Did he blame her? Did he believe that if they hadn’t gone to the mountains, the outcome might have been different? Did he resent her mother, whose painting rags had started the fire that collapsed the second-floor veranda and trapped Captain Joe Mahoney? Did he hate Gloriana House, or her family, or just life in general?
She didn’t know, because the boy who told her everything wouldn’t share anything, so after a while, it became easier for Evie to try to forget how much she missed Declan. With the exception of the occasional unexpected and awkward encounter, neither of them had the courage or strength to break the ice that had formed around their friendship. After a decade or two, the very idea of some sort of reconciliation or revival seemed hopeless.
So now, this view made Evie feel bittersweet. At forty years old, an only child with no children of her own, Evangeline Hewitt was the last in a long line of Bushrod descendants who’d called Gloriana House home. When Granddaddy passed away, the great Victorian manor would enter a new phase, whatever that would be, with no family to live in it.
Not long after the fire, which her Bohemian mother had called a sign from the universe that they should “follow their dreams” and live on a sailboat in the Caribbean, her parents had moved. Dad didn’t follow dreams, he followed Mom like a loyal lapdog, so off they’d gone. Those two had zero desire to live in a rambling, three-story, one-hundred-and-twenty-year-old mansion that still had the original oil lamps and woodwork in some of the rooms.
And Evie had made her life more than three hours away, becoming one of the top specialists in her field, now the head of the Neurology Department at the NC State College of Veterinary Medicine. So, eventually, the house would have to change hands, but no one really wanted to face that yet.
“I know what I want.”
Evie turned at Granddaddy’s gruff voice, surprised he was awake. “You’ll take that tea now?”
“A celebration of life.”
“Excuse me?” She came closer to the bed, perching on the edge to take his withered old hand in hers.
“I saw it on TV,” he said. “Some old guy. Older than me, and that’s old.” He gave her a smile that showed he hadn’t had the energy to put his dentures in today. “No funeral. I hate that Mitch Eastercrook.”
She laughed softly at the reference to the town’s unpopular undertaker. “I told you to quit with this dying nonsense.”
“Evangeline, dear, don’t humor me. I’m ninety-two, and I can’t remember the names of my body parts, let alone what they were supposed to do when they worked.”
She smiled. “Your sense of humor is working just fine.” She got up to adjust the Navy baseball cap that he liked to hang on the post of the bed, a reminder of his World War II service.
“I want you to be in charge of my celebration-of-life party,” he continued. “I want it to be crowded and happy and right in the middle of Bushrod Square. And I want a big band to play Glenn Miller’s ‘Moonlight Serenade.’” He looked at her with sad gray eyes, dimmed by time, giving her an inkling of how her own pale blue gaze might look in fifty years. “Then Penny and I will be dancing together in heaven. And then you can do whatever you want with this old house. I don’t care.”
“Oh, Granddaddy.” She sat back down next to him, knowing he did care, very much. “You know you’re going to live to be a hundred. And one.”
He sighed. “I promised Penny I’d hold on until…well, never mind. You’ll plan that party for me, won’t you?”
She knew what he was holding on for—the next generation in a long line of generations. “I’ll give you a Glenn Miller party.” She patted his hand and got back up to look out the window when she heard a car door. “But don’t rush it, okay? I like having you around.”
A boat of a Buick had pulled into the driveway, which wasn’t that unusual since Granddaddy frequently had visitors. But most of them called first, and no one had contacted her about coming by today. She hoped it wasn’t some pushy tourist who wanted to see the inside of the house. It was enough that they stood on Ambrose Court and took pictures.
“Looks like you’ve got company. You up for a visitor?”
“Maybe. Who is it?”
She peered at a woman. “I don’t know this lady. Wait, she’s waiting for someone on the passenger side.”
“A lady, huh?” He pushed himself up, a smile pulling. “I could use a little company. You bring her up, and I’ll put my dentures in and show her my biting humor. Get it? Biting.”
“Got it, and sorry I didn’t say it first.” She helped him out of bed, got him in his robe and slippers, and led him to the bathroom before heading down to the entryway. The closer she got to the leaded-glass front door, the better she could see the shapes of two women. Then she heard a loud bark, followed by a low growl. Guests and dogs?
She pulled the door open and did a double take at the sight of the Irish grandmother she’d known since childhood. She inched back as two dachshunds, one extremely stout and brown, the other tan and frisky, darted at the door.
“Oh, I wasn’t expectin’ you, lass!” Finola Kilcannon adjusted her bifocals as if to get a better look at Evie, while the other woman tugged on leashes to hold the dogs back. “We assumed a nurse would answer the door.”
“It’s me, and what a nice surprise.” Evie reached out to give the tiny woman a hug, adding a smile to her friend, another octogenarian, though one who’d obviously worked
