For Now and Forever

She followed, silently grateful that he’d been able to read the loneliness in her eyes and had offered to remain, even if it was under the guise of starting a fire. She found Daniel in the living room, busy constructing a neat pile of kindling, coal, and logs in the fireplace. She was struck immediately with a memory of her father, of him crouched by the fireplace expertly creating fires, spending as much care and time over them as someone might a great work of art. She’d watched him make a thousand of them, and had always loved them. She found fires hypnotic and would spend hours stretched out on the rug before them, watching the orange and red flames dance, sitting for so long the heat would sting her face.

Emotion began to creep up Emily’s gullet, threatening to choke her. Thinking of her father, seeing so clearly the memory in her mind, made long suppressed tears well in her eyes. She didn’t want to cry in front of Daniel, didn’t want to look like a pathetic, helpless damsel. So she balled her emotions up inside and strode purposefully into the room.

“I actually know how to make a fire,” she said to Daniel.

“Oh, you do?” Daniel replied, looking up at her with a cocked eyebrow. “Be my guest.” He held out the matches.

Emily snatched them up and struck one alight, the little orange flame flickering in her fingers. The truth was, she’d only ever watched her father making fires; she herself had never actually made one. But she could see so vividly in her memory how to do it that she felt confident in her ability. So she knelt down and set fire to the bits of kindling Daniel had place at the bottom of the fireplace. In a matter of seconds the fire went up, making a familiar whomp that felt as comforting and nostalgic to her as anything else the great house contained. She felt very proud of herself as the flames began to grow. But instead of going up the chimney, black smoke started billowing into the room.

“SHIT!” Emily cried as plumes of smoke billowed around her.

Daniel started laughing. “Thought you said you knew how to make a fire,” he said, opening the flue. The plume of smoke was immediately sucked up into the chimney. “Ta-da,” he added with a grin.

As the smoke around them thinned out, Emily gave him a displeased look, too proud to thank him for the help she’d so clearly needed. But she was relieved to finally be warm. She felt her circulation kick in, and the warmth returned to her toes and nose. Her stiff fingers loosened.

In the firelight, the living room was illuminated and bathed in a soft, orange light. Emily could finally see all the old antique furniture her dad had filled the house with. She glanced around her at the shabby, uncared for items. The tall bookcase stood in one corner, once crammed full of books that she’d spent her endless summer days reading, now with just a few remaining. Then there was the old grand piano by the window. No doubt it would be out of tune by now, but once upon a time, her father would play her songs and she would sing along. Her father had taken such great pride in the house, and seeing it now, the glowing light revealing its unkempt state, upset her.

The two couches were covered with white sheets. Emily thought about removing them but knew it would cause a dust cloud. After the smoke cloud, she wasn’t sure her lungs could take it. And anyway, Daniel looked pretty cozy sitting on the floor beside the fireplace, so she just settled down beside him.

“So,” Daniel said, warming his hands against the fire. “We’ve got you some warmth at the very least. But there’s no electricity in the house and I’m guessing you didn’t think to pack a lantern or candle in that suitcase of yours.”

Emily shook her head. Her suitcase was filled with frivolous things, nothing useful, nothing she’d really need to get by here.

“Dad used to always have candles and matches,” she said. “He was always prepared. I suppose I expected there to still be a whole cupboard full, but after twenty years…”

She shut her mouth, suddenly aware of having articulated a memory of her father aloud. It wasn’t something she did often, usually keeping her feelings about him hidden deeply inside of her. The ease with which she’d spoken of him shocked her.

“We can just stay in here then,” Daniel said gently, as though recognizing that Emily was re-experiencing some painful memory. “There’s plenty of light to see by with the fire. Want some tea?”

Emily frowned. “Tea? How exactly are you going to do that without any electricity?”

Daniel smiled as though accepting some kind of challenge. “Watch and learn.”

He stood up and disappeared from the vast living room, returning a few minutes later with a small round pot that looked like a cauldron.

“What have you got there?” Emily asked, curious.

