After a night of deep, dream-filled sleep, Emily woke to the sensation of warmth on her skin. It was so unfamiliar to her now to not feel cold that she sat bolt upright, suddenly alert, and discovered a shard of bright sunlight streaming in through a gap in the curtains. She shielded her eyes as she pulled herself out of bed and went over to the window. Drawing back the curtain, Emily reveled in the sight that opened up before her. The sun was out, reflecting brilliantly off the snow, which was melting fast. On the branches of the trees beside her window, Emily saw water droplets trickling down from the icicles, the sunlight turning them into drops of rainbows. The sight made her breath catch. She had never seen anything so beautiful.

The snow had melted enough for Emily to decide it was possible to now venture into town. She was so hungry, as though Daniel’s soup delivery the day before had reawakened the appetite she’d lost after the drama of breaking up with Ben and quitting her job. She dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, then put her suit jacket over the top because it was the only thing she had that even semi resembled a coat. She looked a little strange in the ensemble, but figured most people would be staring at the stranger with the beat-up car squatting in front of the abandoned house anyway, so her outfit was the least of her concerns.

Emily trotted down the steps into the hallway, then opened the front door to the world. Warmth kissed her skin and she smiled to herself, feeling a surge of happiness.

She followed the trench that Daniel had dug along the pathway and followed the road toward the ocean where she remembered the shops to be.

As she strolled along, it felt a little bit like she was walking back in time. The place was completely unchanged, the same stores that had been there twenty years previously still standing proud. The butcher shop, the bakery, it was all as she remembered. Time had changed them, but only in small ways – the signage was more garish, for example, and the products inside had modernized – but the feel was the same. She reveled in the quaintness of it all.

Emily was so wrapped up in the moment she didn’t notice the patch of ice on the sidewalk ahead of her. She slipped in it and went sprawling on the ground.

Winded, Emily lay on her back and groaned. A face appeared above her, old and kindly.

“Would you like a hand up?” the gentleman said, extending his hand to her.

“Thanks,” Emily replied, taking him up on his kind offer.

He pulled her back onto her feet. “Are you hurt?”

Emily cricked her neck. She was sore, but whether that was from falling off the sideboard in the pantry yesterday or slipping in the ice today it was impossible to tell. She wished she wasn’t such a klutz.

“I’m fine,” she replied.

The man nodded. “Now, let me get this right. You’re the one staying up in the old house on West Street, aren’t you?”

Emily felt embarrassment creep into her. It made her uncomfortable to be the center of attention, the source of small-town gossip. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Did you buy the house off of Roy Mitchell then?” he said.

Emily stopped short at the sound of her father’s name. That the man standing before her knew him made her heart lurch with a strange sensation of grief and hope. She hesitated a moment, trying to collect her bearings, to piece herself back together.

“No, I, um, I’m his daughter,” she finally stammered.

The man’s eyes widened. “Then you must be Emily Jane,” he said.

Emily Jane. The name was jarring to her. She hadn’t been called that for years. It was her father’s pet name for her, another thing that vacated her life suddenly on the day Charlotte passed away.

“I just go by Emily now,” she replied.

“Well,” the man said, looking her over, “aren’t you all grown up?” He laughed in a kindly manner but Emily was feeling stiff, like her ability to feel had been sucked out of her, leaving a dark pit in her stomach.

“May I ask who you are?” she said. “How you know my father?”

The man chuckled again. He was friendly, one of those people who could put others at ease easily. Emily felt a little guilty about her stiffness, about the New York surliness she’d acquired over the years.

“I’m Derek Hansen, town mayor. Your father and I were close. We’d fish together, play cards. I came over for dinner at your house several times but I’m sure you were too young to remember.”

He was right, Emily didn’t remember.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, wanting suddenly to end the conversation. That the mayor had memories of her, memories that she didn’t possess, made her feel strange.

“You too,” the mayor replied. “And tell me, how is Roy?”

