“This looks cozy I suppose,” Jasmine smirked as she stepped out of her mother’s car and banged the door shut.
“Careful with the door!” she heard her mother yell out to her, but she had already run up the broken steps which led to the big wooden door. This door might have been rich brown and looked polished decades ago, but definitely didn’t any longer. She craned her neck up to get a good long view at the house and to her, it was marvelous. The white paint was peeling and had gray patches of damp in the corner, the bottle green painted wooden shutters had chunks missing from them and even from outside, Jasmine could smell the musty scent of locked up spaces.
“This is pure romance,” she sighed just as her mother reached her side, joining her in staring up at the house.
“Well, if anything it’s a dead romance,” Camilla said, pulling a key from her purse.
“I can’t imagine why this hasn’t sold yet. It doesn’t take a wild imagination to know how this place could potentially look if it’s repaired and looked after,” Jasmine was chirpy and excited. Her parents had never brought her to this house before as her mother rarely ever spoke about her grandfather, but finally this dilapidated place seemed to solidify her roots.
“My father didn’t have a very respected reputation around this town. It might have something to do with that,” her mother replied as they stepped in through the door together and entered a large hallway. There was very little light inside, and the few slivers that entered through the holes in the windows illuminated the thick films of dust that had settled on everything.
Jasmine breathed in. The smell was an odd combination of old books, decaying upholstery and the scent of the nearby beach. It was heavenly and stifling at the same time.
“Somebody should have taken care of this place,” her mother said as she walked across the hall, staring up at the chandelier that had too many broken or missing pieces to count as one anymore.
“We didn’t even know it existed,” Jasmine turned to watch the older woman walking slowly along the wall, staring up quietly at the faded paintings hanging on the patchy walls.
“What does that mean?” Jasmine asked, trying to sound as casual as possible. She knew how her mother hated curiosity.
“It means that our father bought this house and lived here with his mistress any chance he could get. We didn’t know it existed until he died and left it to us.” Her mother was surprisingly talkative today and Jasmine was finding all of it very hard to believe. It was overwhelming to hear so many words coming from her mother’s mouth that didn’t include censure of anything Jasmine did.
“Are you serious?” is all Jasmine could respond with and watched as an ironic, short laugh escaped her mother’s lips.
“As if this house was going to make any difference. He drank all his money away or gave it to that woman for all we know. And this house became more of a burden than a profitable inheritance,” Camilla continued. She was turning doorknobs, opening and then shutting the doors that surrounded the circular, central hall.
Jasmine stood silently in the middle of it all. She literally had no response. She was certain that anything she could possibly say to her mother would result in a fight.
“We never met her,” her mother continued, not even noticing Jasmine didn’t respond to her earlier statement. Jasmine thought she detected a hint of despair in her mother’s voice, but then it quickly changed to anger again.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I had no idea,” Jasmine said weakly, watching as her mother stood under the chandelier.
“I just want to get rid of this house and finally begin to move on,” she continued, letting out an exhausted sigh. “As long as this house remains with me, it will serve as a constant reminder of how terrible he was as a father.”
More than being surprised at the things her mother was saying, the fact that she was so willing to talk about her father and her own feelings, was what was new to Jasmine. She decided to pat her mother gently on her shoulder, but she quickly moved away and Jasmine let her hand drop back to her side.
“The last thing I want is a pity party. Now, help me make this house somewhat presentable,” her mother said with a sudden change in her voice. Jasmine looked around her and smiled.
“When was the last time you dusted anything, Mom?”
***
Jasmine wiped her brow as she ran a wet sponge over a large glass-top coffee table in the living room for the last time. She stood up from her hunched position and looked around her. The thick curtains had been dusted down, as had the carpets; while the sofas and chairs were covered with sheets of plastic. She and her mother had spent the last four hours dusting, cleaning, and wiping as many surfaces as they possibly could. The rest had to be covered or hidden. She knew that the house still didn’t come close to what might have been its former glory, but like her mother said, at least now it looked ‘presentable’.”
“I might go down to the beach for a bit,” Jasmine said when she met her mother in the hall again.
“Why? We have to prepare for the evening, Jasmine. Don’t go running off in the middle of this,” her mother glared at her, but Jasmine had already brushed past her and opened the front door, missing the look directly but feeling it boring into her back.
“The place is as clean as it can possibly be for the moment. I’m done,” she said and walked out of the house. She could hear her mother call out to her and remind her to be back as soon as possible.
It was evening by now, but the sun was still out and bright as Jasmine walked lazily down the driveway and onto the unkempt narrow trail which she assumed would lead her to the beach. She could smell the sea and hear the accompanying seagulls, a smile creeping across her face as they swooped down on the water. The humidity had made her curls poof up and added a few inches to her otherwise slight height. If nothing else, Jasmine was grateful that she’d worn a pair of white cotton shorts and a thin printed blouse. Anything else would have been enough to roast her immediately.