“Oh, just the best tea you’re ever going to drink,” he said, placing the cauldron over the flames. “You’ve never had tea ’til you’ve had fire-boiled tea.”

Emily watched him, the way the firelight danced off his features, accentuating them in a way that made him even more attractive. The way he was so focused on his task added to the appeal. Emily couldn’t help but marvel at his practicality, his resourcefulness.

“Here,” he said, handing her a cup and breaking through her reverie. He watched expectantly as she took the first sip.

“Oh, that’s really good,” Emily said, relieved, at last, to be banishing the cold from her bones.

Daniel started to laugh.

“What?” Emily challenged him.

“I just hadn’t seen you smile yet, is all,” he replied.

Emily looked away, feeling suddenly bashful. Daniel was about as far away from Ben as a man could be, and yet her attraction toward him was powerful. Maybe in another place, another time, she’d give in to her lust. She’d been with no one but Ben for seven years, after all, and she deserved some attention, some excitement.

But now wasn’t the right time. Not with everything going on, with her life in complete chaos and upheaval, and with the memories of her father swirling round in her mind. She felt that everywhere she looked, she could see the shadows of him; sitting on the sofa with a young Emily curled into his side, reading to her aloud; bursting in through the door beaming from ear to ear after discovering some precious antique at the flea market, then spending hours carefully cleaning it, restoring it to its former glory. Where were all the antiques now? All the figurines and artwork, the commemorative crockery and Civil War–era cutlery pieces? The house hadn’t stood still, frozen in time, like it had in her memory. Time had taken its toll on the property in a way she hadn’t even considered.

Another wave of grief crashed over Emily as she glanced around at the dusty, disheveled room that had once been brimming with life and laughter.

“How did this place get into this state?” she suddenly cried, unable to keep the accusatory tone out of her voice. She frowned. “I mean, you’re supposed to be taking care of it, aren’t you?”

Daniel flinched, as though taken aback by her sudden aggressiveness. Just moments earlier they’d shared a gentle, tender moment. Seconds later she was giving him a hard time. Daniel flashed her a cool stare. “I do my best. It’s a big house. There’s only one of me.”

“Sorry,” Emily said, immediately backtracking, not liking to be the cause of Daniel’s darkened expression one bit. “I didn’t mean to take a dig at you. I just mean…” She looked into her cup and swirled the tea leaves. “This place was like something out of a fairytale when I was a kid. It was so awe-inspiring, you know? So beautiful.” She looked up to see Daniel watching her intently. “It’s just sad to see it like this.”

“What were you expecting?” Daniel replied. “It’s been abandoned for twenty years.”

Emily looked away sadly. “I know. I guess I just wanted to imagine that it had been suspended in time.”

Suspended in time, like the image of her father that she had in her mind. He was still forty years old, never having aged a day, looking identical to the last time she’d seen him. But wherever he was, time would have affected him just like it had affected the house. Emily’s resolve to fix up the house over the weekend grew even stronger. She wanted nothing more than to restore the place, if only slightly, back to its old glory. Maybe in doing so, it would be like bringing her father back to her. She could do it in his honor.

Emily took her last sip of tea and set the cup down. “I should get to bed,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”

“Of course,” Daniel replied, standing. He moved quickly, waltzing out of the room and down the corridor toward the front door, leaving Emily to tag along behind. “Just call on me when you find yourself in trouble, okay?” he added. “I’m just in the carriage house over there.”

“I won’t need to,” Emily said indignantly. “I can do it myself.”

Daniel hauled open the front door, letting the bracing snow swirl inside. He hunkered down in his jacket, then looked back over his shoulder. “Pride won’t get you far in this place, Emily. There’s nothing wrong with asking for help.”

She wanted to shout something at him, to argue, to refute his claim that she was too proud, but instead she watched his back as he disappeared into the dark, swirling snow, unable to speak, her tongue completely tied.

