Claire pretended to sleep during the remainder of the trip to avoid any further awkward conversations with Ben. He eventually got off at a stop in Florence, about and hour and a half outside of Columbia. They said their goodbyes and Claire was just settling back into her seat when Ben, who was about halfway down the length of the bus, turned and started back towards her.
"Did you forget something?" Claire asked, glancing towards the seat he had been occupying. Her eyes searched the general area to see if something had rolled beneath the seat or been left behind but she didn't see anything but a few lost pennies stuck to the floor by some unknown goo.
"Sort of," he said, handing her a slip of paper. "I know we barely know each other, but I'll be in town for about a week. If you need anything, or get bored, just give me a call. Maybe we can have lunch, or dinner, or something."
Claire looked down at the paper and saw a phone number written in neat block writing across a Greyhound napkin. Before she could say anything, Ben turned and hurried off the bus. Claire's fingers tightened, leaving creases in the napkin as a feeling of unease crept over her.
She didn't want this, or rather, the responsibility that came with keeping it. Even if he himself admitted to their lack of familiarity, the paper in her hand suggested he was open to changing that.
Something Claire wanted no involvement in and by keeping the number, she felt like she was giving him hope.
She didn't think that was fair.
Claire loved Alek, no matter what doubts she might feel from time to time, and this brief encounter only served to strengthen that belief.
Claire watched as Ben climbed off the bus and retrieved his back. When he paused to wave at her from the sidewalk Claire rose to her feet and started down the aisle towards the door.
She'd simply apologize for any confusion or any mixed signals, and give the number back.
By the time she reached the sidewalk, however, Ben was gone and Claire didn't have time to try to hunt him down before her bus left. Sighing inwardly, she folded the napkin and tucked it into the back pocket of her jeans. Claire decided then that she would call him, one time, just to tell him that he shouldn't expect to hear from her again.
It was late afternoon when the bus rolled into the station in Columbia. This gave Claire just enough time to get to the lawyer's office before he closed for the day, then she had to make the hour drive out to the plantation house she hadn't seen in over five years.
She couldn't help but wonder how much had changed, and how much might have stayed the same. With a feeling of anxious anticipation, Claire waited as the driver pulled her suitcase from the storage bin under the bus.
The afternoon was unseasonably warm, or so she overhead a woman tell her companion as they wandered past. The lawyer's office was only a few blocks from the bus depot, so Claire decided to walk rather than call a cab.
Unlike New York, this part of the country didn't often see snow and, as a result, the sidewalks were clear of the gray sludge she was used to seeing back home.
The woman, Claire decided, had not been exaggerating. By the time she reached the end of the first street, Claire had shed both her parka and the sweater she'd been wearing beneath it. She stuffed them into her suitcase and continued on her way, a cool breeze sweeping across her bare arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.
Claire didn't mind, it reminded her of a place that seemed no more than a distant memory now.
Four blocks later Claire reached her destination. The office itself was located in a nondescript tan brick building with large plate glass windows still boasting holiday decor. Claire approached just as an older gentleman dressed in a coal black suit and bright green tie began locking up.
"Excuse me," she called as the man began to walk the other way.
He paused and turned to look towards her, a frown on his face.
"Can I help you, miss?" he asked impatiently.
"My name is Claire Belmont," she explained, suddenly feeling anxious. She recognized his voice from their conversation over the phone so she knew she was at the right place. Perhaps he had forgotten she was coming? "We spoke on the phone a few days ago?"
"Ah, Steven's granddaughter, I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow," the man replied, the frown twisting up into a bright smile. "I'm Foster Jacobs. It's nice to finally meet you. My condolences, young lady, your grandfather was an upstanding gentleman and he'll be greatly missed."
"Thank you," Claire replied quietly.
"I imagine you're here for this," he said as he dug around in the front pocket of his leather briefcase a minute before producing a thin brown envelope. "The keys," he explained, handing them over.
"Keys?" Claire questioned, not quite understanding. As far as she knew, there had only ever been one key to that old house, which was never a problem since the doors were rarely locked.
"There's some other paperwork, things that need signing to make the transfer of the deed and other assets all official," Jacobs continued, disregarding her question, "but we can take care of all of that in a few days. Go down there, take a look around, get some rest."
Claire nodded.
"Thank you, Mr. Jacobs," she said.
"Please, call me Foster," he insisted, offering a congenial smile. "Have a nice day, Miss Belmont. We'll speak soon."
Before Claire could say another word, the man was off down the street, whistling a familiar tune that Claire, in that moment, could not quite place.
Claire decided to wait until she got to the house before opening the envelope. The last thing she wanted was to lose one of the keys without knowing what it belonged to. She tucked the envelope into the front of her suitcase and began to short trek back to the bus terminal. She would need to rent a car if she expected to reach the plantation house before it got dark and she had seen a rental sign back at the depot.
Thirty minutes, and a ninety-seven dollars later, Claire was guiding a dark blue Camry out of the rental lot and onto the street, heading in the direction of the highway. The route was simple enough. She'd take 387 East for roughly thirty-five minutes before turning south onto 261 where she'd find herself in the quaint town of Pinewood. From there it was another thirty minutes out to the Cedar Grove Plantation where Claire had spent the latter part of her childhood growing up. The feelings that rose as a result were, for better or worse, mixed.
