Three
Unfortunately, I wake up with the same headache. Not quite a migraine, but it’s there, and nothing seems to help make the stabbing go away.
Sam offers to smudge me.
I decline.
As I pack up my stuff for winter break, I mull over last night. How is it possible no one in the library heard the arrival and confrontation of Andrew’s father? I know old homes have thicker walls and better construction, but that doesn’t explain how their conversation and laughter stalled when Andrew got mad.
All the jokes about ghosts and haunted houses and secret passages aside, there’s something strange about the Winthrop house.
I shove my clothes and boots for the weekend into an oversized LL Bean canvas tote. The rest of my clothes are in my big suitcase and laundry bag. I’ll have an epic amount of laundry to do when I get home. Other than my laptop, I’m not bringing home as much as Sam, who still sits on top of her oversized suitcase while she forces more clothes into a duffel.
Thank goodness, because after packing all that, I need to lie down.
Andrew’s taking his final this morning and we have a couple of hours before we leave. I can lie here and softly moan in pain on my bed while Sam finishes her own packing.
She’s turned on the white twinkle lights we hung up to bring some holiday cheer to our room. I stare up at them, letting my eyes go unfocused as they widen and blur into larger globes of light.
“What do you know about Tate’s family? Other than the ancient history part and the giant house part?” I ask, shifting my eyes to her side of the room and the vintage Which Witch book cover poster she swears could be us.
“You mean parents, siblings, that sort of thing?”
“No, like the family as a whole. Who are the Winthrops?”
“They’re über wealthy, but there’s not a lot about any of the current ones online.” Her cheeks pinken. “Yes, I’ve looked. Beyond the basic social media accounts and a few photos from society events, they keep a low profile. Most of what comes up is about his great-great-great-great—I think that’s the right amount of greats—grandfather, the seventeenth-century governor.”
“Why do you think that is?” I ask.
“Old money. They live in a different world than the rest of us. Different rules and standards.”
“Like the Kennedys?”
Sam scoffs. “Compared to the Winthrops, the Kennedys are new money.”
“So no skeletons in the tabloids? Past scandals? Ugly divorces or bastard sons showing up to cause trouble?”
“None of that.” Sam shakes her head, sending her blond braids swaying. “Too WASPy for such things.”
“There must be some dirt.” I frown in frustration.
Andrew’s words about haunted houses return.
“Maybe they’re really good at magically hiding what they don’t want others to find out.” I let my doubt about magic turn into sarcasm.
“Could be.” Sam struggles to close the zipper on her bag. “How are we going to get all of our stuff in the car?”
* * *
Because of all of our bags, we end up driving two cars to my grandmother’s farm. Sam rides with Tate, and I’m riding shotgun with Andrew. My headache still lingers and I’m fighting against the urge to nap. We have the address programed in Andrew’s GPS and my road trip playlist queued on the stereo. My co-pilot duties are handled.
“You should sleep.” Andres brushes my hair from my face.
“It’s our first road trip. I don’t want to miss it.”
“We’re driving less than two hours and you know this route by heart. Have a nap. Maybe you’ll feel better when we arrive.”
I snuggle into my seat, wrapping my cozy cardigan around me tighter. “Wake me up if you get lost. Or stop for snacks.” I lean my head against the seat and give him a lazy smile as sleep drags me under.
“Madison, we’re here.” Andrew’s voice sounds muffled and far away.
“That’s impossible. I just closed my eyes like thirty seconds ago,” I mumble.
Warm fingers brush hair from my face. “It’s been over an hour. You passed out.”
“Was I drooling?” I will die if I was drooling in front of Andrew. Ugh, nothing less sexy than that. Wiping at my mouth, I notice the car is stopped near a stone fence.
“Not at all.” He presses a gentle kiss to the corner of my mouth.
“Are we really here?” I shift positions so I can peer out the window. Sure enough, the familiar long driveway and woods of the farm greet me. We’re pulled off from the road, but the house isn’t visible. The old wooden gate has been opened for our arrival.
