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Love Among the Lilacs

By Jenna Victoria

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She held the brass ring in her fingers at last.
A social worker once described Mollie's childhood as a merry-go-round, but it wasn't a compliment. Mollie's merry-go-round had chipped wooden horses that inflicted splinters and a calliope organ that played only unhappy tunes. The nightmare carnival ride of her youth had stopped spinning ten years ago. Now, at age twenty-eight, she finally claimed its metaphorical golden prize.
She tossed a throw pillow in the air and caught it mid-whirl. The flower-patterned square became her ballroom dance partner, and they waltzed together in a circle around the room. Mollie placed it back on the love seat and carefully smoothed away the wrinkles from the fabric.
Her own furniture. All second-hand, but the mortgage papers and deed she'd signed that morning were iron clad. Lilac Cottage and its contents belonged to her. Five years of driving a beat-up car, working overtime, skipping meals and eating Ramen noodles in bulk had yielded their reward. She owned a home.
Never look back.
Mollie had been terrified that some glitch would delay, or worse, prevent her from fastening the old set of skeleton keys to the special ring she'd bought way back when—when she'd first dreamed of a house no one could take away. Life did not often go in Mollie's favor, yet the entire real estate closing process had unfolded as seamlessly as a bolt of well-made silk.
For once, the carousel had stopped within arm's reach of that treasured brass ring, and she'd reached out and grabbed it tight.
If Lucille and Bryce could see her now...
No.
Never look back.
For a moment, she forgot her motto.
She practically skipped into the kitchen. The old double range still needed a lit match to work and was big enough to cook for a dozen, but she didn't mind. It represented a proper home.
Even a mundane task, such as preparing a cup of fresh brewed tea, seemed significant today. Mollie waited for the leaves to steep and considered menu ideas for her celebratory meal. She'd scoured yard sales for a selection of used cookbooks, and Mollie now admired their glossy spines where they sat ready to be sorted and shelved next to the pantry.
She pulled over a vintage church social cookbook. She could prepare roast chicken and new potatoes...
“Anybody home?”
Mollie jumped, splashing tea onto the table. She was not expecting any company. Other than her realtor, attorney and bank manager, every other person in Grady Cove remained a stranger.
She returned to the front room where she'd left the inner oak door open to catch the late May breeze. A petite, white-haired woman stood outside. She wore a crisp blue polyester pantsuit, frilly white blouse, and held a bouquet of flowers. Clearly this wasn’t a saleswoman, but her first visitor.
Mollie unfastened the screen door hook. “Can I help you, Ma'am?”
The woman smiled. “I'm Emily Rogers, dear, your closest neighbor to the left, and this is Juan and Maria Perez who live in the cottage beyond mine.”
She moved aside, and Mollie saw a plump, elderly couple standing on her walkway. They were dressed more informally, but each carried a covered dish.
“Buenas tardes, Señorita. Welcome to our Cottage Lane.” The man stepped forward and lifted a pan towards her. “Chili con carne. My most requested receta.”
“He means recipe.” Beside him, Maria offered a shy grin. “And I bring the corn bread.”
Flustered, Mollie held open the screen door with her elbow and took the man's dish. “I'm Mollie. Mollie Wright. I didn't expect...well, please come in.” She stepped back and let the trio enter.
Emily strode towards the kitchen as if she knew her way around. “What Juan did not say, Mollie, is that he and Maria own La Pancheta, the most delicious Mexican restaurant in Grady Cove. You are in for a treat.”
Juan followed Emily, with Maria and Mollie close behind. “Correction, Emily. It is the best Mexican restaurant in entire state of Nueva York.” He paused at the stove and shook the teapot. “Ah, tea. Exactly what we need.” He added more water at the sink then skillfully lit the flame from the nearby box of camp matches.
He, too, acted familiar with her kitchen.
Juan settled himself at the table as Maria put the corn bread down next to Emily's wrapped bouquet. She pulled mugs and tea bags from the cabinet while the other woman stepped into the pantry.
“Alma used to keep spare vases here on the top shelf...” Her voice floated out from the small alcove. “Here we are.” Emily emerged holding a cut crystal vase covered in dust. “I know she and Genevieve left things behind in the cottage when they moved last year.”
Her face softened, and the old woman's eyes glistened with tears. “Such a sad day.”
Emily turned and washed the container with brisk swipes of a damp sponge and filled it halfway with water.
Mollie stood in the kitchen entrance still holding the container of chili. Sad day? Was Emily referring to my buying Lilac Cottage? No, that didn't fit in with their cordial welcome.
