I told Patrick the address to my grandmother's house. Veronica had told me she hadn't moved since I was young, but seeing as I was three last I was there, she texted me the address. I didn't plan on ever talking to her, it just felt nice to have her number. When we arrived at the house, I look at it. I didn't move to get out of the car.
"It looks exactly how I remember it," I said out loud. "I used to play with Jessie and Grandpa over by that swing set. And I would help Grandpa grill out in the summer. Although, I couldn't do much at such a young age. Jessie helped him a lot, though." Patrick placed a hand on my shoulder and I looked over at him. I got out of the car and Patrick went with me. The others thought it'd be a good idea if just Patrick went with me. I knocked on the familiar door and Grandma opened it. She let us inside without a word and we walked into the living room. She handed me a copy of Grandpa's will and I found my name. The living room was full of boxes.
"Find what you need and put it in an empty box," she said reluctantly. "Just hurry up and get away from here." I nodded and went through the boxes. There weren't any pictures of me and Jessie on the walls. Before Grandpa died, you would have found tons of pictures of us. Now, there were none.
"What did you do with all the pictures of me and Jessie Grandpa had?" I asked.
"They're in a box somewhere," she said. "Take them if you want. I was just going to burn them." I nodded and added those to the list of things I would take with me. I found everything Grandpa left me in his will and the pictures except for one thing.
"Where's Grandpa's guitar?" I asked. "He wanted me to have it, but I don't see it."
"Oh, I don't know," she said nastily. "Probably upstairs in the office where he kept it. I haven't gone through there yet. Nothing but the guitar, hear me?" I nodded. I led Patrick upstairs and went into the office. Grandpa's guitar hung on the wall where it always did.
"He played for us a lot, you know," I said to Patrick, taking the guitar off the wall and examining it. "This was his favorite possession of his. He always said he'd either leave it to me or Jessie, and when Jessie died, everyone knew he'd give it to me in his will. He sure did love this old thing."
"It's a beauty," Patrick said. I nodded, holding the guitar. I noticed a note slid into the strings of the neck. I took it out and slid it in my purse to read later. It did have my name written on the front in Grandpa's scrawled writing.
"Of all the things he owned, his guitar was the most important," I said. "He took such good care of it. We were all taught at young ages not to touch Grandpa's guitar. He always liked to have it in perfect condition. He loved to play for us. We lived off his lullabies."
"I'm glad we found it, then," Patrick smiled. "We should get going. Don't want to keep the guys waiting too long." I nodded and I made for the door. I picture on the desk caught my eye. It was of me, Grandpa, and Jessie. It was taken at a fair. I was on Grandpa's shoulders, laughing, with cotton candy stuck to my fingers and face. Grandpa was smiling, laughing almost. Jessie was laughing so hard, she was nearly on the ground. I couldn't remember what we thought was so funny, but it was a beautiful picture.
"I don't think she'll miss this," I said, picking up the picture frame. I gently took out the picture and set the frame down. I slipped the photo into my purse and picked the guitar back up. We walked downstairs and Patrick grabbed the box of Grandpa's things I had been left.
"And don't come back!" she called as she slammed the door behind us. I had a smile on my face, despite having just been to his funeral. I got in and lay the guitar gently across my lap, taking the box from Patrick and putting it between my feet on the floorboard. I ran my index finger gently across the smooth surface of the pure white guitar. There wasn't a smudge of dirt on it, but it was a little dusty after being there on the wall for god knows how long.
"Wow, that guitar is beautiful," Joe said, admiring it from the backseat.
"Isn't it?" I asked, simply in awe of actually being able to touch it. "It was Grandpa's pride and joy, aside from Jessie and I. He loved this guitar more than any other possession."
"And he left it to you?" Joe asked.
"Yeah, it's crazy," I said. "As a little kid, even if I was two or three, I always thought Jessie would get it when Grandpa passed. She wouldn't have let me touch it. She would have hung it on her wall and dusted it every other day. She wouldn't play it. She'd buy her own guitar to play. She'd get mad when I went in her room and tried to touch the guitar. She'd be so furious, we'd fight about it for weeks. When I was old enough, she'd help me buy my own guitar so she could teach me to play. Mine would be blue. Or purple. Never pink. I'd hate the color pink. Jessie would try to convince me to get black or white, something more neutral, but I would insist on blue or purple. She'd teach me to play songs Grandpa played. But, then she died, and I knew none of it would ever happen. I was sent away, and I knew I'd never hear another one of his songs again."
