Page 27 of The Blairville Legacies

My eyes fell on the last two doors in the hallway that I didn’t know. One of them had to lead to a bathroom. I decided on the one next to my room and took a step toward it to push down the handle. Carefully, I entered the darkened room and flicked on the light switch.

Of course, it wasn’t the bathroom. Instead, I had landed in another bedroom.

In terms of floor plan, it looked exactly like mine, except it had more furniture, which was surprisingly filled with stuff. In the middle of the room, like mine, was a wooden bed. The sheets on it were covered by a midnight blue bedspread. There was a bedside table with picture frames, a desk, and lots of books lying all over the place that instantly caught my interest.

They seemed to be very old copies. In addition, there were ceiling-high bookshelves filled with more books and pictures on the walls.

I immediately felt at home in this room. Everything looked so friendly and inviting... Almost as if someone lived here.

Curious, I went further in and ran my finger over the spines of the books. A tingling sensation ran through my fingers, and I held my breath, savoring the moment.

I had no idea that Mum used to have such a soft spot for books in her student days. And also, forthiskind of literature. Titles likeWuthering HeightsorBleak Housegraced the shelf. But it didn’t just have authors likeCharles DickensorEmily Brontëlining the massive wooden panels of the shelf. Apparently, my mother had once found interest in the works ofJane Austen. A first edition ofPride and Prejudicelay on the nightstand tomy left, and I recognized it immediately. A classic. I didn’t even want to know how much these books were all worth here.

Intrigued, I reached for the copy next to it,The Secret HistorybyDonna Tartt, and opened it. The pages were a bit yellowed, and I spotted brown coffee stains in the margins.

Whoever read this book had been a very careless coffee drinker. Mum didn’t drink coffee, so it couldn’t have been her.

I was surprised that my mother had never told me about her book collection, although she definitely knew about my love of literature, especially the classics.

I would take her up on it, preferably right now at dinner.

As I was about to put the book away again, a vintage yellowed letter fell out of the last pages of the book.

I examined the paper that had fallen to the floor.

For Alicewas written in scrawly ink on the delicately decorated envelope.

Alice?Who was Alice?

Perhaps the previous renter? Or a former student who had found accommodation here? Or perhaps a pseudonym for my mother?

“Bay, darling! Dinner’s ready. Are you coming down?” my mother’s voice rang out from the kitchen.

“Yes! I’ll be right down,” I answered frantically, shoving the letter into my back pocket. For later. Even though it might not have been any of my business... I had found it in our house, and it was not officially addressed to my mother...so?

I reached for the handle to follow the tantalizing smell of good food, but then my eyes grazed a picture frame in the corner of the back bookshelf. Pictured were three young women with their arms draped over their shoulders.

I paused because I immediately recognized that the woman on the right was my mother. She must have been around twenty years old at the time the picture was taken. I had neverseen her at that age, but the straight nose and fine jawline... Unmistakable.

I had to smile. As expected, no biker jacket.

Her golden blonde hair was a little longer, and she wore glasses. By now, she had acquired contact lenses. Butwow, she looked damn pretty in this picture. And happy... So did the other two women.

In the middle was a young, pretty woman with brown shoulder-length waves and turquoise eyes. Her smiling mouth elicited gentle dimples. In general, you could tell she looked very attractive, with her heart-shaped pale face. Surely, she must have had as many admirers as Larissa.

On the left, another beautiful woman leaned against the shoulders of the woman in the middle. Her ash blonde hair was straight and long, and her eyes had to be very bright. Almost ice blue. Her pretty face looked doll-like.

A certain amazement grew in me at my mother’s friendships. They must have had a beautiful youth. The smile in the picture spoke volumes.

I looked again at the light blonde woman. Somehow, her face seemed familiar. But I couldn’t remember seeing her before.

“What are you doing here?”

I startled violently, dropping the picture. The glass shattered on the floor with a crash, and I backed away, perplexed.

My mother was standing in the doorway, looking at me with her eyes wide open. I had never seen this look on her face before.

I quickly bent down, but my pitiful attempt to clean up the mess I had made here was interrupted by my mother. She pulled me out of the room by the arm, her nails scraping my arm.

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