Marianne is less bubbly, but no less eager to see me. I think she’s the more inquisitive of the two, slightly suspicious of people in general. Not unlike myself. She’s also enthralled with Renner, who she’s been staring at like melting ice cream since we arrived.
As Marianne bombards me with questions about whether I’ve seen Molly and Polly, a new Disney movie that she’s obsessed with, it strikes me that they don’t treat me like a stranger. They treat me like their big sister.
Alexandra brings us to the family room, with a sweeping view of the lake. If I’d known the lake house had views like this, maybe I’d reconsider spending my summer here.
“I hope you’re not too offended by the pigsty that is my house. Cleaning has fallen to the wayside with this nasty flu,” Alexandra says, cheeks pink with embarrassment as she sets two glasses of lemonade on the edge of the coffee table.
Usually, when people apologize for a messy home, there’s no mess at all. Mom likes to say people just want the opportunity to humblebrag about how clean it actually is. But Alexandra isn’t exaggerating. While beautiful, the house is admittedly a mess, with pieces of construction paper, glitter glue, and toys littering the table. It’s the opposite of how I imagined her, and it makes me like her, just a little.
“We should be the ones apologizing for dropping in unannounced,” I note.
She tilts her head. “The girls really missed you. Both of you.”
“How long has it been?” I ask, clumsily trying to discern how close we are.
She hesitates, her eyes dropping to her lap before responding, “Since the funeral, I think.”
My throat tightens as I digest her words. It’s been almost a year since I’ve seen them? That doesn’t sit well. “I’m sorry. Things have just been busy and—” I stop myself. “It’s not an excuse. I want to come see you guys more.”
“It’s okay. I know you’ve been busy,” she says, graciously letting me off the hook.
“I realized I never responded to your message about picking up some of Dad’s things. I know you probably don’t have it anymore but—”
She stands, brushing the wrinkles from her track pants. “I do. Follow me. It’s all in his office.”
Renner stays with the girls while I follow her down the hallway. As I step around a pile of laundry, I catch a collage of family photos in mismatched frames and pause. My breath hitches when I spot my high school graduation and seventh grade photos next to pictures of Lily and Marianne. There’s even a photo of Renner and me in front of a Christmas tree in a gold embossed frame.
Alexandra doubles back and gazes at the photos beside me. “Your dad liked to keep photos of you around. So the girls would know who you are.” That’s the last thing I expected. I’ve always assumed Dad saw me as inconvenient baggage from his past life.
“He did?” I whisper under my breath as I follow her into Dad’s office.
It smells like him. Of mahogany and fresh printer paper. Alexandra hasn’t cleared much out. Work papers and files are still piled atop the desk, seemingly undisturbed. Alexandra lets out a slow breath when she passes through the doorway, as though entering the room deflates something inside her. I feel even sadder for her than for myself. She’s stuck in this house with reminders of him everywhere.
She pulls down a box from the closet and sets it on the desk. “I know it’s a lot to go through. No pressure if you don’t want to take all of it. I know you have a lot on your plate this week with the wedding and all.”
At the top of the box is a stack of paper-clipped drawings I made for him when I was a child, with To Dad, From Charlotte written on every single one in perfectly straight handwriting. I was always obsessed with making my letters perfect. Below is a binder with printouts of all my report cards, from grade school until the end of high school.
“He kept all of this?” I manage.
“Of course he did. I think you were his favorite topic,” she says with a soft chuckle.
My first instinct is to deny that. How could I be his favorite topic when we didn’t even speak?
Alexandra places her hand on my wrist, expression sincere. “He never wasted an opportunity to brag about how smart you were to all our friends. How his daughter had a 4.0 GPA in college. How she became a school counselor and changed kids’ lives. Every time I turned around, he was scrolling your social media.”
My eyes well. “I didn’t know that.” How did I not know that? Why wouldn’t he tell me?