Emily tensed. So he didn’t know her father had up and disappeared one day. They must have just assumed that he stopped coming to the house for his vacations. Why else would they have assumed otherwise? Even a good friend, like Derek Hansen claimed to be, wouldn’t necessarily think that a person had disappeared into the ether never to be seen again. It wasn’t the brain’s first inclination. It certainly hadn’t been hers.

Emily faltered, not knowing how to respond to the seemingly innocuous yet incredibly triggering question. She became aware that she was starting to perspire. The mayor was looking at her with a strange expression.

“He’s passed on,” she suddenly blurted, hoping it would cause an end to the questioning.

It did. His expression turned grave.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” the mayor replied. “He was a great man.”

“He was,” Emily replied.

But in her mind, she was thinking: was he? He had abandoned her and her mother at the time they had needed him the most. The whole family was mourning the loss of Charlotte but it was only he who decided to run away from his life. Emily could understand the need to run away from one’s feelings, but to abandon one’s family she couldn’t comprehend.

“I’d better get going,” Emily said. “I have some shopping to do.”

“Of course,” the mayor replied. His tone was more sober now, and Emily felt responsible for having sucked the easy joy out of him. “Take care, Emily. I’m sure we’ll run into one another again.”

Emily nodded her goodbye and rushed away. Her encounter with the mayor had rattled her, awakening yet more thoughts and feelings she’d spent years burying. She hurried into the small general store and shut the door, blocking out the outside world.

She grabbed a basket and began filling it with supplies – batteries, toilet paper, shampoo, and a ton of canned soups – then went up to the counter where a rotund woman stood at the till.

“Hello,” the woman said, smiling at Emily.

Emily was still feeling uneasy thanks to her encounter earlier. “Hi,” she mumbled, barely able to meet the woman’s eye.

As the woman began bleeping her items through and bagging them, she kept giving Emily the side eye. Emily knew instantly that it was because she recognized her, or knew who she was. The last thing Emily could deal with right now was another person asking about her father. She wasn’t sure her fragile heart could handle it. But it was too late, the woman seemed compelled to say something. They were only four items into her overflowing basket. She was going to be stuck here for a while.

“You’re Roy Mitchell’s eldest daughter, aren’t you?” the woman said, her eyes squinted.

“Yes,” Emily replied in a small voice.

The woman clapped her hands excitedly. “I knew it! I’d recognize that mane of hair anywhere. You haven’t changed a bit since I last saw you!”

Emily couldn’t remember the woman, though she must have come in here often as a teenager to stock up on chewing gum and magazines. It was amazing to her how well she had disengaged herself from the past, how well she had erased her old self to become someone else.

“I have a few more wrinkles now,” Emily replied, trying to make polite conversation but failing miserably.

“Hardly!” the woman cried. “You’re as pretty as you ever were. We haven’t seen your family for years. How long has it been?”

“Twenty.”

“Twenty years? Well, well, well. Time really does fly when you’re having fun!”

She bleeped another item through the till. Emily silently willed her to hurry up. But instead of placing the item in the bag, she paused, the carton of milk hovering over the bag. Emily looked up to see the woman staring into the distance with a faraway look in her eyes and a smile on her face. Emily knew what was coming: an anecdote.

“I remember when,” the woman began and Emily braced herself, “your father was building a new bike for your fifth birthday. He was scouring for parts all over town, haggling for the best deal. He could charm anyone, couldn’t he? And he did love his yard sales.”

She was beaming at Emily now, nodding in a way that seemed to suggest she was encouraging Emily to remember too. But Emily couldn’t. Her mind was blank, the bike nothing more than a phantom in her mind conjured by the words the woman spoke.

“If I recall,” the woman continued, tapping her chin, “he ended up getting the whole thing done, bell, ribbons, and all, for less than ten dollars. He spent the whole summer making it up, burned himself to a crisp in the sunshine.” She started to chuckle, and her eyes were sparkling with the memory. “Then we’d see you whizzing round town. You were so proud of it, telling everyone daddy had made it for you.”