I guess she means having to say goodbye to the two sisters who put the cottage up for sale, after living here for more than fifty years.
She pushed away a shiver of unease and placed the chili on an unlit stove burner. These three visitors were a mini tornado in action, but she liked them.
“So tell us about yourself, Mollie. Where are you from? What brings you to Grady Cove?”
Juan's swarthy face glowed with cheerfulness, and Mollie relaxed her tense shoulders. She wasn't being interrogated; they were simply acting neighborly.
“I'm from a small town near Buffalo.” The usual falsehood flowed easily from her lips now. At least she could be truthful about her job. “There wasn't much work there so I looked further afield. I'm the office manager in a family-run pharmacy in Mamaroneck. I do a little bit of everything--bookkeeping, order entry, sales, stock display and customer service. It lets the owners get away from the shop from time to time.”
“It sounds like you are an excellent problem solver,” Emily said.
Mollie looked down at the flowers. “I've never thought of it like that, but I guess you are right. I usually do work on a problem until it's solved.”
“That is rare today,” Maria said. “Getting responsible help at the restaurant is...how do you say? Impossible.”
Mollie removed crinkle wrap from the arrangement of Gerbera daisies, asters, and hot pink carnations then inhaled. A lovely welcoming gift, and what a sweet group of neighbors!
They, like Genevieve and Alma, co-owners of Lilac Cottage, had immediately accepted her. They didn't treat her with suspicion like others had most of her life.
This little group had spent a lot of time here in Lilac Cottage. Mollie let herself imagine upcoming summertime barbecues and friendly potlucks.
She took the vase from Emily and arranged the flowers. “I love crystal vases. When I put in the offer for the cottage, I said I would be glad to take anything the sisters didn't want. Less for them to clean out from a long distance.”
No need to add that her finances wouldn't stretch to buy new furniture and household goods with her down payment and accompanying monthly mortgage. Mollie would get by, but with barely two pennies to clink together.
“I figured as much. You unloaded precious few boxes and only a suitcase or two.” Emily sat at the table beside Juan and Maria. She must have caught Mollie's raised eyebrows because she leaned over and patted her hand. “We won't apologize for spying, my dear, because it's not idle curiosity. Cottage Lane is a short, rural street bordering a bend along Mountain Creek on one side, and not too far from an unpredictable New York coast on the other. There are only the four cottages, and we keep an eye out for one another.”
“Who lives in the far cottage?”
“Señor Walter Stevens. He visits his son in Florida now.” Maria stood, pulled out the last mismatched wooden chair and motioned for Mollie to sit. She uncovered the chili and ladled it into bowls. “Do not worry, Señorita. We give each other plenty of privacy. Today, we are here to greet you as new member of Grady Cove family.”
Mollie liked the sound of that. The Grady Cove family. Family that gave instead of took, or stole.
“And so, we are all here to say hello to you, Señorita Mollie, adiós to Genevieve and, of course, a heart wrenching goodbye to our dear friend Alma, may she rest in peace.” Juan made the sign of the cross as Maria tut-tutted in sympathy.
Alma's dead?
Cold tentacles moved from Mollie's feet to her head. Genevieve had not mentioned the death of her twin sister at the closing that morning. “Alma passed away? I'm so sorry to hear that. She was a gracious lady.”
Emily looked at her with concern. “I'm surprised the closing went forward, to be honest. I thought they co-owned the cottage. When I saw you move in, I realized I must have been mistaken. At some point, Alma must have signed over her half of Lilac Cottage to Genevieve alone.”
“When did she...” Mollie tried to get words out. “When, exactly, did it happen?”
“Late yesterday at Castlemere, the assisted living facility where they shared a two-bedroom unit. Genevieve had already arrived in Grady Cove to spend one last night in the cottage before the closing. It wasn't wise to drive two hours back to Poughkeepsie with the rain and dark and traffic at her age. And her great-nephew Sean, who lives in Grady Cove, is out of town on business.” Emily took a tissue out of the cuff of her jacket and dabbed her eyes.
Mollie gave her a weak smile. “They were co-owners, you are right. But no one said anything. Genevieve and her attorney had folder after folder of notarized papers. Now that I think of it, she did seem quiet, compared to her demeanor at our two previous meetings.”
Emily swallowed a spoonful of chili. “She told me last night she planned to leave immediately for Castlemere after the real estate appointment, instead of staying with Sean for a few days. I thought she was simply going to let them know of Alma's death and postpone the closing.”
