Chapter Forty-Six

Michaela

 

The first thing I spotted in the safe was a bundle of paper tied with ribbon. Harry mentioned saving everything in his video and here was the proof. Kept just as precious as Grandma’s jewelry—which sat in a proper velvet-covered box.

She wore the old-cut diamond flower studs in the painting on the wall. They sparkled in the morning sunlight now in spite of the less-than-ideal facets. Had they been her mother’s?

Grandmother’s?

The jewelry box held many gems from multiple eras, including an emerald right-hand ring she also wore in the portrait. The least fancy but most sentimental piece was her wedding set—a simple gold band and engagement ring with a small diamond.

They met after The War.

I loved that Grandma was raised in privilege but didn’t care. Her heart was greater than all the ease and comforts her family and a traditional match could provide, and of course, it turned out brilliantly, anyway. Grandpa built them a beautiful life that Harry continued.

If only both children could’ve made them proud.

“Good stuff?” Lincoln asked.

I nodded, remembering he was here. “Yes.”

On the next shelf down was an appraisal certificate for the jewelry collection for insurance. Then the deeds to all his properties.

I’d leave those here for now.

A leather holster had a pistol snapped into it. The leather felt and smelled vintage. I carefully removed the handgun. PROPERTY OF UNITED STATES and US ARMY were stamped on the side.

“Whoa, Mic—”

I checked the chamber for a round before turning my head to Lincoln, who stopped short. “It’s Grandpa’s World War II issue 1911.” I slid it back into the holster and returned it to the shelf. “Worried I’d shoot you?”

“Nope.” Uh-huh.

A thicker envelope on the bottom shelf held some cash. A just-in-case, maybe. I thumbed through the bills and they were all hundreds.

Long ago, the 1911 sat in Grandpa’s nightstand drawer and unbeknownst to anyone else in the house, he showed me all about it. As an airstrip mechanic, he never had to fire it in battle, but he wanted me to understand the men who did and why that war was important. With wide child eyes, I soaked up the history lesson, but as an adult, I was grateful he didn’t come home with the memories of horrors so many had to bury to return to normal life.

So many of Jonny’s contemporaries made it home, but not whole. The group of wives showed up for the funerals of those like him. I received casseroles and flowers, but I couldn’t return the favor. I hoped they understood. We were all going through hell.

The incident that killed him took the legs of one Army wife’s husband and permanently brain-damaged another. A third soldier had horrible burns.

Those are the easy ones to empathize with.

In the years since, we’d come to understand the invisible wounds of TBIs and PTS.

Shell shock, they called it once.

“It’s yours, sweetheart,” Lincoln said quietly, the envelope still in my hands. He didn’t know where my thoughts had wandered.

“I know. Logically. Doesn’t feel like it, yet, though.” I re-centered my mind on a breath.

“Of course. I can’t imagine handling my parents.” He shivered.

I smiled. “That should be a long way off.”

Then gathered the letters and jewelry to pack.

Good thing my return ticket was also first class. My bags were going to be stuffed.

On that last shelf was also an envelope addressed to me. I’d read the letter at home.

Safe closed, dial spun, and closet locked. “Let me secure this stuff, then we can figure out the rest of the day.”

He grinned. “I like the sound of that.”

Heading for the stairs, I glanced over my shoulder. “Behave.”

“I hadn’t taken that dirty, but I’m glad you did.”

Geesh. I started up the steps and he pinched my ass. I squeaked.

He chuckled naughtily as I sped up to put distance between my backside and his mischievous hands. Spending this week together, I could easily see him being the guy who still chases his wife around the house when they’re old and gray.

She just wasn’t likely to be me.

The jewelry and cash went into my carry-on, tucked between layers. Even flying first class, there was no way I was letting that bag out of my sight until I was home.

Then I found Abby dusting. “Are there personal items stored in the basement—photo albums, etcetera?” Grandma had the books on tables in the library while she lived.

“You haven’t gone rummaging, yet?” She closed a guestroom door.

I shook my head. “Got as far as putting the Christmas decorations away.”

Lincoln leaned against the railing, tapping on his phone.

Abby blocked his view with her duster. “If there are still unused boxes, bring them down to the basement.”

He tucked the phone in his pocket. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And put on shoes!”