Page 76
Story: Better Than Revenge
Of course, I thought. The same reason over a thousand people had listened to the podcast. Why else did I think he’d want to come?
“Was that the wrong answer?” he asked when I didn’t say anything.
“No, it’s a very solid reason.” I smiled at him to sell it. “I’m glad so many people care about my grandma.”
“She’s a cool lady.”
“She is.”
Chapter
twenty-five
WE PARKED IN FRONT OFa bright blue house. Its lawn was a collection of wildflowers. Metal formations that could’ve been trash but also could’ve been art littered the yard. The front porch was full of mismatched pots that all housed dead or dying plants.
We stopped on the porch, and Theo turned to me with an encouraging look, making it obvious that he believed I should be the one to knock.
I did just that—gave three short knocks.
The door swung open, and a woman appeared. She had salt-and-pepper curly hair that was pulled into a ponytail on top of her head. She had the kind of tan leathery skin that told me she was probably a surfer herself or at least spent a lot of time on the beach. She wore coveralls splattered in paint. Was she a painter too?
“Hi,” I said. “I’m Finley Lucas. Charlotte Fox’s granddaughter.”
“Yes, hi. Let me show you out back to the shed. It’s a mess, but you’re welcome to take any surfboards you find in there.”
I wondered if she would be as willing to give up a surfboard if she knew that it was painted by Andrew Lancaster. I was probably supposed to tell her that was a possibility now, but my mouth wouldn’t open. I’d tell her if I actually found it. “Is your mom here? Can I ask her some questions?”
“My mom passed away last year. I’m still going through all her stuff. That’s why I’m here this weekend.”
My mouth opened, then shut, then opened again. “Oh. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“It’s been hard. But life is like that, isn’t it?”
I nodded, a knot forming in my stomach at the news.
“Follow me,” she said.
The storage shed was more of a large workshop. It was huge. One of those metal structures that could’ve easily fit two or three cars. When we reached the door, Alice turned to us with a cringe and said, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to wade through a lot of junk to see if there is anything real.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “We appreciate you letting us look at all.”
When she left, Theo faced me. “You okay?”
“What? Yeah, of course, this is exciting.”
He tilted his head like he didn’t believe me.
I did not want to discuss what the news of Cheryl’s death did to my insides. It wasn’t that Cheryl had died. It was sad, but I didn’t know her. It was that she was my grandma’s age. And now she no longer existed. Like Andrew. I didn’t want to think about that atall.
“Let’s go in,” I said.
He turned the handle to reveal the contents of the shed. There was furniture and boxes and tools and canvases and books all stacked haphazardly on top of each other nearly ceiling high.
“What are the odds we’ll find a surfboard in here?” I asked.
“Very low but not zero?” he said.
“What are the odds you’re going to want to help me at all in the future?”
“Was that the wrong answer?” he asked when I didn’t say anything.
“No, it’s a very solid reason.” I smiled at him to sell it. “I’m glad so many people care about my grandma.”
“She’s a cool lady.”
“She is.”
Chapter
twenty-five
WE PARKED IN FRONT OFa bright blue house. Its lawn was a collection of wildflowers. Metal formations that could’ve been trash but also could’ve been art littered the yard. The front porch was full of mismatched pots that all housed dead or dying plants.
We stopped on the porch, and Theo turned to me with an encouraging look, making it obvious that he believed I should be the one to knock.
I did just that—gave three short knocks.
The door swung open, and a woman appeared. She had salt-and-pepper curly hair that was pulled into a ponytail on top of her head. She had the kind of tan leathery skin that told me she was probably a surfer herself or at least spent a lot of time on the beach. She wore coveralls splattered in paint. Was she a painter too?
“Hi,” I said. “I’m Finley Lucas. Charlotte Fox’s granddaughter.”
“Yes, hi. Let me show you out back to the shed. It’s a mess, but you’re welcome to take any surfboards you find in there.”
I wondered if she would be as willing to give up a surfboard if she knew that it was painted by Andrew Lancaster. I was probably supposed to tell her that was a possibility now, but my mouth wouldn’t open. I’d tell her if I actually found it. “Is your mom here? Can I ask her some questions?”
“My mom passed away last year. I’m still going through all her stuff. That’s why I’m here this weekend.”
My mouth opened, then shut, then opened again. “Oh. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“It’s been hard. But life is like that, isn’t it?”
I nodded, a knot forming in my stomach at the news.
“Follow me,” she said.
The storage shed was more of a large workshop. It was huge. One of those metal structures that could’ve easily fit two or three cars. When we reached the door, Alice turned to us with a cringe and said, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to wade through a lot of junk to see if there is anything real.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “We appreciate you letting us look at all.”
When she left, Theo faced me. “You okay?”
“What? Yeah, of course, this is exciting.”
He tilted his head like he didn’t believe me.
I did not want to discuss what the news of Cheryl’s death did to my insides. It wasn’t that Cheryl had died. It was sad, but I didn’t know her. It was that she was my grandma’s age. And now she no longer existed. Like Andrew. I didn’t want to think about that atall.
“Let’s go in,” I said.
He turned the handle to reveal the contents of the shed. There was furniture and boxes and tools and canvases and books all stacked haphazardly on top of each other nearly ceiling high.
“What are the odds we’ll find a surfboard in here?” I asked.
“Very low but not zero?” he said.
“What are the odds you’re going to want to help me at all in the future?”
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