Story - Part 2 - AN UNEXPEXTED LETTER

layface down on my dresser drawer.
As if, it had every right to be here.
I eyed it warily, and the mere thought of openingit was enough to
raise goose bumps, making meshiver. Especially when I noticed the
stamp on it that marked the senders address: Denvers Drove, Colorado.
A small western country town house that sat in the middle of nowhere,
obscured by never-ending pine trees, and shrubbery, not to mention a
place where I'd once grew up, but leftin my past.
The very place where I'd spent most of my childhood memories,
andsomewhere I thought I'd forgotten for good.
At least, the bits where it involved my dad and my step mom. My stupid
stepmother was a lower class housewife whom lived off my fathers
estate profit. His hard work and money he put into it, went into all
her gambling debts and her alcoholic habits - which left no time for
me.
Her unfit status to be a 'mother' was what drove my grandmother to
snatch me off them and make a better life for me.I could only agree. I
hated the country lifestyle and all that prospers from it. It was
filthy, and smelly which was so not a place for a New Yorker.
That's what I was. Not some country townhousegirl that insists an
animal with four limbs could get you around more efficiently than my
BMW that sat in my driveway. Hell no!
But why was I getting mail from there? I'd told them I didn't want
anything to do with them. Of course, I'd gotten the impression that
the feeling was definitely mutual. A call. All it would've taken was a
call from him.
Not once…until now?
I swiped at my blonde bangs, sweeping it to one side so I could see it
better. My honey colored eyes reflected off the mirror—eyes that I'd
supposedly shared with my dad. I frowned.
What could be so important that they'd send me a letter? I'd never
received as much as a phone call, let alone a letter from Denvers
Drove. In fact, I got the feeling they didn't care too much about how
I was. Not much of what I remembered about him, just the fact that he
was always working.
Eyeing the note, gave me a sense of curiosity aboutwho it was from,
and what they'd have to say after eleven years of nothing.
Maybe it was from my father.
Maybe he'd changed his mind and regretted giving me up? I bit my lips,
casting my eyes around the huge expanseof my room, and settled on my
king-post bed.
Just give him a chance. One chance to get to know you.
Snatching up the envelope, I carefully tore off the top of it, and
fished out the folded note.
I expected the neat cursive writing to spark up a memory that I'd be
able to detect it as my father's hand, but for all Iknow, it could
have beenwritten from Santa Claus if it weren't for the nameat the
bottom. It read:
Dearest Willow,
I can't tell you how much I have missed you. If you are reading this,
then I have no such words to tell you how much. You may have learned
that I am no longer, and I'm sorry to have put this burden on your
shoulder.My only concern is for you. I leave in good faith that you
have it in your heart to forgive me.
The farmhouse estate is yours, as well as the company's profit it's
made so far. Everything from the cars, to the land is yours. My wish
for you is for a better life, I trust you fill it with great prudence.
Yours Truly
Henry Garrison II
I frowned, reading it over and over again, as ifthe letter would
actually make sense if I read it one last time.
He really died?
I must've been sitting there for hours, just staring at the paper. Not
paying attention to the words - just lost in a faraway gaze. Wondering
why my Grams hadn't told me that part of the story. Why we were
suddenly visiting that place.
And now I knew. He was gone.
I was startled, as I looked up to the sound of a rapping noise on my
door. It squeaked open a little, as my eyes settled on gray ones.
"Willow dear? We're ready when you are," my Grandmother Deirdre said softly.
Her silver hair wrapped up in a tight bun with a three-tooth comb
holding it up. It made herwrinkled face look like it pulled, but
I guess gravity was taking over. She ironed her hands down her pale
lavender dress skirt, with a slight smile flirting withher lips.
I scowled away from her so she couldn't see. That was the point right?
I wasn't ready at all.
"I'll be right out, Grams." My tone was flat, devoid of any emotion.
Her smilefaded, and she reluctantly nodded.
"And please, dear. Stop slouching, it's bad for your posture."
My expression hardened, as I sat up with my shoulders high.
"Yes, Grams," I said blearily. I'd been taught how to not show my
emotions, especially in front of my grandmother.Crying was an emotion
that was equilibrium to aplague. At least, that's what Grams always
says. It was at least one emotion I'd learnt how tocontrol--to mask.
But thatstill never made the hollow feeling inside anybetter.