Emily’s insides were a roiling, molten pit of volcanic emotion. How could she have erased all of these beautiful memories? How had she failed to cherish them, these precious days of carefree childhood, of familial bliss? And how had her father walked away from them? At what point had he gone from being the kind of man who would spend all summer building a bike for his daughter to the kind of man who walked out on her never to be seen again?

“I don’t remember it,” Emily said, her tone coming out brusquely.

“No?” the woman said. Her smile was starting to fade as though cracking at the seams. It now looked like it was plastered there out of politeness rather than naturally there.

“Could you…” Emily said, nodding at the can of corn in the woman’s paused hand, trying to prompt her to continue.

The woman looked down, almost startled as though she’d forgotten why she was there, as though she’d thought she were chatting with an old acquaintance rather than serving her.

“Yes, of course,” she said, her smile disappearing entirely now.

Emily couldn’t cope with the feelings inside her. Being in the house had made her feel happy and content, but the rest of this town made her feel horrible. There were too many memories, too many people sticking their noses in her business. She wanted to get back to the house as quickly as possible.

“So,” the woman said, not willing or able to stop her inane chatter, “how long are you planning on staying?”

Emily couldn’t help but read between the lines. The woman meant, how long will you be intruding on our town with your surly face and snappy demeanor?

“I’m not sure,” Emily replied. “Originally it was a long weekend but I’m thinking maybe a week now. Two, possibly.”

“Must be nice,” the woman said, bagging up Emily’s final item, “to have the luxury of a two-week break whenever you want it.”

Emily tensed. The woman had gone from pleasant and happy to downright rude.

“How much do I owe you?” she said, ignoring the woman’s statement.

Emily paid up and grabbed her bags to her chest, rushing out of the shop as quickly as she could. She didn’t want to be in town anymore, it was making her feel claustrophobic. She rushed home, wondering what it was exactly that made her father love this place so much.

*

Emily arrived home to discover that an electric truck was parked outside. She quickly put her experience in town behind her, pushing away the negative emotions she was feeling just as she’d learned to do as a child, and allowed herself to feel excited and hopeful about the prospect of having sorted out another major issue with the house.

The truck rumbled to life and Emily realized they were just about to leave. Daniel must have let them into the house on her behalf. She set her bags down and jogged after them, waving her arms as they pulled off from the curb. Spotting her, the driver stopped and cranked down the window, leaning out.

“Are you the homeowner?” he said.

“No. Well, sort of. I’m staying there,” she said, panting. “Did you manage to get the electricity on?”

“Yeah,” the man said. “Stove, fridge, lights, we checked them all and everything works now.”

“That’s great!” Emily said, ecstatic.

“Thing is,” the man continued, “you’ve got some surge issues going on. Probably because the house is in such disrepair. You might have mice in there chewing on the cables, something like that. When was the last time you were up in the attic?”

Emily shrugged, her excitement starting to wane.

“Well, you might want to get a service man out to look around up there. The electric system you have is outdated. Kind of a miracle we got it on to be honest.”

“Okay,” Emily said in a weak voice. “Thanks for letting me know.”

The electric man nodded. “Good luck,” he said, before driving away.

He hadn’t said it, but Emily could hear the rest of his sentence in her head: you’re going to need it.

Chapter Six

Emily woke late on the third day. It was almost as if her body could tell it was Monday morning and that she would usually be rushing to work, shoving past commuters to get onto the metro, squeezing in beside bored, half asleep teenagers chewing gum and businessmen with their elbows protruding as they refused to fold up their papers, and had decided to let her have a well-earned lie-in. As she peeled off the covers, groggy-headed and bleary-eyed, she wondered when the last time had been that she’d slept in past 7 a.m. She probably hadn’t done so since her twenties, since before she met Ben, a time when hitting the town with Amy had been her modus operandi.

Down in the kitchen, Emily spent a long time brewing coffee in a coffee pot and cooking up pancakes using the ingredients she’d bought from the local store. It filled her heart with pleasure to see the now overflowing cupboards, to hear the buzz of the fridge. For the first time since leaving New York, she felt like she’d gotten herself together, at least enough to survive the winter.

