Andy rested her head against the car's passenger side door, listening to the slow crawl of the car over gravel. The house that she'd seen them approaching from far up the long drive was now right in front of her. A large porch wrapped around the worn white house and faded red shutters bracketed every window. There was a gazebo somewhere back there by the brook next to the house, Andy remembered, old and creaky, but built to hold strong. It was a large sum of land, though the overgrown forest behind it probably skewed property lines.

It was all familiar and at the same time disturbingly foreign. It had to have been at least ten years since Andy was last on this property, and she had had no intention of returning. And now she had no choice.

The drive from Toronto had been long and awkward, polite conversation was made between Andy and her grandmother, but their lack of knowledge concerning one another stifled things quickly. It was a silent understanding that they'd quit their efforts and enjoy the rest of the drive in silence.

But now there was no more waiting to be done. They had arrived.

The sentence that Andy was to spend a summer out of the city with her estranged grandmother was really going to be carried out. She gave her dad only a passing thought that she quickly admonished herself for worrying in that split second. He sent her here, he stabbed her in the back. He wouldn't occupy another thought this summer.

Ruth had already unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door before Andy had even pulled herself upright and was moving around the car to get Andy's things out of the trunk.

Andy lethargically pulled herself out, closing the car door gently, and walked to where her grandma stood, hauling out the two large duffel bags.

The fresh country air, specifically the perfume from the cedar trees, comforted Andy quickly. Overcast made the day seem a little more ominous than she'd like, but at least it was cool. The smell of recent rain and the early morning spring mist still warming off made the whole lot look a lot more magical than she remembered.

She thought of when she was five and had been chasing her cousin, barefoot, across the brook and back and would somehow end up with sap between her toes. Ruth would have her climb up onto the porch swing with her and would carefully take it off with a q-tip and ointment, not allowing her inside until it was all gone. Andy remembered it tickling, a lot.

Ruth is not an old woman, not in heart, spirit or mind. Not even physically, really. At seventy five she still manages to ride her bike, do light jogging, and keeps up with her academia - constantly reading journals and research.

So when Andy tried to grab her own luggage and her grandmother batted at her hands to take them herself, Andy didn't protest.

Ruth's hair had turned silver already, but evenly so and it was still thick and full. Her chosen style was to have it pulled back into a ponytail that resembled Andy's and her grandmothers red flannel jacket made her wonder if they'd been closer than she could remember. From what she could tell from the music chosen for the drive and the way Ruth carried herself, she wondered why she felt more akin to this woman than her mother, Ruth's daughter. If not for the woman's faint accent from her home land of Nottingham, she'd think she herself might be a younger carbon copy.

"I've got this Love, you're the guest, now go on up there and unlock the door." She said, handing over the keychain.

Andy hovered for only a moment before walking the hundred yards or so to the porch stairs, heading up languidly, taking a look at the front lawn, the porch...

On the side of the house nearest to kitchen and kitchen door, she noticed a small building structure of some kind. The beams and wood all looked quite new, and she noticed that there was a table with a bench saw, clamps and a tool kit next to it. She walked along the porch, towards it all, and noted the empty glass and hand towel resting on the porch near the side steps.

But before she could give it any more thought or guess as to what it might be, Ruth was calling her back.

"Andy, the door."

Andy went to her grandmother's aid, sticking the key in the lock quickly, twisting the knob then stepping ou tof the way to allow Ruth inside.

"Alright, follow me, your room is on the ground floor, Dear."

She noticed the use of pet names in the few hours they'd spent together so far. Dear, love, darling... all of which were out of character, really. People change, but not this much.

Her grandmother had moxy. She wasn't 'behind the times' and she prided herself on that. She was the kind of woman who didn't put up with unnecessary whining or complaining. She was the kind of grandmother who chopped her own fire wood, and had the kids carry it to the wood pile behind the house. She gave the 'in my day we walked ten miles in the snow to get to school' speech.

Ruth Elizabeth Wilson, widowed at thirty five, tough as nails, confusing as all hell. The woman in front of Andy was as much a stranger as she expected, but more distant than she'd secretly hoped.

Andy followed her, not too far behind and not too close, as she led her through the living room to the back of the house. The kitchen was to the right of the house's entrance and was large enough that it and its open concept dining room took up that whole side of the lower level. Andy's room was right next to it, with a view of the unfinished structure.