"Be right out, just puttingthe last of my shoe collection in my bags."
I held up another of my Jimmy Choo shoes and stuffed them in my pink
Louis Vuitton bag. One of six. I kept a straight face.
"Good. Now what's the number one rule we know about Denvers?"
I groaned inwardly, meeting her level stare. "Don't go wandering in
the woods, because the big bad "wolf" will strike," I said, in an
exasperated tone. I rolledmy eyes at my Grams' superstitions.
She believed wolves disguised as humans existed in the outskirts
ofDenvers Drove, rabid animals that ripped families apart. She still
claims that's how she got her scar on the side of her ear. Now I'd
have believed her if she'd said 'a wolf bit her', but she went a step
too far and added 'that changes to a human'. I'd humored her by saying
I had believed her.
However, on a serious note, I think she was just getting too old, and
read too many books. If it weren't for any of the above, I'd say she
was a near miss from being crazy.
She nodded, a little proud at that.
"We're leaving in five," she stated finally, before disappearing out
of the door.
I sighed and looked around my massive room,taking in every detail –
from the silky sheets, right down to the expensive Italian suede
furniture. I was definitelycoming back to this, that's why I refused
to pack all my belongings.
I intended on coming back.
---
WE ARRIVED IN COLORADO around the afternoon.
The plane ride was uneventful and boring asto be expected, and any
minute I stayed cooped up in this rodent infestedcarriage, I was going
to hurl.
God, why these hill-Billy locals insist on getting around with
medieval transport is a mystery even to me. It was rocky, and bumpy
and really annoying.
My blanket kept shifting underneath me, making my cashmere jacket skim
against the filthy chair. I was bitching and moaning, and I really
would kill to go back to my sanctuary.
Where Italian architecture was my safe haven, and my room was heaven.
But I had to remind myself that we were here for a funeral. That's it.
We turned off into a dirt road, and came up to a gate with a big sign
that sat askew: PRIVATE PROPERTY—and underneath it—Denvers Drove.
I caught myself smiling a bit, because I'd been the one who hit a rock
at it when I'd been playing with Satchel. He'd dared me to play, of
course I nearly refused...until he raised the stakes and saidhe'd do
all my chores for a week.
He thought I didn't have the guts, but I showed him, and I was
definitely freed from chores all week.
"Willow dear, you need to come help with the bags." Grams said from
beside me. I didn't even notice the carriage had stopped. I groaned.
Where was our maids when you needed them?
I looked out over the vaststretch of land that covered the estate.
This was going to be hell. I looked over at the farmhouse. Typical. It
wasn't big enough to fit my room in it, let alone all my stuff. It
looked like a cottage that needed repairs from extreme makeover team.
I jumpedwhen a males hand reached out to me.
"You look like you need some help," he said underneath his hat.
A scraggy boy that looked a lot older than I did. Maybe seventeen or
eighteen I wasn't sure.
He wore an off-white shirt, with chocolate suspenders, and steel
capboots to complete his ensemble.
His hair tousled at the edges that hid his eyes a little, but his body
was something worth lookingat. The cowboy hat didn'thelp, it hid his
face.
I grimaced at how dirty he was, though. And sweaty. He looked like
hecame straight from the dirt.
I retracted my hands away from his.
"Not from you, your nails are filthy." I whacked his hands away and
climbed out myself.
He cocked an eyebrow asI struggled to get out. He seemed amused at it
too. I wanted to slap him one.
To my horror, my jacket unfortunately caught in the door and I nearly
went face first into the dirt. Instead, I caught on to his shirt and
bumped my head into his chest to regain my balance.
He caught me with grace.I was sure my face went red, but I shook it off.
The obnoxious boy had the nerve to chuckle."Not quite what I was
offering, I guess you needed more than help."
I scowled. "Get your hands off me!" I muttered through my teeth.
He rolled his eyes. "I'm not the one with the 'hands on' action," he
relented eyeing my clenched fists in his shirt. I followed his eyes to
where my fist curled into his chest and immediately let go. Eek! I
recovered soon after andpatted my jacket down, as if I had dirt on me.
I glared. "Well, now that you're here. There's a couple of bags in the
trunk. Make yourself useful," I demanded of him and marched up toward
the house.
I could've sworn I heard him say, "you've completely changed", butI
ignored the comment asmy heels dug into the gritty surface and
walkedaway from him.