She savored every bite of her pancakes, every sip of her coffee, feeling well-rested, warm, and rejuvenated. Instead of the sounds of New York City, all Emily could hear were the distant lapping waves of the ocean and a gentle, rhythmic dripping sound as more icicles melted. She felt at peace for the first time in a long time.

After her relaxing breakfast, Emily cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom. She wiped all the tiles, revealing the intricate William Morris design beneath the grime, then buffed the glass in the cupboard doors, making the stained-glass motifs sparkle.

Empowered by having gotten the kitchen into such great shape, Emily decided to tackle another room, one she hadn’t even looked in yet for fear its decayed state would upset her. And that was the library.

The library had been by far her favorite room as a child. She loved the way it was divided in half by white wooden pocket doors so that she could shut herself into a reading nook. And of course she loved all the books it contained. Emily’s dad hadn’t been a snob when it came to books. His thinking was that any written text was worth reading, and so he had allowed her to fill the shelves with teenage romance novels and high school dramas, with tacky front covers depicting sunsets and silhouettes of hunky males. It made Emily laugh as she wiped the dust off their jackets. It was like an awkward piece of her history had been preserved. Had the house not been abandoned for so long, she surely would have thrown them out at some point in the intervening years. But because of circumstance they had remained, gathering dust as the years passed by.

She placed the book in her hands back on the shelf as a sense of melancholy settled over her.

Next Emily decided to heed the advice of the electrician and go up into the attic to check the wiring. If they were indeed damaged by mice she wasn’t sure what her next move would be – spend the necessary money on repairs or just tough out the rest of her time in the house. It didn’t seem sensible to invest in the property if she was only going to be there for a fortnight at the most.

She pulled down the retractable ladder, coughing as a cloud of dust cascaded from the darkness above her, then peered up through the rectangular space that had opened up. The attic didn’t freak her out as much as the basement did, but the thought of spider webs and mildew didn’t exactly fill her with enthusiasm. Not to mention the suspected mice…

Emily climbed the stairs carefully, taking each one slowly, ascending into the hole an inch at a time. The higher she went, the more of the attic she could take in. It was, as she suspected, filled to the brim with items. Her dad’s trips to yard sales and antiques fairs often yielded more items than could be feasibly displayed in the house, and her mom had banished some of the more unsightly ones to the attic. Emily saw a dark wooden tallboy which looked like it could have been a good two hundred years old, a sewing stool in faded green leather, and a coffee table made of oak, iron, and glass. She chuckled to herself, imagining her mom’s face when Dad had hauled all this stuff home. It was so far from her taste! Her mom liked things modern, sleek, and clean.

No wonder they were going to divorce, Emily thought wryly to herself. If they couldn’t even agree on interior design, what hope did they have agreeing on anything else!

Emily emerged fully into the attic and began looking around for any signs of mouse activity. But she found no telltale droppings or gnawed wiring. It almost seemed like a miracle that there weren’t hordes of mice in the attic after so many years of abandonment. Perhaps they preferred the lived-in neighbors’ homes, with their constant supplies of crumbs.

Content that there was nothing too concerning in the attic, Emily turned to leave. But her attention was piqued when she noticed an old wooden chest that stirred a memory, pulling it out from deep within her. She heaved the top of the chest open and gasped at the sight inside. Jewels; not real ones, but a collection of plastic beads and gemstones, pearls and cowries. Her dad had always made sure he brought back something “precious” for her and Charlotte and they would put them in the chest, calling it their treasure chest. It had become the centerpiece of every play they’d performed as kids, every make-believe game they’d engaged in.

Heart hammering from the vivid memory, Emily snapped the lid shut and stood quickly. She suddenly didn’t feel like exploring anymore.

*

Emily spent the rest of the day tidying, careful to avoid any rooms that may trigger a melancholy mood. It seemed a shame to her if she spent the short amount of time she had here lingering on the past, and if that meant avoiding certain rooms in the house then she would do it. If she could spend her whole life avoiding certain memories, she could spend a few days avoiding certain rooms.