They entered the bedroom together, and Andy noticed that it was the room she always stayed in when they visited. Her parents stayed in the guest room upstairs, but this room was hers. Lilac walls painted just for her (it was her favourite colour for a time), a couple of stuffies that she hadn't minded leaving behind on the bed, a small vanity table in the corner that she used to sit at while Ruth brushed her hair and let her play with her clip on earrings...

It was like walking right into a wall how quickly and vividly things came back to her, just being there.

She watched as her grandmother placed her bags on the bed and made herway over to the window, opening it up, remove some of the stale air. And then she moved to the room's thermostat, turning it off.

"All the bedrooms have their own thermostats, Love, just turn the dial till you hear the click. And there's the attached bathroom, from just over there. I had the hallway entrance sealed, so it's private. Your own. There are fresh towels in there, and uh, I didn't know what brand of shampoo you prefer so I was waiting to make a trip to the store, and I have errands to run anyhow, this... afternoon..."

Ruth's rambling slowed when she noticed she didn't have her granddaughter's attention while she took a turn about the room.

Andy picked up and inspected a badly crocheted blanket that was strewn across the bed, and stroked her thumbs over the loose stitches. The green yarn felt familiar beneath her finger tips and she held it closer to her chest, breathing in the familiar scent that she couldn't place.

Tossing it back to where it was, she places her hands in her jacket pockets, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.

"I'm going to head to the store now, run a few other errands. Why don't you have a rest, check out the house? You have free roam." Ruth mentions, leaning in the door frame, watching Andy like a hawk.

"Sure. Sounds good." She nods, speaking for the first time in hours.

"Alright, I'll be an hour or so. If you get hungry, there's plenty in the fridge."

Andy sat on the edge of the bed, blowing out a breath as Ruth turned and left her. Falling backward, feeling the emptiness of the giant house (a house she associated with laughter and chaos) she realized this may be the longest summer of her life.

She dozed off there, wrapped around the blanket in the foetal position. She wasn't sure how long she'd been like that, but she woke up shivering and realized a gust of wind had picked up and blown in through her window. She hated napping with a passion. She didn't like waking up disoriented with a sour taste in her mouth, she never saw the appeal. So after a long and regretful groan, she lifted herself up off the bed and slammed the window shut. That'll show it.

But the damage had been done, the room was cold, so she slid over to the thermostat, turning that back up as well.

She scratched her shirt covering her stomach and ran a hand through her hair. Uselessly, she tried to smooth out her matted hair but gave up after only a couple of passes at it. Not like Ruth would care.

Peeking at her watch she realized that she'd only been down and out for about forty five minutes. But, Ruth would just be getting started on her errands now probably. Which meant Andy had nothing to do but walk around the house.

She stretched her arms up high above her head as she moved right out of her room and into the living room. It was what most people would expect of a grandparent's home, sans plastic covered furniture. Most of her furniture was old. Andy thinks it probably belonged to her parents before her, and it was all a matching set. She knows the coffee table has a nice big scrape along the side. She put it there when she was seven.

Lucy, her cousin, two years older than her, was running from Andy. They'd been playing tag in the yard but there wasn't much to do down there but run in circles. They decided they needed a maze.

So when Ruth wasn't looking, they booked it up the porch and in through the kitchen door, bumping into the table, ripping around the corner past Andy's room and into the living room. Thankfully they kept away from the fancy china cabinet that was on the other side, because they both knew that while this was dangerous, ruining grandma's china was a death sentence.

They both still had sticks in their hands from when Lucy decided it would be a good means to fend Andy off from tagging her. A whole choreographed intermission, where they swung and ducked and spun out of each other's way before carrying on. And as they raced around the table before heading up the stairs, Andy's stick put a very deep scratch in the well-worn wood.

They both panicked and went into Andy's room and tossed the sticks out the window before racing back to the front door to remove their shoes. Next they raced to the kitchen to retrieve paper towels and dish soap to scrub the mud off the floor. The heavy duty cleaning supplies were safely locked away and both girls knew better than to go looking for them.

But that was the scene they were caught in. Rubbing the oak floors furiously around the rug, and they ended up telling Ruth everything. There was a stricter policy on playing in the house after that.

Andy chuckled and inspected the dent, not surprised to see it looking less menacing now. She got up off of her knees and eyed the staircase that led to her grandmother's room, and decided to make her way up, passing the photos that littered the wall alongside them.

