had once been her father’s. Her legs were shaking and she couldn’t tell if it was from the relief of having finally arrived or the emotion of being back here after so many years. But where the other houses on the street seemed unchanged, her father’s house was a shadow of its former glory. The once white window shutters were now streaked with dirt. Where once they’d stood open, all of them were closed up, making the house look far less inviting than it used to. The grass of the sweeping lawn out front where Emily had spent endless summer days reading novels was surprisingly well kept and the small shrubs either side of the front door were trimmed. But the house itself; she understood the old man’s bemused expression now when she’d told him this was where she was heading. It looked so uncared for, so unloved, falling into disrepair. It made Emily sad to see how much the beautiful old house had decayed over the years.
“Nice house,” the old man said as he drew up beside her.
“Thanks,” Emily said, almost trancelike, with her eyes glued to the old building. Snow fluttered around her. “And thank you for getting me here in one piece,” she added.
“No problem,” the old man replied. “Are you really sure you want to stay here tonight?”
“I’m sure,” Emily replied, though really she was starting to worry that coming here had been a huge mistake.
“Let me help you with your bags,” the man said.
“No, no,” Emily replied. “Honestly, you’ve done enough. I can take it from here.” She rummaged in her pocket and found a crumpled bill. “Here, gas money.”
The man looked at the note then back up at her. “I’m not taking that,” he said, smiling kindly. “You keep your money. If you really want to pay me back, why don’t you come down to mine and Bertha’s some time during your stay and have some coffee and pie?”
Emily felt a lump form in her throat as she stashed the bill back in her pocket. This man’s kindness was a shock to the system after the hostility of New York.
“How long are you planning on staying here anyway?” he added as he handed her a little slip of paper with a phone number and address scrawled on it.
“Just the weekend,” Emily replied, taking the paper from him.
“Well, if you need anything, just give me a call. Or come to the gas station where I work. It’s by the convenience store. Can’t miss us.”
“Thank you,” Emily said again, with as much heartfelt gratitude as she could.
As soon as the noisy engine faded to nothing, the stillness descended over her again and Emily felt a sudden sense of peace. The snow was falling even more now, making the world as silent as silent could be.
Emily returned to her car and grabbed her stuff, then waddled up the pathway with her heavy suitcase in her arms, feeling emotion rising in her chest. When she reached the front door she paused, examining the familiar worn doorknob, remembering her hand turning it a hundred times over. Maybe coming here had been a good idea after all. Oddly, she couldn’t help but feel that she was exactly where she needed to be.
Emily stood in the dim hallway of her father’s old house, dust swirling around her, stupidly hoping for warmth but rubbing her shoulders against the cold. She didn’t know what she had been thinking. Had she really expected this old house, neglected for twenty years, to be waiting for her, heated?
She tried the light switch and found that nothing happened.
Of course, she realized. How stupid could she be? Did she expect the electricity to be on and running?
It hadn’t even occurred to her to bring a flashlight. She chided herself. As usual, she had been too hasty and had not taken a moment to plan ahead.
She placed her suitcase down then paced forward, the floorboards creaking beneath her feet; she ran her fingertips along the swirly wallpaper just like she’d done as a little girl. She could even see the smudges she’d made over the years through that very motion. She passed the staircase, a long, wide set of steps in dark wood. It was missing part of the banister but she couldn’t care less. Being back at the house felt beyond restorative.
She tried another light switch out of habit but again, no luck. Then she reached the door at the end of the hallway, which led into the kitchen, and pushed it open.
She gasped as a blast of freezing cold air hit her. She paced inside, the marble floor in the kitchen icy beneath her bare feet.
Emily tried turning the faucets in the sink but nothing happened. She chewed her lip in consternation. No heat, no electricity, no water. What else did the house have in store for her?
She paced around the house, looking for any switches or levers that might control the water, gas, and electricity. In the cupboard under the stairs she found a fuse box, but flicking the switches did nothing. The boiler, she remembered, was down in the basement – but the idea of going down there without any light to lead the way filled her with trepidation. She needed a flashlight or candle, but knew there’d be nothing of the sort in the abandoned house. Still, she checked the kitchen drawers just in case – but they were just full of cutlery.
Panic began to flutter in Emily’s chest and she willed herself to think. She cast her mind back to the times she and her family would spend at the house. She remembered the way her father used to arrange for oil to be delivered to heat the house during the winter months. It drove her mom crazy because it was so expensive and she thought heating an empty house was a waste of money. But Emily’s father had insisted the house needed to be kept warm to protect the pipes.
Emily realized she needed to get some oil delivered if she wanted the house to be warm. But without a signal on her cell phone, she had no idea how she would make that happen.
All at once, there came a knock at the door. It was a heavy, steady, considered knock, one that echoed all the way through the empty corridors.
Emily froze, feeling a jolt of anticipation in her chest. Who could be calling, at this hour, in this snow?
She left the kitchen and padded across the hallway floorboards, silent with her bare feet. Her hand hovered over the knob, and after a second’s hesitation, she managed to pull herself together and open the door.
Standing before her, wearing a plaid jacket, his dark, jaw-length hair peppered with snowflakes, stood a man who Emily couldn’t help but think resembled a lumberjack, or Little Red Riding Hood’s Huntsman. Not her usual type, but there was certainly beauty in his cool, blue eyes, in the stubble on his well-defined chin, and Emily was shocked by the power of her attraction toward him.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
The man squinted at her, as though sizing her up. “I’m Daniel,” he said. He held out his hand for her to shake. She took it, noting the sensation of the rough skin of his hands. “Who are you?”
“Emily,” she replied, suddenly aware of the sensation of her own heartbeat. “My father owns this house. I came for the weekend.”
Daniel’s squint intensified. “The landlord hasn’t been here in twenty years. Did you get permission to just drop by?”
His tone was rough, slightly hostile, and Emily recoiled.
“No,” she said, awkwardly, a little uncomfortable to be reminded of the most painful experience of her life – her father’s disappearance – while being taken aback by Daniel’s
