Page 28 of Quintessentially

ChapterEleven

Dax

Ahotel room is okay for one or two nights. However, the luxury of the Suites Inn gets old fast. By coming to Riverbend for breakfast, I missed out on their number-one amenity—free breakfast with rubbery eggs and sausage links. The thought makes my stomach roll.

The more time that passes, the longer I’m afraid this executor stuff will take. It feels weird to be in my grandparents’ home without them. Earlier, I called Mom and told her I wanted to stay at the house instead of a hotel. Working and sleeping in the same room is not my style. Once I walk into their home, I notice the changes.

They aren’t bad but different.

Gone are all of Grandma’s pictures from the walls. Gone are the shelves of books in Grandpa’s library. The built-in china cabinet is empty. I stand for a moment and stare at the dusty glass, recalling Grandma’s dishes and special knick-knacks. A grin curls my lips as I envision a lopsided ceramic vase I made in elementary school sitting beside her good china.

Walking room to room, I look at all the improvements that have been made. The kitchen and bathrooms are updated with new fixtures and countertops. Carpets are gone and the wood and tile floors are restored. The front entry is still the slate I recall. Thankfully, the kitchen’s new appliances are functional and so are the bathrooms. Any furniture that wasn’t claimed or sold is covered by sheets. Sheets aren’t the only things covering the furniture, floors, and shelves, dust is everywhere.

Mom said they didn’t get a chance to go through everything when they were in town, and if I found something tucked away, take a look. The legal stuff is where it’s supposed to be. She told me to decide to keep or toss whatever is still remaining.

In the next month, my parents hope to get the house on the market. It seems counterproductive to me to put so much time and money into the renovation. Small towns aren’t known for their property value. Then again, maybe someone from Evansville will want a real small-town home, not a McMansion in a subdivision.

The bedroom suite of furniture in the room I used to stay is gone. It’s probably for the better. I had images of sleeping on a slender twin-sized bed. The queen-sized bed in my grandparents’ room is still present. Yes, I’m aware of how weird this is, and for the record, my grandma passed at the hospital not here, so that makes it a little better.

With my car tucked away in the garage, I turn off the lights on the first floor and head upstairs.

One thing about houses built over a hundred years ago, the idea of bedroom suites didn’t exist. Despite the dust, being here feels more like home. My mind goes to my apartment high in Chicago’s skyline. That’s my real home. My parents sold my childhood home many years ago. This old house is the closest thing I have to roots.

Kandace told me something about roots and wings. I can’t recall exactly what she said, but having roots, even only a few, feels good. Soon, I strip out of my clothes and step into the shower in the bathroom, not far from the bedroom I’m using. Thankfully, when I first got to the house, I remembered to turn on the water heater.

Not soon enough.

Apparently, instant hot isn’t a thing.

The cold shower may be best. Since seeing Kandace last night, I’m having a difficult time keeping her off my mind. She’s there when I least expect it; memories that had faded are again bright. They’re present in all senses of the word. I see, hear, smell, taste, and feel her.

Yeah, a cold shower is just what the doctor ordered.

With a towel around my waist, I wipe the condensation from the mirror and brush my teeth. It’s then that I notice the bathroom doesn’t have any windows. Maybe windows in bathrooms are a new thing. I really don’t know.

While it’s not that late on a Friday night, Riverbend isn’t exactly the Magnificent Mile. Not only that, coming back here has been exhausting in a way I didn’t expect and can’t explain. I could also add that not running into Justin Sheers is another reason to stay in.

The man is being an ass to me, and I don’t know why.

Slipping on a pair of basketball shorts and throwing the towel back into the bathroom, I send a text to the contractor, asking why the Wi-Fi isn’t working. According to my mother, it should be. Flopping down on the bed, I pile the pillows behind my head and stare up at the ceiling.

How can a place that feels wrong also feel right?

Sighing, I contemplate sleep. I want that, but my mind is too wound up—too full of memories and decisions—to settle. I don’t understand why Grandma didn’t make Dad the executor. He could have taken care of everything, and I could have stayed away. When I met with Mr. Murphy on Thursday, I asked for an up-to-date inventory. Hell, the inventory alone is worth more than the amount Grandma wants Kandace to pay.

With the lamp beside the bed giving me light, I grab my tablet and log into my email. At least my cellular service works. There are two emails from a senior partner at the firm. I shake my head.

In London, I secured the firm a two-hundred-million-dollar-plus client. In the process, I missed my own grandmother’s funeral. I’m sick and tired of justifying why I’m here in nowhere Indiana instead of back in Chicago. I spent nine hours online today. I’m doing my damn work. Get off my ass.

Fuck the partner. I’ll look at the emails later. It’s Friday night.

Not that an attorney trying to make partner gets weekends.

A thought makes me smirk.

What if I say fuck it and spend tomorrow with Ricky, following a tractor and throwing bales of hay?

My arms and back think it’s a terrible idea. My mind is starting to consider it.

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