“How’s the head?” He presses his soft lips to my temple.
I think about it for a second. “Better.”
There’s no throbbing or stabbing. Nothing.
“Must be all the fresh air of being in the country,” he says, despite the windows being rolled up and the car’s heater blasting recycled air.
His voice holds an uncertain edge. He almost sounds nervous.
I blink a few times to clear the sleep haze from my mind. “You okay?”
“Sure. Why?” His eyes flick to the darkening woods lining the narrow, unpaved drive.
“Nothing.”
Warm air from his exhale caresses my cheek. “It didn’t occur to me before now that I’m meeting your family today.”
“Having second thoughts? Is it too soon? I’ve met both your parents.” Now I sound nervous as my voice rises.
“Don’t remind me.” He presses his soft lips against mine. “And I’m not having second thoughts. This feels like an important moment. Like I should’ve brought candy or wine for your grandmother. I’m showing up empty handed.”
“You didn’t need to bring her an edible bribe. She’s going to love you, too.”
The too slips from my mouth and flutters around the inside of the car like an unwelcome moth in a closet.
“Let’s not overshoot our expectations. Some people find my brooding to be less than charming.”
I’m not sure if I’m thankful he ignores my awkward declaration or if it’s my expectations that need lowering.
“Shall we?” Shifting back into his seat, Andrew points through the back windshield. “Tate and Sam are behind us.”
I glance over my shoulder and see the pair of them chatting away in the front seat of Sam’s car.
“They probably won’t notice we’ve left them behind.”
Staring in the rearview mirror, Andrew taps his horn three times. The platonic friends jump apart like he’s buzzed their seats.
Laughing, I face forward.
As we pass the fieldstone wall flanking the gate, Andrew visibly shivers.
“Did a black cat walk down your spine?” I ask. “Gram says when you shiver and aren’t cold, that’s what happened.”
He lifts an eyebrow and shakes his head. “Check my sweater for paw prints.”
We park in front of the leaning barn, its wood faded and gray with age. The barn door’s halfway open to reveal the dark interior, the shadows thick in the fading afternoon light.
Perpendicular to the barn sits an eighteenth-century colonial farmhouse. Unlike the shabby barn, the house is painted crisp white. Black shutters flank each of the windows like slightly askew frames. A flagstone path leads to the front door, which stands open despite the chilly temperature today.
My grandmother stands halfway between the barn and the house, wiping her flour-coated hands on her apron, the front of which is stained with a combination of browns and reds. Grinning, she waves at us. “I heard the cars pull up. Welcome, welcome.”
“Someone’s been baking.” I state the obvious.
“I hope you’re hungry.” Gram smiles
Andrew squeezes my hand. “Starved.”
As soon as I round the car, Gram steps forward and wraps me in one of her hugs. The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg envelops me as she presses her hand against the back of my head. I remember being young when she towered over me. Now I stoop a little to hug her back.
“Your boyfriend is so handsome,” she whispers against my ear. Louder she says, “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.” My cheeks warm at her comment about Andrew. Reluctantly, I release her and look into her crinkled face. “You look beautiful.”
It’s easy to see the youthful beauty from the old photographs lining the hallway walls in spite of her wrinkles. My grandfather always called her a second looker because one look was never enough.
“Oh, please. I look more and more like one of those dried apple people.” She scrunches up her face and squints at me. “I’m lucky I can still go outside without the crows attacking me.”
Andrew’s deep laugh sounds from behind me.
I half turn to pull him forward to introduce him. “Gram, this is Andrew Wildes. My grandmother, Celeste.”
“The pleasure is all mine.” He greets her with a smile and a handshake.
She grins at him while patting my arm with her other hand. Andrew’s good breeding charms her. “Oh, you’re a keeper.”
Sam and Tate join us.
“Samantha.” Gram hugs her and then turns her attention to Tate. “And you must be the Winthrop.”
“The Winthrop?” I mouth at Andrew.
Shrugging, he observes my grandmother studying Tate while holding his hand in hers.