Emily closed the door, shutting out the outside world and the fury of the blizzard. She was now completely alone. Light spilled into the hallway from the living room fire but wasn’t strong enough to reach up the stairs. She glanced up the long, wooden staircase as it disappeared into blackness. Unless she was prepared to sleep on one of the dusty couches, she would have to get the nerve to venture upstairs and into the pitch-blackness. She felt like a child again, scared of descending into the shadow-filled basement, inventing all kinds of monsters and ghouls that were waiting down there to get her. Only now she was a grown woman of thirty-five, too scared to go upstairs because she knew the sight of abandonment was worse than any ghoul her mind could create.

Instead, Emily went back into the living room to soak up the last of the warmth from the fire. There were still a few books on the bookshelf —The Secret Garden, Five Children, It– classics her father had read to her. But what of the rest? Where had her father’s belongings gone? They had disappeared into that unknown place just like her father had.

As the embers began to die, darkness settled in around her, matching her somber mood. She could put off the fatigue no longer; the time had come to climb the steps.

Just as she left the living room, she heard a strange scratching noise coming from the front door. Her first thought was some kind of wild creature sniffing around for scraps, but the noise was too precise, too considered.

Heart pounding, she padded along the hall on silent feet and drew up to the front door, pressing her ear against it. Whatever she thought she’d heard, it was gone now. All she could hear was the screaming wind. But something compelled her to open the door.

She pulled it open and saw that placed on the doorstep were candles, a lantern, and matches. Daniel must have come back and left them for her.

She snatched them up, grudgingly accepting his offer of help, her pride stung. But at the same time she was beyond grateful that there was someone looking out for her. She might have given up her life and run away to this place, but she wasn’t completely alone here.

Emily lit the lantern and finally felt brave enough to go upstairs. As the soft lantern light led her up the staircase, she took in the sight of the picture frames on the wall, the images inside them faded with time, the cobwebs strung across them covered in dust. Most of the pictures were watercolors of the local area – sailing boats on the ocean, evergreens in the national park – but one was a family portrait. She stopped, staring at the picture, looking at the image of herself as a little girl. She had completely forgotten about this picture, had confined it to some part of her memory and locked it away for twenty years.

Swallowing her emotion, she continued to climb the steps. The old stairs creaked loudly beneath her and she noticed that some of the steps had cracked. They were scuffed from years of footsteps and a memory struck her of running up and down these steps in her red T-bar shoes.

Up in the hallway the lantern light illuminated the long corridor – the numerous dark-oak wood doors, the floor-to-ceiling window at the end that was now boarded up. Her old bedroom was the last on the right, opposite the bathroom. She couldn’t bear the thought of looking in either room. Too many memories would be contained in her bedroom, too many for her to unleash right now. And she didn’t much fancy finding out what kind of creepy crawlies had made the bathroom their home over the years.

Instead, Emily stumbled along the corridor, weaving past the antique ornament case she’d stubbed her toe on countless times, and into her parents’ room.

In the lantern light, Emily could see how dusty the bed was, how moth-bitten the bedding had become over the years. The memory of the beautiful four-poster bed that her parents had shared shattered in her mind as she was confronted with the reality. Twenty years of abandonment had ravaged the room. The curtains were grimy and crumpled, hanging limply beside the boarded up windows. The wall sconces were thick with dust and cobwebs, looking like whole generations of spider families had made them home. A layer of thick dust had settled over everything, including the dressing table beside the window, the little stool her mother had sat upon many years ago as she’d lathered her face with lavender-scented cream in the vanity mirror.

Emily could see it all, all the memories she had buried over the years. She couldn’t help the tears from coming. All the emotions she’d felt over the last few days caught up with her, intensified by thoughts of her father, of the sudden shock of how much she missed him.

Outside, the sound of the blizzard intensified. Emily set the lantern down on the bedside table, sending a cloud of dust into the air as she did so, and readied herself for bed. The warmth of the fire hadn’t reached this far up and the room was bitingly cold as she removed her clothes. In her suitcase she found her silky camisole and realized it wasn’t going to be much use to her here; she would be better off with unflattering long johns and thick bed socks.

