Chapter Twenty-Six

Michaela

 

The full-body relaxation that came with an orgasm was addictive. Hadn’t realized how much passive tension I carried until indulging in Lincoln’s talents. But this feeling needed to be managed like a productive prescription, not an illicit drug. I didn’t want to use him.

Which meant remembering my manners. I touched his arm. “Thank you, though. Maybe another day.”

He tossed me a smile. “It’s okay, really. I meant what I said about helping.”

We found a store and I picked up some average-size boxes, ones I’d be able to move when full, and bubble wrap for the breakables. Then returned to the house.

Abby was vacuuming the living room rug with headphones on and singing off key to Cyndi Lauper. A horrified look on his face, he ran to her and moved the headset off her ears.

“You’re back!” She flipped the switch on the vacuum.

“Cyndi Lauper, Mom? Really?”

“Hey, I don’t pick on the music of your youth. Did he behave himself, Michaela?”

“Well enough.” Don’t react, don’t react… “I picked up some boxes. I’m going to need a tour of what’s stored here before I go home.”

“Right! You’ll want to check out the basement. Your grandparents’ suite still has all the furniture and maybe some personal items, though Lord knows your—well, no sense rehashing that. I don’t know what’s in the closet in Harry’s office. He always said leave it to him.”

Lincoln turned to me. “Maybe start with the personal things you’ll want like photos.”

A decent idea.

“Anyway, we were discussing the house and he suggested a bed and breakfast. What do you think, Abby? Is that totally crazy? I wouldn’t know where to start.”

Her green eyes widened with excitement. “That could be a brilliant way to honor Harry’s generosity. You’d have to get city approval and licenses. We certainly have B&Bs in Williamsburg, but you’ll probably need permission for this neighborhood.”

“It has to help that it’s twelve acres,” he said. “There won’t be enough noise to bother the neighbors.”

“And we don’t have high tourist traffic year-round,” Abby added.

“Right, it’s summer and Christmas.”

My gaze ping-ponged between the Adams as they worked it out. “But since I won’t be living here, the most important part is that you and Thomas want to take on that much responsibility. I wouldn’t even want to attempt this—”

“I’ve already run the household. How much harder can it be?” she replied.

“Mom, there’s a difference between feeding and cleaning up after a few people and running a hotel.”

She waved off his caution. “Blackwell Manor has been full a time or two and it didn’t kill me. Do you think I care for this property by myself?” Her eyes shifted to me. “Michaela, if you think this is the best use of the place, we’ll figure it out. But Harry left everything to you because your choices would be made out of sense and heart, not greed, so there is no wrong answer and you don’t have to decide today.”

I hugged her. “Thank you. Your support means a lot. I can’t do much of anything until it’s all in my name, but it helps to have some ideas. It’s scary to have all this responsibility.”

She squeezed my hands. “Never forget, he was always proud of you.”

I nodded, firming my jaw to keep from misting up.

“Okay. Well, so I don’t feel completely unproductive, I’m going to start on Harry’s room.” I retrieved the pack of flattened boxes and bubble wrap from by the door.

“You’ll need tape and scissors.” Abby headed for the kitchen.

Lincoln moved close. “Do you want company? Or a second set of hands?”

“Do you know how to handle delicate objects?”

“Besides you?” He grinned at my eye-roll. “How about I pack his clothes for donation?”

“That’s acceptable.”

Abby came back with a roll of packing tape and pair of utility shears. “I can come up after I finish this rug.”

“Finish your routine. We’ve got it for now.”

There was only so long she could be around the two of us before she suspected.

He took the boxes from me, so I accepted the additions and led him upstairs.

Feeling his eyes on my ass as we climbed.

“No funny business,” I whispered at Harry’s door. “We’re on the down-low.”

“I remember.”

Entry into Harry’s suite brought all his scents rushing at me again, filling my nose with memories. I blinked my moistening eyes under control and set stuff on the bed.

First things first, build out the boxes. Some awkward folding, and then they were sturdy.

“Start on his closet and I’ll work on the bathroom.”

“Okay,” Lincoln replied.

Harry’s bathroom was the one place with natural wood cabinets. The red oak had a clear protective seal that let the original color and grain shine.

Must’ve been his pride and joy.

His cologne, aftershave, shaving implements, and comb sat on the marble counter next to the sink. He’d used an old-fashioned cream and reloadable razor, and a simple black plastic comb like you’d see at a barber shop. Personal toiletries would have to go in the trash, but I could maybe donate the untainted bottles of scents and shampoo?

Medications would be disposed of at a pharmacist.