The sun was just beginning to set when she pulled onto Cedar Grove Lane, a wide dirt road lined up one side with a white split board fence and the other a thick forest of cedars and pines. As she neared the end of the road, she caught her first glimpse of the house she hadn't seen since she was seventeen years old.
It stood tall and graceful with its stately white columns and tall, white framed pane glass windows and dark green shutters. She angled the car onto the driveway which was shaded by the wide, expansive canopy of southern oaks, the branches dressed in long, sweeping tendrils of Spanish moss which swayed slowly in the gentle spring breeze.
Bringing the car to a stop, Claire simply stared up at the three story structure with a sense of growing trepidation and a nervousness that made her feel restless.
"It's just a house, Claire," she muttered in a weak attempt to cajole herself into action. In her heart she knew it was more than just a house, it was a place of memories, some good, some bad, and some she had no great desire to relive.
Discomfort finally drove her from the sanctuary the vehicle had become. She'd been traveling most of the day and her body was protesting the long bouts of sitting amongst other things. Claire didn't immediately make her way to the porch. Instead she took a moment to stretched her arms over her head, easing the tension from her back, before moving towards a narrow stone path that lead around the side of the house and into the backyard.
As she neared her destination she could almost hear the sound of her grandmother humming and dishes rattling as the older woman prepared dinner and she half expected to see her grandfather sitting on the back steps, whittling away at a bit of wood. He wasn't particularly good at it, but he had taken up the past time when he had quit smoking to appease her grandmother.
Beyond the house, silhouetted against the darkening sky, was a small orchard of apple trees. In another month or so the trees would be covered in tiny white blossoms and by summer the branches would be weighted down with apples. By fall they would be ready to pick, one of the few chores Claire had enjoyed, and there would be at least ten bushel baskets full by the time her grandmother had finished making pies, apple sauce, juicing them and even canning some for winter. These left over bushels her grandfather had taken to the farmer's market to sell and Claire had always gotten a portion of the profits which she squirreled away for a rainy day.
In the end, it was that same money that she used to runaway.
Frowning at the memory, Claire pushed it from her mind and turned back towards the house. Unlike the front which had been kept meticulously all the way down to the nails holding the floor boards in place, the back of the house was a bit neglected, in a rustic, picturesque kind of way. Some would call it quaint or charming even.
Here honeysuckle and ivy competed for dominance, covering two thirds of the back in a thick tangle of vines. Like the apple trees, once the spring warmth came and stayed, it would look as though a lush carpet of green had appeared overnight and the sweet scent of honeysuckles would fill the air.
It was here, at the back door, that Claire decided to creep back into the life she had all but abandoned. She felt like a thief as she quietly climbed the narrow cement stairs. A brief glance was offered to the lone, rusting bell that jutted out from the door frame. Her grandmother used to ring that bell when it came time to eat dinner. It's heavy clank, clank, clank, could be heard for miles, or so it had seemed when Claire was young. The rope used to pull it had long since deteriorated and even if it was still strung, the rust was so thick that Claire doubted the bell would ever ring again.
Drawing the screen door back open, the old hinges screeching in protest, Claire reached up and grasped the doorknob. She gave it a twist and, as she suspected, it turned without protest.
Her grandfather had almost never, if ever, locked the house up.
Unlike the screen door, the heavy wooden door swung open soundlessly admitting Claire into the mud room. Everything looked just as it had when she was young, down to the pegs on the wall where she'd hung her coat and book bag and the bench where she'd sit to wrestle off muddy snow boots or galoshes.
Beyond the mud room was the kitchen and in the growing darkness she could faintly make out the small wooden breakfast table and her grandmother's favorite kettle where it sat resting on the stove.
As Claire moved from one room into the next, she felt an overwhelming sense of unease sweep over her. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought it had been only a few weeks since she'd left rather than years.
Moving from the kitchen into the hallway, Claire paused and took a deep breath. The air didn't smell old or musty as she had expected. It felt strangely warm, inviting even, and a part of her would not have been surprised if her grandfather, or even her grandmother, had come walking in through the front door with an arm load of groceries.
It was almost as though she had somehow stepped back through time, as though she had returned to her childhood.
Such things were impossible though... right?
So are trains that appear in alleys and magic cards that are alive, but those are real too, she thought ruefully as she moved from the hallway into the family room.
It was here that Claire found herself jerked back to reality. She felt both disappointed and relieved as her gaze settled on a large, flat screen TV sitting on top of a fairly modern looking entertainment center. Gone was the large radio her grandfather had insisted he would keep forever, gone was the TV and the rabbit ears with their little tinfoil connector used in a vain effort to acquire a better signal, even the couch itself had been replaced though it was hardly what one would consider new.
"You're losing it, Claire," she muttered under her breath before dropping to a sitting position on the edge of the couch. She bounced a few times, testing it's construction. It was surprisingly comfortable and before she knew it, Claire was laying lengthwise across its plush surface, her eyes all but begging to be closed -- just for a minute. She hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in weeks and for the first time since she's left Oria, Claire felt a little less alone.