Chapter 16 - The House With Three Empty BedroomsThe first time I returned to Willow Crest after thirteen years, I couldn't make myself get out of the car.
Mason had parked directly in front of the iron gates.
Noah sat beside him, holding the property documents Elena had given us.
I stared through the windshield.
The house looked almost exactly as I remembered.
Cream-colored stone.
Tall windows.
A broad front porch supported by white columns.
The enormous oak tree spreading its branches over the backyard.
But the two little maples Caleb had planted for the twins were no longer little.
Their branches now rose above the garden fence.
"Mom?" Mason asked gently.
I blinked.
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize."
I studied the property.
"This is where you learned to walk."
Noah smiled.
"Before or after Mason learned to steal my toys?"
"Approximately the same week."
Mason turned off the engine.
"Come on. Let's go home."
Robert had vacated the property following the required legal process.
He hadn't made the transition pleasant.
Several rooms were left in disarray.
An expensive chandelier was missing from the dining room, and some decorative fixtures had been removed.
Elena had arranged for the condition of the property to be documented.
The missing items would be addressed through the appropriate inventory and legal proceedings.
But the house was still standing.
And for the first time since their parents' funeral, the twins had permission to enter without asking Robert.
Noah unlocked the front door.
The hinges gave a familiar little creak.
I remembered that sound.
Hannah used to complain that Caleb could manage multimillion-dollar construction projects but apparently couldn't oil a door hinge.
I stepped inside.
My breath caught.
The entryway opened into a high-ceilinged foyer.
Sunlight poured through the windows.
The staircase curved along the far wall.
For several seconds, I could almost hear the twins racing across the floor in their socks while Hannah warned them not to slide into the furniture.
"Mom?"
I turned.
Mason was watching me.
"Are you okay?"
I nodded.
"I think so."
He took my hand.
We walked through the house together.
The living room was enormous.
The kitchen had been renovated.
The formal dining area contained a table large enough to seat twelve people.
I looked at the kitchen counter and remembered the nights I'd eaten standing up because our apartment dining table was covered in the twins' homework.
Then Noah opened a door near the staircase.
"Look."
It was a small study.
Bookshelves lined two walls.
A desk stood beside the window.
And above the fireplace was a framed family photograph.
Caleb.
Hannah.
Two little boys.
I stopped.
Robert had removed so many things, yet somehow that photograph remained.
Mason approached it slowly.
"Dad."
He lifted the frame from the wall.
On the back, written in Hannah's handwriting, were the words:
Our favorite four people.
Noah frowned.
"Four?"
I smiled.
"She used to say Buddy was the fifth."
We laughed.
Then I cried.
Again.
Apparently, motherhood after fifty wasn't going to improve my emotional self-control.
Upstairs, Mason and Noah found their childhood bedrooms.
Mason's room still contained a faded blue border decorated with tiny airplanes.
Noah's had been converted into a guest room, but beneath a large wardrobe, we discovered a small yellow sticker shaped like a star.
Noah knelt.
"I put that there."
I stared at him.
"You remember?"
He nodded.
"Dad told me not to put stickers on the furniture, so I hid one where he couldn't see."
Mason laughed.
"Criminal mastermind."
We continued down the hallway.
There were three additional bedrooms.
One had been used by Robert as a private office.
Another was almost empty.
The largest guest bedroom faced the garden.
Mason opened its door.
"This one's yours."
I stopped.
"Mine?"
"Obviously."
I looked at him.
"Sweetheart, I thought you two would want to live here while you attend college."
"We do."
"Then I'll visit."
Noah crossed his arms.
"Wrong answer."
I laughed.
"What?"
"You're moving in."
I shook my head.
"Boys, you're adults. You don't need me following you everywhere."
Mason stepped closer.
"Mom, this house has five bedrooms."
"I noticed."
"There's plenty of room."
"That's not the point."
Noah leaned against the doorway.
"Remember when we were five and everybody decided we should live with you because Uncle Robert had important things to do?"
I nodded.
"Well," he said, "now we have important things to do."
"Like what?"
"College. Careers. Occasionally remembering to do laundry."
Mason smiled.
"And we want our family home to include our family."
I looked past them into the beautiful bedroom.
There were large windows overlooking the garden.
A walk-in closet.
A small sitting area.
More space than I'd had to myself in thirteen years.
"No," I whispered.
Both boys looked alarmed.
"No, as in you don't want it?" Noah asked.
"No, as in I refuse to take the biggest bedroom."
Mason grinned.
"Too late. We've already voted."
"That's not democracy."
"It's a two-thirds majority."
"Actually," Noah said, "it's unanimous among eligible sons."
I laughed so hard I started crying.
They wrapped their arms around me.
We stood in the doorway of that enormous bedroom for a long time.
And for the first time, I allowed myself to imagine a life where I wasn't constantly worried about the next bill.
Later that afternoon, Mason explored the study.
He'd inherited Caleb's fascination with old objects, and the built-in cabinets were apparently irresistible.
I heard him calling from downstairs.
"Mom! Noah! Come here!"
We hurried toward his voice.
He stood beside a narrow drawer beneath the desk.
Inside was an old wooden box.
Not expensive.
Not locked.
Just a simple box with a small brass plaque.
M & N.
Mason lifted the lid.
There were photographs.
Two tiny hospital bracelets.
A pair of blue knitted baby socks.
And a small digital storage device inside a protective envelope.
Noah picked up the socks.
"Those were ours?"
I nodded slowly.
"Hannah knitted them before you were born."
Mason examined the storage device.
"What is this?"
I shook my head.
"I don't know."
He carried it into the kitchen and connected it to his laptop.
A folder appeared.
The title read:
FOR MY BOYS, WHEN THEY'RE OLD ENOUGH.
Noah looked at me.
"Mom?"
Mason opened the folder.
A video file appeared on the screen.
Then, after thirteen years of silence, my brother Caleb's face filled the display.
And his familiar voice said:
May you like
"Hey, Mason. Hey, Noah. If you're watching this, it means you've finally grown into those ridiculously large shoes I keep buying you."
I sat down before my knees gave way.
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