,” I admit. “Thank you for the groceries. You really didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, well, old habits die hard. What can I say? I miss making the weekly grocery run for this place.”

There’s no mistaking the way her voice cracks as she says it. I guess I never really thought about how much it might hurt Edna to leave this house. It was her home for longer than it was mine, and Vera seemed to be her friend. It’s more proof that Vera was a friend to no one—that she left Edna nothing.

“Well, you’re welcome to come back and help us out,” Cole teases. “We haven’t turned your old room into a theater just yet.”

She purses her lips at him.

“I’m serious, this place is much nicer than my apartment. I’ve told you a million times you didn’t have to leave.” His eyes slowly lift toward mine. “As long as my roomie agrees.”

I open my mouth. The idea of being here with the two of them, of being outnumbered, makes my stomach churn with a sensation I don’t quite recognize. Would it be better or worse to have Edna here? “Oh, I?—”

Before I can say anything, Edna is shaking her head. “I’ve told you. I never wanted to stay here after Vera passed. It’s too hard to be here without her. I need to move on. We all need to move on.” Her eyes travel the room with a nostalgic gleam before she shakes her head, blinking back tears, and clears her throat. “Well…” She sighs, running her hands over her hips. “Cole says you’ve gotten some letters you want me to take a look at.”

I nod. “That, among other things.”

“Let’s take a look.” Despite my initial hesitations and worry over seeing her again, just her presence in this house has calmed me, soothed my nerves like a balm. She makes me feel safe, like she always did as a kid. Even now, I feel better knowing that a real adult is here to help sort this out. I wonder how old you have to be before you stop feeling that way?

We make our way into the kitchen where I have laid out the two letters, and Edna picks one up, holding it carefully. I can’t help noticing the way her hands have aged, now wrinkled and with knuckles swollen from arthritis. At first glance, she was every bit the woman I once knew, but upon closer inspection, I see the loose skin around her jaw, the wrinkles in the corners of her eyes—proof she’s been given the privilege of aging, unlike my parents.

I’ll never be able to look at aging as something to avoid or escape. For me, as I inch closer to the age my parents were when they died, I know every day is something to be grateful for.

She reads over the first letter, then the second, before placing them down. Her lips form a hard line, and she leans against the island, resting her chin against her fist.

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