Chapter 9 - Spring Cleaning
By April, the Pacific Northwest had erupted into a violent, gorgeous explosion of green.
The cherry blossoms along our street burst into clouds of pale pink, and the damp winter chill gave way to crisp, sun-drenched afternoons where the air smelled of wet earth and blossoming lilac.
Maisie and I spent our Saturdays turning the backyard into a wilderness of raised garden beds, soil bags, and wildly optimistic planting schedules. We had already planted rows of carrots, sugar snap peas, and three different varieties of tomatoes, guided by an old gardening book of Grandpa Jonathan’s that I had found tucked away in a box of childhood belongings.
"Mom! Look! A worm!" Maisie shouted, holding up a wriggling piece of earthworm on a trowel like it was the crown jewels of England.
"Fabulous worker, hire him immediately," I laughed, wiping potting soil off my forehead with the back of my gardening glove.
We were knee-deep in mulch when the front gate latch clicked open.
I stood up, dusting off my jeans, expecting the Amazon delivery driver or our neighbor Mrs. Gable bringing over extra zucchini bread.
Instead, standing at the edge of our front lawn, looking entirely out of place in a tailored linen suit that had seen better days, was Aunt Susan.
Susan was my father’s youngest sister—the family aunt who had always hovered on the periphery of holiday gatherings, smiling awkwardly whenever my father launched into one of his tactical cross-examinations at the dinner table. She had been sitting two seats away from my mother on Christmas Eve when the wineglass shattered.
"Leah?" Susan called out tentatively, taking a slow step onto the paved walkway. Her eyes scanned the restored craftsman home, the fresh paint, the bright window boxes, and finally landed on me with a mix of apprehension and quiet respect.
I crossed my arms over my chest, letting the garden trowel hang loosely in my right hand. "Aunt Susan. What are you doing here?"
Susan held up both hands in a placating gesture, her expression softening into something genuinely apologetic. "I know I’m the last person you expected to see, Leah. And I won't blame you if you tell me to turn around and walk right back to my car."
"Depends on why you're here, Susan," I replied, my voice steady and level.
Susan took a deep breath, stepping closer. "I’m not here on behalf of Arthur or Evelyn. In fact, they don't even know I tracked you down. I got your address from public property filings."
She reached into her designer leather handbag and pulled out a small, heavy rectangular package wrapped in brown kraft paper and tied with a simple twine bow.
"What is that?" I asked.
"After your grandfather died back in 2017," Susan said, her voice dropping into a softer, more reflective register, "your father took absolute control of his personal effects in the study. He threw out half of Jonathan’s notebooks, burned his old letters, and locked up anything he deemed 'useless sentimentality.'"
She stepped forward and gently placed the brown-paper package on the porch railing.
"Arthur missed one box," Susan continued. "It was pushed back behind the filing cabinets in the attic of the old house. I was helping clear out some storage last week—Evelyn finally had to sell off some of the extra furniture to help pay their mounting legal retainers—and I found this box with your name written on the inside flap in Jonathan’s own handwriting."
My throat tightened. I stared at the brown paper package.
"I thought about mailing it," Susan said quietly. "Then I decided I wanted to drive down here myself. Not to ask for favors, and not to plead your parents' case. Just to give you what should have been yours eight years ago."
She took a step back toward the gate, offering a faint, weary smile.
May you like
"You did the right thing on Christmas Eve, Leah. Every single one of us at that table was a coward for staying silent. I hope you and this wonderful little girl have the life your grandfather always wanted for you."
Before I could answer, Susan turned, walked back down the pathway, got into her sedan, and drove away without looking back.