After a moment, things begin to feel awkward as the five of us stand in silence.
“It’s freezing out here,” Sam speaks first. She’s not wearing a sweater or coat over her T-shirt and leggings.
“Please come inside. I’ve got cocoa on the stove and cookies in the oven. You can warm up by the fire.” Gram tucks her hand around my elbow. “Drop the bags in the hall and we can sort out the sleeping arrangements later. Gentlemen, if you don’t mind, you can close the gate. Otherwise we’ll get all sorts of riff-raff knocking on the door trying to sell us vacuum cleaners and eternal salvation.”
I glance at Andrew as she leads me away. We haven’t discussed sharing a room. We’ve never spent the night together. Yet. Although, my room here has two old, and very creaky twin beds.
An embarrassed heat crawls up my neck. I sneak a peek at Andrew and he’s quietly whispering to Tate by the cars. Sam’s right behind me and rubbing her bare arms.
“Why didn’t you wear a sweater?” I ask her.
“The dorms are so overheated and I didn’t want to get sweaty in the car. I figured we’d go from dorm to car to house.”
We step inside the front door. Gram’s house is a classic center hall colonial. The stairs to the second floor line the right side of the entry and the four downstairs rooms branch off to the left and right in perfect symmetry.
In the back of the house, an addition contains the kitchen and a large family room with its enormous brick fireplace.
Sam makes a beeline for the warmth of the fire. With a sigh, she sits on the small stool Gram keeps next to the hearth.
A few minutes later, Andrew and Tate join us. Both wear confused expressions, and when I start to ask Andrew why, he interrupts me. “Later.”
Gram busies herself in the kitchen, ladling cocoa into mugs and arranging cookies on a large plate. “Madison, come help me carry this to the table.”
I join her in the simple kitchen. Over the years, the cabinets have been painted green, yellow, pale blue, and white. Copper pots hang from a rack over the restaurant style range. The butcher-block counter tops are dinged and scarred from years of use. In front of the sink, the finish on the wood floor has worn down, exposing bare wood. It’s the kitchen of a cook and one of my favorite places on the planet.
“Mrs. Bradbury, these smell wonderful.” Andrew steps beside me and steals a cookie from the tray. Closing his eyes, he moans as he chews on the gooey chocolate chip goodness.
“Chocolate is his favorite,” I explain.
“Somehow I knew that,” Gram says with a toothy grin.
Andrew inhales another cookie and a dollop of melted chocolate clings to the corner of his mouth. I lift my hand and swipe it with my index finger. Without thinking, I suck the tip of my finger into my mouth, savoring the sweetness.
Andrew’s eyes widen as he stares at me.
“What?” I ask innocently.
“I’d say for you two to get a room, but your grandmother might overhear me.” Sam bumps my hip as she picks up a mug of cocoa.
Tate snickers from the other side of the wide island.
My gaze bounces between Andrew’s surprised but amused face and my grandmother’s back where she stands at the sink, loudly humming.
“What?” I repeat myself, genuinely confused now.
“Nothing.” Andrew’s voice is strained.
I look to Sam for an explanation or help, but she only shrugs her shoulders. “You clearly love chocolate, too.”
More confused, I replay the last few minutes. It’s not like I actually licked Andrew’s face. I’d remember that. Probably for the rest of my life.
I chose a mug and a cookie, then settle into the corner of the long four cushion couch facing the fire.
Instead of joining me, Andrew stands frozen at the counter. “I’m going to call my mom. Let her know we arrived safely.”
He gestures at the French doors leading to the deck off the kitchen before stepping outside.
Sam joins me on my end of the couch and drinks from her mug
“Is it me, or are the guys acting strange?” I ask her.
She shifts, tucking her socked feet under her legs. “Not that I noticed. Tate’s always kind of quiet and he’s talkative compared to Andrew on a normal day.”
Sipping my cocoa, I try to brush aside my nerves. I’ve never brought a guy home from college before. That must be what’s causing my unease.