Emily had finally gotten around to charging her phone and had left it on the table by the front door – the only place she had any signal – in order to collect any texts she’d not received over the weekend. She was a little disappointed to see there were only two; one from her mom berating her for having left New York without telling her and one from Amy telling her to phone her mom because she’d been asking questions. Emily rolled her eyes and put her phone back, then went into the living room where she’d managed to get a fire going.

She settled down on the couch and flipped open the well-read teen romance she’d picked off the shelf in the library. It relaxed her to read, particularly when it wasn’t anything that taxing. But this time she couldn’t get into it. All the teenage relationship drama kept forcing her mind back to her own failed relationships. If only she’d realized as a kid when she’d first read these books that real life was nothing like that which was depicted in the pages.

Just then, Emily heard a knock coming from the front door. She knew immediately that it would be Daniel. There was no one else scheduled to come over, no carpenters, plasterers, or joiners, and certainly no pizza delivery. She hopped up and went into the hallway, then opened the door for him.

He stood there on the step, backlit by the porch light, moths dancing through the air around it.

“The electricity is working,” he said, pointing at the light.

“Yup,” she said, grinning, proud that she had achieved something he’d seemed so adamant that she could not.

“I guess that means you don’t need me to deliver soup to your doorstep anymore,” he said.

Emily couldn’t tell from his tone whether he was making friendly banter or using the situation as another opportunity to berate her.

“Nope,” she replied, her hand rising to the door as if readying herself to close it. “Was there anything else?”

Daniel seemed to be lingering, like there was something on his mind, words he didn’t know how to speak. Emily narrowed her eyes, knowing, seemingly instinctively, that she was not going to like what she heard.

“Well?” she added.

Daniel rubbed the back of his neck. “Actually, yeah, I, um, ran into Karen today, from the general store. She, well, she didn’t take too well to you.”

“That’s what you came to tell me?” Emily said, her frown deepening. “That Karen from the general store doesn’t like me?”

“No,” Daniel said defensively, “I was actually coming to find out when you were leaving.”

“Oh well, that’s a whole lot better, isn’t it?” Emily bit back sarcastically. She couldn’t believe what a jerk Daniel was being, coming over here and telling her no one liked her then asking when she would be leaving.

“That’s not what I meant,” Daniel said, sounding exasperated. “I need to know how long you’re going to be here because it’s up to me to keep this house in one piece over the winter. I have to drain the pipes, turn off the boiler, and do a host of things. I mean did you even consider how much it would cost you to heat this place over the winter?” Daniel regarded Emily’s expression, which gave him all the answer he needed. “Didn’t think so.”

“I just hadn’t thought about it yet,” Emily replied, trying to excuse herself from his accusatory stares.

“Of course you hadn’t,” Daniel replied. “You just run through town for a few days, do some damage to this place, then leave me to pick up the pieces.”

Emily was getting riled, and when someone challenged her or made her feel threatened or stupid, she couldn’t help but feel the need to defend herself. “Yeah well,” she said, her voice rising to a yelling volume, “maybe I’m not leaving in a few days. Maybe I’ll stick around all winter.”

She snapped her jaw shut, shocked to have heard the words come out of her mouth. She hadn’t even had time to think them before she’d blurted them out, her mouth running away with her.

Daniel looked perturbed. “You’ll never survive in this house,” he stammered, just as shocked at the prospect of Emily sticking around in Sunset Harbor as she seemed to be. “It would eat you up. Unless you’re rich. And you don’t look rich.”

Emily recoiled at the sneer on his face. She’d never been so insulted. “You don’t know anything about me!” she cried, her emotions spilling over into genuine anger.

“You’re right,” Daniel replied. “Let’s keep it that way.”

He stormed away and Emily slammed the door shut. She stood there panting, reeling from the heated encounter. Who the hell was Daniel to tell her what she could or couldn’t do with her life? She had every right to be in her father’s home. In fact, she had more right than Daniel did! If anyone should be annoyed with the other’s presence it should be her!