Emily pulled back the dusty crimson and gold patchwork cover then slid into the bed. She stared up at the ceiling for a moment, reflecting on everything that had happened over the last few days. Lonely, cold, and feeling helpless, she blew out the flame of the lantern, plunging herself into darkness, and cried herself to sleep.

Chapter Four

Emily woke early the next morning feeling disorientated. There was such little light coming into the room from the boarded-up windows, it took her a moment to realize where she was. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dimness, the room materialized around her, and she remembered – Sunset Harbor. Her father’s home.

A moment went by before she remembered that she was also jobless, homeless, and completely alone.

She dragged her weary body out of bed. The morning air was cold. Her appearance in the dusty vanity mirror alarmed her; her face was puffy from the tears she’d shed the night before, her skin drawn and pale. It suddenly occurred to her that she’d failed to eat sufficiently the previous day. The only thing she’d consumed the night before had been a cup of Daniel’s fire-brewed tea.

She hesitated momentarily beside the mirror, looking at her body reflected in the old, grimy glass while her mind played over the night before – of the warming fire, of her sitting by the hearth with Daniel drinking tea, Daniel mocking her inability to care for the house. She remembered the snow flecks in his hair when she’d first opened the door to him, and the way he’d retreated into the blizzard, disappearing into the inky black night as quickly as he’d come.

Her growling stomach dragged her out of her thoughts and back into the moment. She dressed quickly. The crumpled shirt she pulled on was far too thin for the cold air so she wrapped the dusty blanket from the bed around her shoulders. Then she left the bedroom and padded downstairs on bare feet.

Downstairs, all was silent. She peered through the frosted window in the front door and was astonished to see that although the storm had now stopped, snow was piled three feet high, turning the world outside into a smooth, still, endless whiteness. She had never seen that much snow in her life.

Emily could just make out the footprints of a bird as it had hopped around on the path outside, but other than that, nothing had been disturbed. It looked peaceful, but at the same time desolate, reminding Emily of her loneliness.

Realizing that venturing outside wasn’t an option, Emily decided to explore the house and see what, if anything, it might hold. The house had been so dark last night she hadn’t been able to look around too much, but now in the morning daylight the task was somewhat easier. She went into the kitchen first, driven instinctively by her grumbling stomach.

The kitchen was in more of a state than she’d realized when she’d wandered through here last night. The fridge – an original cream 1950s Prestcold her father had found during a yard sale one summer – wasn’t working. She tried to remember whether it ever had, or whether it had been another source of annoyance for her mother, another one of those bits of junk her dad had cluttered the old house up with. Emily had found her dad’s collections boring as a kid, but now she treasured those memories, clinging onto them as tightly as she could.

Inside the fridge Emily found nothing but a horrible smell. She shut it quickly, locking the door with the handle, before going over to the cupboards to look inside. Here she found an old can of corn, its label sun-bleached to the point of obscurity, and a bottle of malt vinegar. She briefly considered making some kind of meal out of the items but decided she wasn’t yet that desperate. The can opener was rusted completely closed anyway, so there’d be no way to get into the corn even if she was.

She went into the pantry next, where the washer and dryer were located. The room was dark, the small window covered with plywood like many of the others in the house. Emily pressed a button on the washer dryer but wasn’t surprised to find that it didn’t work. Growing increasingly frustrated with her situation, Emily decided to take action. She clambered up onto the sideboard and attempted to pry off a piece of plywood. It was harder to do than she’d expected, but she was determined. She pulled and pulled, using all the force in her arms. Finally, the board began to crack. Emily wrenched one last time and the plywood gave, coming away from the window entirely. The force was so great she fell back off the counter, the heavy board falling from her grasp and swinging toward the window. Emily heard the sound of the window smashing at the same time as she landed on a heap on the floor, winding herself.

Frigid air rushed into the pantry. Emily groaned and pulled herself up to sitting before checking her bruised body to make sure nothing was broken. Her back was sore and she rubbed it as she glanced up at the broken window letting in a weak stream of light. It frustrated Emily to realize that in attempting to solve a problem, she’d only made things worse for herself.