Funny that he built two sinks into a room that would only serve one person, but aesthetics sometimes took precedence over function, and the bathroom was too big for a small vanity.

Did he think one day there might be a lady? I knew he dated some.

More lost opportunity.

If I did turn the house into a B&B, the master suites would be premium rooms.

Building in a symmetrical architectural style would end up handy forethought.

His comb and hair dryer and colognes went in one box, the towels aside. There was no reason to stock the unused bathrooms with clean towels while the house was empty, so Abby could return them to linen storage. The trash can under the sink was big enough for the personal stuff that couldn’t be reused, like his toothbrush.

I should get a large Ziploc for the pill bottles.

Harry was a simple old man, so it didn’t take long to empty the drawers and cabinets.

Lincoln had piled his clothes on the bed and was carefully folding the shirts. I paused in the doorway to watch. He’d started on the button-down shirts and laid the latest in the box.

Moira would probably propose to him on the spot. Her biggest turn-on with a guy was a willingness to be tidy. If a single man had a clean apartment and no maid? She melted.

We once debated what she’d be willing to overlook if the guy cleaned and she said she might even entertain a serial killer. Of course, she’d never, but—

“What’s that smile?” he asked.

“A memory. So, he cooks and he folds. Are you sure you’re not secretly gay?”

“Ha, ha. I’m not this meticulous at home, but Harry deserves calling upon all of Mom’s domestic lessons. I can iron them first if you want.”

“Not necessary.” The box was half full already.

I grabbed two empty ones and went to the dresser. The top drawer had watches and cufflinks and ties and tie tacks. Grandpa’s Army watch.

He served as an airplane mechanic in World War II. Legend had it, one of the flyboys gave him his pilot watch as a thank you for a lifesaving repair. I put the case in the keep box and opened another. Service medals, his and Harry’s. I kept the cufflinks with Harry’s initials and set the rest in the giveaway, then started packing the photos.

Mother could have any of only her and him, if she wanted. I’d set those aside for Friday if I found some. There used to be albums going back to before my grandparents had kids, so.

This really had to be intentional packing…things for me, things for others, things for donation…the next drawer held boxers. Oookaay, leaving that one for Abby.

Next drawer was socks.

Next were undershirts, short sleeve and long, then the next held old beat-up sweaters, the kind he wore for work when it was cold.

Whatever charity we chose would really get to help the needy.

Abby appeared in the open doorway. “I’d done laundry shortly before it happened.”

I smiled at her. “Thank you for taking such good care of him. It’s going to be easy for his clothes to find second homes.”

“I knew you’d want to make donations, so I’ve already reached out this week, and found a group that helps men get career training that’ll be happy to take the suits.”

“They’re still in the closet, Mom.”

I picked up the pile of ties. “We’ll want to keep these and the dress shirts and suits together.”

“I didn’t grab the dress shirts, yet,” Lincoln said at his box.

Harry had plenty of short- and long-sleeve cotton shirts and flannels.

I stepped into the closet with its custom organization—upper and lower bars for hanging stuff and shelves for shoes. It smelled like cedar. “Send the dress shoes with the suits, too,” I called. All good quality and well taken care of.

I draped his ties around the jacket hangers.

The flannels still hung on the casual side, along with a couple fishermen’s knit cardigans. I stroked the soft fabric, then removed a blue plaid from its hanger and put it on. The sleeves were too long, but it was otherwise comfy.

Then I spotted his driving cap for when he drove the convertible.

“Suits you,” Lincoln said. I spun around. “I finished my stack.”

I removed the cap. “If there’s room, put the undershirts in there, too.”

He stepped forward, out of sight of his mother. “It’s okay if you want to keep those,” he whispered. Then left me to resume packing.

He was right. I could keep anything that held memories.

I put the cap on again and faced the dressing mirror. Somehow, it went with my curls.

There were two hats of the same style: one black leather and one gray tweed. The flannels were all the same size from the same brand, so I could choose the colors I liked and donate the rest. I stared at the rack, then picked a black and gray plaid and the green flannel, then added the three shirts and caps to my box of photo frames.

The cardigans could go to charity. But there were a few cashmere sweaters, I guess for those occasions that weren’t quite formal enough for a suit. I moved those aside to reference the size with Abby in case they’d fit Lincoln’s father.

Harry’s slacks would be sent with the suit sets.

Now to box up his casual shoes and put that with the rest for Goodwill.

With six hands, we made quick work of organizing the personal effects, and having them here was easier on me emotionally than tackling it alone. For the first time, I felt like I could handle this process without being buried by it.

I didn’t have much of Jonny’s. One hoodie I never gave back.