They were in chronological order, starting with Ruth and Grandpa Joe not too long after they met. He was a pilot, and Ruth fell for him hard and fast. Andy knew the story forwards and backwards and she and Lucy used to play pretend wedding, taking turns being them.

There was a black and white photo of her grandfather in his uniform, and Ruth in a fancy fur lined coat and matching hat, hair neatly curled, and she was tucked into his side.

That was her favourite part of the story. It was so Romeo and Juliet... and back then, to an uneducated Andy, it was the ultimate romance. Ruth's parents disapproved.

Ruth was high society, before they married. Raised prim and proper, but with a wild side waiting to claw out. When they met, grandma snubbed him, as she would've been taught to do to any man that she wasn't introduced to by her parents, but he charmed her quickly. Ruth always told her that she liked that he put up a fight. Not to win her over, no, but he didn't allow her to walk over him as if he were a piece of trash on the street. He told her that privilege wasn't security and that the tables may turn. That something as material as money could only keep a shallow woman from following her heart. Ruth always told Andy that that moment saved her from making the biggest mistake of her life. She changed that day, and that's how she knew even a lifetime with that man, scrimping and saving every last penny, would be ten times more worthwhile then a quiet and safe arrangement.

Andy pressed a kiss to one finger and tap her grandfather's smiling face lightly, careful not to smudge the glass, and kept walking up the staircase. Past the wedding photos, and her mother and uncles baby photos as well. Graduations, their own wedding days and finally the pictures of Andy and Lucy at the top of the stair case.

Newborn Andy in her grandmother's arms at the hospital. Toddler Andy on a blanket in the backyard, clapping with Grandma in delight. Andy's first school picture, her missing teeth, little red dress and neat French braid. And the last one, she looks about nine years old, wearing a sharp New York Yankee's baseball jersey and her own little cap backwards. Ruth was hugging her from behind in her own matching uniform, both their left hands still gloved.

Before Andy had a chance to ask herself the question that had been playing on a loop since her dad sent her here, she moved up another stair, pushing all those memories to the back of her mind.

Ruth's bedroom door was open, and her grandmother did say she had the run of the house... So she ignored her conscience, which begged her not to snoop, and stepped inside.

It was exactly as she remembered it. Old patch quilt she made herself when she was pregnant with Claire's brother, Robert, still lay across it. Embroidered pillows... though Andy didn't recall that being one of her grandmother's hobbies. (She always said crocheting and knitting made her feel plenty old enough). The four poster bed frame matched the same furniture set that took over the living room, and the old dressers and writing desk that went with it. Sitting on the desk was a photo of Lucy in her cap and gown, with a diploma in a University of Toronto casing, and Andy's high school graduation photo sitting next to it.

The deck outside just held one chair and a tiny table, probably for her tea, with little else, though it was large. She used to have a big couch back there, old and lumpy, she and Andy would read up there in the early mornings, before the rest of the world was truly awake.

And then she heard a vehicle pull up outside the front of the house, though it wasn't the familiar hum of Ruth's Prius. It was a lot louder and masculine than that. Unfortunately the deck over looked the back lawn and the forest, so Andy crept toward the bedroom door slowly.

Before she was even at the top of the stairs she heard the front door close and heavy boots fall on the creaky floor boards. Whoever was down there released a frustrated sigh and his steps moved to the kitchen. The corner where Ruth's desk and computer were. Her makeshift study.

She heard the rustling of paper and decided she had to take action. Who knew what this guy wanted, or might take. Who knew what her grandmother left lying around...

So Andy reached for the empty vase that sat on the table at the top of the stairs and began her descent.

"Where is it?" She heard the low, rich voice ask, still frustrated, a little rough.

If she weren't scared to death, she might find it sexy, but she was scared. Terrified, and this vase wasn't exactly a choice weapon to defend herself with.

She prayed that the floor boards wouldn't give her away, and they held out, so by the time she hit the landing, she released a steady and grateful breath. She tried not to think about the beautiful blue fleur-de-lis on the white vase or the fact that it looked like a family heirloom, she just kept going.

Ruth couldn't be mad. She had a good reason for breaking this on this guy's skull. Though she prayed he'd hear her and she wouldn't have to.

And just like that, the floor boards creaked, and he spun around to meet her eye.