"It's okay, Lyra," Joe said. "Maybe you'll remember what it sounds like." Then I remembered the folded piece of paper with my name on it. I dug it out of my purse and opened it.
Dear Lyra,
If you're reading this, I've passed and you have obtained my guitar. I don't know how old you are now, but I hope you've adopted by a wonderful family. I'm sorry about what we did, sending you away. I didn't agree. I wished for you to stay with me. However, I'm sure you are doing well. On the back of my guitar is a small screw. If you unscrew it and lift the piece, you will find copies of all the songs I used to play for you. Complete with the lyrics I sang to you. I hope you like it, Nugget.
Love,
Grandpa
I felt tears brim my eyes and I wiped them away. I dug out the picture I'd taken from Grandpa's office and looked at it. We were all three so happy.
"What do you have there?" Joe asked, noticing the picture in my hands.
"Nothing, just a picture I found," I answered. I held it back so they could look at it. "That little girl who looks about eight or nine? That's Jessie. The man is my grandpa. And then that's me, sitting on his shoulders."
"You look happy," Pete said. "Like, truly happy. Not the happy we've seen on you. Happier."
"I was probably two when this picture was taken," I said. "Jessie would've been about nine."
"She was very pretty," Pete said.
"I know she was," I replied with a sad smile. I dug in my purse and pulled out the picture of me and Jessie I'd found in Grandpa's suit pocket. The creases were worn, so he'd probably kept it in the suit pocket for years. I smiled slightly at the picture. I was probably about nine months old or so, and Jessie was holding me on her hip. We were standing outside our house. "Hey, Patrick, can you turn down this street up here?" I asked suddenly. I wanted to see my old house.
"Yeah," Patrick said, slightly suspicious. He turned down the road.
"You'll turn right in about five houses," I said. He nodded and five houses later, he turned down the road I used to live on with my family. "Here!" I said as I saw the house. He turned into the driveway and I got out as soon as the car came to a stop. I ran up to the door and rang the doorbell. There was a car in the driveway. The door opened to a smiling woman.
"How may I help you?" she asked.
"Hi, my name is Lyra," I said. "I was in town for my grandfathers funeral. I used to live here with my parents when I was really little, before they died, and I was wondering if I could take a look around? If not, I'll be okay."
"Come on in," she smiled. I nodded my thanks and walked in the open door. "I'm sorry to hear about your grandfather and your parents."
"It's okay," I said with a small smile. "My parents died nearly eleven years ago, so it's nothing new. Thank you for letting me take a look around."
"Of course!" she said, smiling. "Take all the time you need!" I nodded and slowly walked around the house. She wasn't far behind me. I walked upstairs where the bedrooms were. I opened one of the doors, which led to where my parents' room was. Then I saw Jessie's room. It looked exactly the same. "Was this your room? We left it how it came because we couldn't think of anything to do with it."
"It was my sister's," I said. "She died with my parents."
"I'm so sorry," she said.
"It's okay, really," I smiled. "It's exactly how she left it all those years ago, minus the bed and toys and everything of course." I walked into another room, which was mine. It was exactly how I left it. Even a bed and toys and everything were put where my parents had kept them when I was little. I felt the tears slide down my cheeks.
"I'm guessing this room was yours?" she asked. I nodded.
"It's exactly how my parents had it when I was little," I said.
"My daughter sleeps in here," she said. "She's two and a half years old."
"That's about how old I was," I said with a smile. "Thank you for letting me look around. I'll get out of your hair." I made my way downstairs and opened the door. The woman smiled from the doorway as I left the house. After she closed the door, I looked back and held up the picture right next to the spot where it was taken. I was going to miss this place. But, I had my home with Patrick now, and I wouldn't ask for anywhere else.
I got back in the car and buckled my seat belt, setting the guitar back on my lap and putting the picture back in my purse.
"What was that all about?" Patrick asked as we pulled out of the driveway.
"That's where I used to live with Jessie and my parents," I said. "The woman who lives there now has a daughter who sleeps in my old room. It's exactly how I remember it. And Jessie's room is almost exactly the same."
"Well, I'm glad you got to see your old home while we in town," Patrick smiled. "But let's go home. I think we all deserve to rest after such an eventful day." I nodded in agreement and we drove home. I loved my family, and that would never change.