He was going to move his stuff out of his grandparents’ house once we started living together. The Army gave me the folded flag at the funeral and Moira got it put in a protective case for me, along with his dog tags. She also boxed up the mementos of our dating life when I couldn’t bear to see the photos and letters without falling into depression again.

Our wedding rings were in my jewelry box.

His family kept the rest.

Handling Harry’s stuff on my terms? Maybe a bit of therapy.

My box of keepsakes went in my room and everything else went downstairs into Abby’s car. She’d do a drop-off soon.

I took the remaining packing supplies into the office.

It really was a suitable house for a B&B if that route was ahead. Harry mimicked the Georgian style of a house with symmetry. You entered into a foyer facing the staircase. On the left were the enclosed kitchen and formal dining room. On the right were his office and the library/study/den/whatever you wanted to call it over the decades. A powder room sat between them with the paneling hiding the entrance. But since the mansion was so large, if you walked past the staircase, you entered the living room with big multi-pane windows flanking a carved wood mantel that was his masterpiece.

The design came out of an actual 1700s book and he created the details by hand.

Upstairs were eight bedrooms with eight bathrooms. Grandma never wanted guests to have to share.

The entry to the basement was tucked under the staircase and down there was where the nod to history ended.

Lincoln rapped on the office door. “Need help in here?”

“I’m just boxing up the photos and stuff.” Wrapping the frames on Harry’s desk.

Lincoln sauntered in, casting his gaze around the room. “Never had a reason to come in here before. Who’s on the wall?” He pointed at the painting of a woman in a ‘60s elegant suit.

“My grandmother.”

He stepped closer to it. “Oh, I see it now. The blonde threw me off.”

“The dark hair is from my father.”

He turned from Grandma Vida. “I’ve only remembered Harry with gray hair.”

I handed him the frame holding child-me with my grandparents.

“You’re adorable,” he said, grinning. “Shirley Temple ringlets.”

“Mother wanted it short so it was controlled.” I rolled my eyes. “Length weighs the curls down. Hers doesn’t spiral, so short works, but I just looked like I was wearing a Brillo pad.”

He offered the frame back. “Ask Mom for the bowl cut pics if you want to feel better.”

I giggled. “Oh, man, I think every little boy with straight hair was cursed with that. What did you do in your teens?”

“Every stupid thing I thought was cool at the time.” He flopped on the sofa. “Including frosted tips.”

My jaw dropped. “No. Bleach?”

He spread his arms. “Stupid.” I laughed. He covered his face, wearing an embarrassed smile. “I went through a Green Day phase.”

“That’s it; I’m no longer attracted to you.”

“Hey.” He crossed the room with long strides, grabbed my waist, and grazed his teeth on my neck’s sensitive spot. “Say that again?”

“Quit it, the door’s open.”

A kiss there that made me suck in a breath, then he released me. “Dinner before or during the movie marathon?”

I’d forgotten about that plan. “You need to leave before your mom goes home tonight.”

His brows met in the middle. “Kicking me out?”

“No, I’m saying Abby can’t see you staying here when she ends her shift.”

“Ah. Then I’ll leave when Mom does. She and Dad always go to his faculty New Year’s Eve party, so I’ll hang out at home until they’re gone and swing back.”

I turned back to the desk. “Okay. I’ll make something healthy for myself tonight. I’ve eaten too much junk this week.”

“It doesn’t show,” he murmured, then walked away. The closet door caught his attention. “What’s in here?”

“No idea.”

He tried the knob. “Huh. Locked.”

I opened the center desk drawer and found the skeleton key. “Here.” The key turned smoothly, then the door swung open. Lincoln reached over my head to pull a chain for the light above. “Ah. Harry’s safe. I don’t have the combination.”

“Maybe the lawyer does.”

I closed up the closet like we found it. “Probably. Or it’s somewhere I haven’t looked.”

Table tops dealt with, I moved on to the desk drawers. The biggest was locked. I pulled Harry’s keys out of my pocket and found the one that didn’t fit a car or the house.

A file drawer.

File folders were labeled at the tops with titles like Insurance—all the important stuff.

“This is handy.”

Lincoln straightened from examining a ship in a bottle. “What’d you find?”

“Harry’s bills.” I’d already found his checkbook in another drawer.

“That is helpful. I know Mom pays out some of it from the house budget.”

“Good to know.” In the weeks ahead, we’d drill down into the nitty-gritty of the estate.

More mementos went into my room, then it was time to enter my grandparents’ old suite.

I often wondered what my life would’ve been like if they hadn’t died when I was still young. With a fortifying breath, I turned the doorknob.