Page 4 of When Fate Breaks
Pulling my brush out of the drawer, I run it through my long knotted light brown hair. “Steph, you literally just got out of Alabama. Why don’t you give yourself some time to revel in that? Get settled in at campus. Join a club or something.”
I hear Steph huff out a pouty breath on the other end of the line as a heavy door closes. She must have just gotten back to her dorm. Though it’s small and dated and not nearly as cozy as her room back in our home town of Ramer, Alabama, it’s entirely paid for.
Steph has just started her first semester of grad school at Texas University. Although she didn’t start playing volleyball until high school, Steph was a complete natural at it, making the Varsity team her freshman year and becoming its instant star. We may be from a small town, but she quickly gained attention from the entire state, earning her a full-ride scholarship to play at Auburn University. Before she had even finished her senior year, Texas U had offered her an assistant coaching position for their volleyball team; they wanted her so badly that they even offered her free admission into their Masters in Kinesiology program and to pay for her on-campus housing.
Though I definitely understand her curiosity about the new house, she really shouldn’t rush back here so soon. I know I wouldn’t.
“Themansionwill be here,” I tell her. “It’s been here for over 150 years. I promise it’s not going anywhere anytime soon. Besides, you'll be here in a month anyways, won’t you?”
“Ugh, yes.Fine,” she grumbles. “I’ll give you one month. The tea better be on the table when I arrive.”
“Deal,” I say, pushing through the door leading into the master bedroom.
“Well, ancient furniture aside, how do you like it so far?” Steph asks.
“It’s beautiful,” I respond, bending down to open the cardboard box I had packed my pajamas in, but pausing when I find it empty. I forgot I put them in the wash earlier today. “It’s definitely old, but there’s a charm to it. It has a wrap around porch and shutters and pillars–”
“Not thepillars! My,oh my, Lady O’Hara!” Steph jokes in an exaggerated Southern accent. “I hope they don’t block the view from any of your fifteen bedrooms!”
“Oh, would you stop?” I chuckle, leaving the room and turning down the hall to search for the laundry room. I swear it’s going to take me a year to have this place mapped out in my brain.
“Well, what else?” Steph asks. “Have you come across any scandalous family secrets? Hidden treasures?”
“Unfortunately, no, nothing scandalous,” I say, spotting the laundry room as I turn the corner. “But there is this…I don’t even know what to call it. It’s a sort of greenhouse structure coming off the back of the house. It’s massive and so detailed. It’s nearly falling apart at this point and it doesn’t look like it’s housed a plant in decades, but I’m sure it was incredible back in the day.”
I flip the laundry room light switch on and head for the dryer. Opening it, I find it empty and let out a huff. Pulling the cell phone away from my ear, I yell, “Babe?”
“Huh?” I hear from a distance.
“You never transferred the laundry earlier?” I call back.
“Oh, no. Sorry, babe! Forgot! Been a crazy day.”
That’s for sure.
I quickly move the load of clothes from the washer to the dryer and bring the phone back to my ear. “Sorry about that, Steph.”
“You’re good,” she says, yawning. “Well, what are you gonna do about the greenhouse? Gonna pull out that green thumb of yours?”
“Whatgreen thumb?” I question, starting the dryer and heading back to the bedroom. “Even if I wanted to attempt to use it, the place needs a lot of work. Nearly every pane of glass is either broken or filthy and all the wood is rotting out. I wouldn’t even know where to start with all the planters. Remy thinks we should just tear it down. He thinks it’d be more trouble than it’s worth.”
“Sheesh, yeah,” Steph says. “That’s probably for the best. I’m sure it’s an eyesore by the way you’re describing it. Can’t have that harshing all your backyard barbecues.”
When I reenter the bedroom, I start opening cardboard boxes at random, looking for something to wear to bed, my packing procrastination clearly having failed me as nothing is remotely organized.
“Ugh, yeah I know. It’s just such a shame. I’m sure it would be beautiful if it could be restored.” After digging into a fourth box, my hand finally touches a piece of fabric at the bottom. When I feel that it’s a t-shirt of some sort, I begin to fish it out. “I just wish I had the time and knowledge to fix it up.”
My breath catches in my throat. Faded red numbers come into view. I pull the worn blue t-shirt all the way out from the box, spreading it out flat. The number 13 stares back at me. I lift my eyes slowly, seeing the last nameDi Faziospelled out above the number in capital letters.
“Yeah, I get that,” Steph says, pulling me from my trance. “If only you knew someone.” Realization suddenly hits me, my mouth falling open. “A green thumb you could borrow–”
“Steph, I’m sorry, but can I call you back?” I blurt out.
“No.”
“No?” I repeat.
Steph chuckles. “I’m wiped. Call me tomorrow. Or whenever you can. I know things are busy for you right now.”