Mollie's heartbeat skittered with nerves. “There were a lot of documents with legalese being passed back and forth. I'm sure they had it all in order.”
Juan jokingly demanded another bowl of chili, broke off a huge chunk of corn bread and held it out to her. “Eat, Mollie. I'm beginning to think you don't like my cooking.”
To be polite, Mollie took a small bite of the corn bread. It clung to her tongue like sand.
“It's delicious, Chef Perez.”
As conversation rose and fell around the kitchen, much of it about Alma's gardening skills and her generosity with bouquets of her prize-winning lilacs, Mollie’s anxiety grew.
Stop it. You're being silly. There were two lawyers there, and two realtors. Certainly, any change in the joint seller status would have been noted and adjusted before she'd arrived... wouldn't it? A fragrance of lilacs drifted in from the back garden. It reminded her of the small posy of lilacs she'd found on her bedside table earlier. The simple square card propped up against the stoneware jug stated, “Welcome, from Alma and Genevieve.” Despite her grief, Genevieve had paused to leave it for her.
The thought should have calmed her, but Mollie tightened her grip on the spoon holding an uneaten mouthful of chili.
Her mind flashed to memories of a different smell, that of rotting trash and urine. Would she ever forget? Mollie was suddenly nine years old again, rummaging for stale and expired food in grocery store dumpsters to feed herself and her younger half-brother. Nights living rough on the street with a mother who liked flirting and liquor a bit too much.
Well, maybe a lot too much.
It was Mollie, not Lucille, trying to keep one step ahead of bill collectors, eviction notices and the Kingston, New York, police department. Not to mention evading truant hunting Ulster County school authorities. She lost count of their middle-of-the-night escapes from one fleabag apartment to another.
When questioned, she picked a place near Buffalo as her fake hometown, because it was geographically as far west from Kingston you could get, and the city on Lake Erie was big enough to keep anyone looking for them extremely busy.
Mollie had left that chaotic life behind at eighteen.
Never look back.
Working, saving each cent she could, and sharing a bathroom in an inexpensive rooming house had gotten her the title to Lilac Cottage.
Mollie inhaled the lilac's perfume again and took another bite of chili So, this was what belonging felt like. Cozy chats with neighbors who came bearing gifts. Settling into a permanent home, holding onto a deed, a mortgage, and a set of keys.
No matter what, she would never, ever be homeless again.


Paul Tyler brushed away loose hairs with a whisk brush and, with a flourish, removed the vinyl cape covering Sean Grady's dress shirt.
Sean studied the wall mirror, examining the reflection that bounced off an oversized hand mirror the barber held behind his head. “Looks fine, as usual. Thanks for staying open on a Friday night. The next few days are going to be crazy.”
“Trimmed short in back, exactly how you like it.”
“Exactly how the aunts like it, you mean.” As his thoughts turned towards Aunt Alma, Sean's smile faded.
Paul put a hand on his shoulder. “My condolences for your loss. Alma was a special woman.”
Surprise pushed back grief. “How did you hear already? I got the call last night at my hotel. My deposition this morning with the plaintiffs in Manhattan went into overtime so I drove back later than I intended.”
“You know Grady Cove, Sean. News passes quicker than a smoke signal. I ate lunch with Carl from the Grady Gazette office. He's putting in a fine obituary. Genevieve stopped in with a few photos and reminded him to mention Alma's lilacs.”
Sean frowned. “Aunt Genevieve is in town? I tried calling the facility in Poughkeepsie, but there was no answer. I was heading up there to help her with arrangements and bring her back.”
“She was here as of this morning.” Paul rang up Sean's charges on an ancient cash register. “Too bad you can't call her mobile. I swear she's the only woman in Westchester County without a cell phone.”
He shook his head, took the bills Sean held out, and closed the drawer. “She says they're the handiwork of the devil.”
“Sometimes I agree with her, Paul... well, better stop at the office. I'll send over details of the funeral once they're settled for next week.”
“Give a shout if I can help.”
Sean let himself out of the barbershop and walked one block on Main Street to the Grady and Grady Law Office. He was glad his aunt was here. It saved him a trip. He'd been meaning to speak to the aunts about this cottage nonsense anyway. Now that Aunt Alma was gone, there were even more reasons to take the property off the market.
He checked his answering machine for messages. Nothing from Aunt Genevieve. He'd have to head over there in person. They only had each other now.
Not true.
He shrugged off that unwelcome thought.
The sooner Aunt Genevieve was back living at Lilac Cottage, the better he'd feel. This time, he wouldn't take no for an answer.

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