She took a deep breath and stood, then carefully picked up the piece of board from the sideboard where it had fallen. Bits of glass fell to the ground and smashed. Emily inspected the board and saw that the nails were completely bent. Even if she were able to find a hammer – something she strongly doubted – the nails would be too bent anyway. Then she saw that she’d managed to split the frame of the window while yanking the board off. The whole thing would need to be replaced.

Emily was far too cold to stand around in the pantry. Through the smashed window she was confronted by the same sight of endless white snow. She snatched her blanket up off the floor and secured it around her shoulders again, then left the pantry and headed into the living room. At least here she’d be able to light a fire and get some warmth into her bones.

In the living room, the comforting smell of burnt wood still lingered in the air. Emily crouched beside the fireplace and began stacking kindling and logs into a pyramid shape. This time, she remembered to open the flue, and was relieved when the first flame crackled to life.

She sat back on her heels and began to warm her cold hands. Then she noticed the pot that Daniel had brewed the tea in sitting next to the fireplace. She hadn’t tidied anything up, and the pot and mugs still lay where they’d left them the night before. Memories flashed in her mind of her and Daniel sharing the tea, chatting about the old house. Her stomach growled, reminding her of her hunger, and she decided to brew some tea just like Daniel had shown her, reasoning that it would stave off her hunger for a little while at least.

Just as she had finished setting the pot up over the fire, she heard the sound of her phone ringing from somewhere in the house. Though a familiar noise, it made her jump a mile to hear it now, echoing through the corridors. She’d given up on it when she realized she had no signal, so the sound of its ring was a surprise to her.

Emily leapt up, abandoning the tea, and followed the sound of her phone. She found it on the cabinet in the hallway. An unfamiliar number was calling her and she answered, somewhat bemused.

“Oh, um, hi,” the elderly male voice on the other end of the line said. “Are you the lady up at Fifteen West Street?” The line was bad and the man’s soft, hesitant voice was almost inaudible.

Emily frowned, confused by the call. “Yes. Who is this?”

“The name’s Eric. I, er, I deliver the oil to all the properties in the area. I heard you were staying at that old house so I thought I’d come over with a delivery. I mean, if you, uh, need it.”

Emily could hardly believe it. News had certainly gotten around the small community quickly. But wait; how had Eric gotten her cell number? Then she remembered Daniel looking at it the night before when she told him she had spotty service. He must have seen the number and memorized it, planning to give it to Eric. So much for being prideful, she could hardly contain her delight.

“Yes, that would be wonderful,” she replied. “When can you come?”

“Well,” the man replied in the same nervous, almost embarrassed-sounding voice. “I’m actually in the truck now heading over there.”

“You are?” Emily stammered, hardly believing her luck. She peered quickly at the time on her phone. It wasn’t even 8 a.m. yet. Either Eric got to work super early as a matter of course or he’d made the trip especially for her. She wondered whether the man who’d given her a lift last night had gotten in touch with the oil company on her behalf. Either it was him or… Daniel?

She put the thought out of her mind and returned her attention to her telephone conversation. “Will you be able to get here?” she asked. “There’s a lot of snow.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Eric said. “The truck can handle snow. Just make sure a pathway is clear to the pipe.”

Emily wracked her brain, trying to remember whether she’d seen a shovel anywhere in the house. “Okay, I’ll do my best. Thank you.”

The line went dead and Emily sprang into action. She raced back into the kitchen, checking each of the cupboards. There was nothing even close to what she needed, so she tried all the cupboards in the pantry, then on into the utility room. At last, she found a snow shovel propped up against the back door. Emily never thought she’d be so thrilled to see a shovel in all her life, but she grabbed hold of it like a lifeline. She was so excited about the shovel that she almost forgot to put any shoes on. But just as her hand hovered over the latch to open the back door, she saw her running sneakers sticking out of a bag she’d left there. She put them on quickly then yanked the door open, her precious shovel in her grasp.

Immediately, the depth and scale of the snowstorm became apparent to her. Looking out at the snow from her window had been one thing, but seeing it piled up three feet deep ahead of her like a wall of ice was another.