The guy at the convenience store was hot, but what a jackass. No amount of sexy facial hair and tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves makes up for being rude. What man doesn’t know better than to comment on what a girl is eating, I thought to myself as I chomped on a piece of licorice. Figures, though. I seemed to always attract the very good-looking, very douchey men of the world. As I shook my head, I reminded myself that I was here to do a job, not to get tangled up with anyone; particularly not some local from way the hell out there anyway.

I looked at the navigation system as I slowed down, realizing that I was about to arrive at my destination. Reality was setting in, and my heart started to beat quickly, causing me to take notice of my breathing, which was just short of hyperventilation. I was nervous. I’d reminded myself over and over that this was a business trip, but in my heart, I knew that it was also a bit of self discovery, in a way. Whether my grandmother wanted me in her life or anyone else’s, she was still my blood, and I was about to go into her house, go through her things, and uproot everything that was hers. A wave of sadness smothered my anxiety like a heavy blanket, and as I took a deep breath, I pulled down the long driveway to the house.

The driveway was about a quarter mile long, made of dirt, with barren farmland on either side, leading up to a giant farmhouse. It looked quite a bit bigger in person than I’d recalled from the pictures I had. No one had sent me pictures of the inside; that was still a mystery. The wraparound porch was weathered, and a porch swing was held up partially, with only one chain. The other had broken, something I made a mental note to check on and fix as soon as possible.Sitting on that porch swing to read at night seemed appealing. I’d parked right in front of the house, and as I sat with my hands still on the steering wheel, I let out a long sigh. It was time. I needed to get out of the car and go inside. Only, my feet wouldn’t move just yet.

Thinking about my dad, my grip on the steering wheel loosened. He’d want me to go into that house proudly. After all, nobody was there. It wasn’t like she was there to shun me, or send me away like she had before I was born. It was just me, and a house. My house, in fact. I owned that place, and had the paperwork to prove it. So, what was I so scared of?

The thing about history is that it’s always there. You can’t escape it. I didn’t know what was beyond that threshold, but I was certain it held some secrets. I took in one more deep breath, and opened the car door. It was time. The warm sunshine hit my face, heating my skin as I walked to the faded red door. The yellow paint on the wood siding was peeling, and the porch needed some attention. It had lost its shine, and the wood looked to be rotting in some places. As my brain began to calculate how much it was going to cost to repair everything on the outside alone, I slid my key into the old-fashioned lock on the front door.

As the tumbler grasped the pins in the key, my heart raced just a bit. The click of the bolt unlocking gave me a brief start before I pushed the door open. When I walked in, I couldn’t believe what I’d found.

The inside of the farmhouse was magnificent. It reminded me of the mansions you’d see in old movies, that had been abandoned. The furniture was all covered in dusty sheets, but from what was poking out, I could see that it was well-crafted, beautiful, antique furnishings. I stepped into the foyer, where a giant chandelier hung above me. It wasn’t out of place; in fact, it was the perfect mix of rustic and elegant, with brushed gold fixtures and tall faux candles. I continued to walk through the living room area, peeking under the untouched sheets, running my fingers along the smooth wood I found.

As I approached the couch, I decided that I needed a minute to formulate a plan. What I really needed was some time to absorb the moment; I wasn’t sure how to feel. It was a mix of apprehension, surprise, and awe of the beauty in the bones of that old house. Dramatically yanking the sheet off the large overstuffed couch like a magician pulling a tablecloth, a plume of dust filled the air, causing me to sneeze before I plopped down on the old-fashioned floral cushions. I pulled out my ponytail, running my hands through my long dark hair, while I took in the scene around me. The house had a totally open floor plan on the first level; I hadn’t even made it to the second floor yet.

I pulled out my phone and started to type up a list of things I needed to get. Cleaning supplies were first, and then whatever I needed to fix that porch swing would be next. I heaved myself off the couch to explore a bit more, noticing the craftsmanship of the pieces around me, and how each seemed more beautiful than the next, even though it all needed some love and attention. Shifting my thoughts back to my dad, I forced myself not to get too excited about the treasures I’d found. It all belonged to a woman who didn’t think that I deserved to be family. A woman who didn’t even know me.