Page 106 of My Mistake To Make

‘Oh, Harley, get off the poor girl.’

I laugh as Lynnie joins me on the porch, a tray carrying a jug of fresh lemonade and two glasses in her hands.

‘She’s okay.’ I pet the golden retriever as she pushes herself onto my lap a bit more, desperate for attention.

‘She’s a pain in the butt,’ Lynnie says with a smile, and I see her affection for the dog.

She pours the lemonade into glasses and hands me one before sitting in the chair next to mine.

‘Harley, go and get a drink.’

Like the good girl she is, Harley jumps down and trots inside the house.

‘So, Mrs. Abernathy gave me some photographs to show you. She thought you’d be interested to see.’

She reaches for the binder on the table and hands it to me. I open and look at the old black and white photos of the town and people smiling for the camera in beautiful vintage clothes. I recognize the buildings—they’ve hardly changed.

‘That’s my mother-in-law,’ she says with a smile, and I look down at the young woman in the photograph. She looks so cool in jeans and a white sweater, and there’s something sort of familiar about her. ‘She always said her dad hated her wearing jeans, but she liked to be different.’ She chuckles, and I turn the page, then gasp.

‘My house.’

The first photo is just the house, taken from out front. Underneath. it says in beautiful cursive writing:

The Reynolds Farmhouse, 1 Forest Falls Road.

I focus on the image. It’s in black and white, so I can’t pick out the color of the sky, but I know it’s as beautifully bright blue as it is today. The front garden is full of flowers, and there is so much life in the photo. The windows are open, and I can see the curtains hanging at them. I can see a pan steaming on the kitchen window ledge and a vase full of flowers in what is now my bedroom window.

Emotion tightens my throat. That’s my house, but it’s not the empty shell that I first found or the beautiful property Doug created. This is the Reynolds farmhouse. It’s where my story began, and in this photo, I feel a connection to this house, this town, and these people, more than I ever have.

This house was always supposed to be mine.

The next photo shows a young couple on the steps. The man is leaning casually against the railing, and the woman, pregnant, stands proud on the top step in a beautiful flowing gown, her long wavy hair draping over her shoulders.

‘That’s your grandma,’ Lynnie says, then points to the baby bump in the photo. ‘And that’s Charlotte.’

The emotion I was barely holding back spills out of me, and I choke out a sob.Mum, that’s my lovely mum.

‘She looks so happy,’ I say after a while.

‘She was. Roberta was always so proud of Charlotte.’

It makes me sad. How could a close family like that just never talk to each other again because of a teen pregnancy? I mean, I know it was frowned upon, but really, to just cut all ties.

‘She must have really missed her.’

‘Yeah, she did.’

The way she says that has me turning to look at her. Her tone is off, quiet, sad, like she knows more than she’s letting on.

‘Lynnie…’

‘Cara, it’s not my story to tell.’

‘But they’re all dead.’

‘Your dad isn’t.’ She pulls her lips in as though she regrets what she said, and my eyes widen.

‘My dad. Does he know everything?’

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