Fuming, Emily paced back and forth, making the floorboards creak and the dust swirl. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so mad – even when she broke up with Ben and quit her job she hadn’t felt the same hot lava pulsing through her veins. She stopped walking, wondering what it was about Daniel that riled her so much, that stirred angry passion within her in a way her partner of seven years had not been able to. For the first time since meeting Daniel, she wondered who he was, where he came from, what he was doing there.

And whether he had a significant other in his life.

*

Emily spent the rest of the evening ruminating on her latest argument with Daniel. As annoying as it was to be told the town folk didn’t like her, and as frustrating as it was sharing her space with him, she couldn’t help but admit she’d fallen in love with the old house. Not just the house, but the calm and quiet. Daniel had wanted to know when she was going home, but it was starting to dawn on her that this felt more like her home than anywhere else she’d lived in the last twenty years.

With a crackle of excitement running through her veins, Emily rushed to where her cell phone now stayed by the front door and dialed her bank. She went through the automated menu, punched in the necessary security codes, and listened to the robotic voice as it read aloud her balance. She jotted the figure down on a piece of paper balanced on her knee, the pen lid between her teeth, her phone wedged against her shoulder. Then she took the paper into the living room and began working out some sums: the cost of electricity and oil delivery, the fee and running costs of getting the Internet and a fixed landline installed, fuel for her car, food for the cupboards. Once she was done, she realized she had enough money to live off of for six months. She’d been working so hard for so long in a city that demanded it that she’d lost sight of the bigger picture. Now she had the opportunity to stop, to coast for a while. She’d be an idiot not to take it.

Emily sat back against the couch and smiled to herself. Six months. Could she really do it? Stay here, in her dad’s old home? She was increasingly falling in love with the old ruin of a house, though whether that was because of it, the memories it stirred, or the connection she felt to her lost dad, she couldn’t be certain.

But she resolved to fix it up, alone, and without Daniel’s help.

*

Emily awoke Tuesday morning with a bounce in her step that she hadn’t felt for years. Throwing open the curtains, she saw that the snow was now mostly gone, revealing the overgrown green grass of the grounds around the house.

Unlike her languorous breakfast of yesterday, Emily ate quickly and downed her coffee as quickly as a shot, before getting straight to work. The energy she’d felt while cleaning yesterday seemed to be a thousand times more powerful today, now that she knew she wasn’t just staying here for a vacation but was setting up home for the next six months. Gone, too, was the claustrophobic sense of nostalgia she’d felt, the strong sensation that nothing should be touched, or moved, or changed. Before, she’d felt as though the house must be preserved, or restored to the way her father had wanted it. But now she felt like she was allowed to put her own stamp on it. The first step to achieving this was to sift through the mounds of possessions her father had amassed and sort the junk from the treasure. Junk, like her mounds of summer teen romances.

Emily rushed into the library, reasoning it was as good a place to start as any, and bundled the books up in her arms before taking them outside, strolling across the damp grass, and dumping them on the sidewalk. Across the road from the house was a rocky beach that sloped down to the ocean, barely a hundred yards away, and the distant, empty harbor.

It was still very cold outside – cold enough to turn her breath to coils – but there was a bright winter sun attempting to burst through the clouds. Emily shivered as she straightened up, then saw for the first time since she’d arrived that there was another person out on the sidewalk. It was a man with a brown beard and mustache, dragging a trash can behind him. It took Emily a little while to realize that he must live in the house next door – another Victorian-style mansion like her father’s though in significantly better shape – and tried to re-categorize him in her mind as her neighbor. She paused, watching as he placed the can next to the mailbox then collected his mail – abandoned in the mailbox for days thanks to the snowstorm – before trotting across the well-kept grass and back up the steps of his enormous wooden porch. At some point, Emily would have to introduce herself. Then again, if she was as disliked as Daniel had suggested, maybe that wasn’t so much of a priority.

As she walked back across her own lawn, Emily made a great effort not to look over at the carriage house, though she could smell the smoky scent of Daniel’s wood burner and knew he was awake. She didn’t need him coming over here, sticking his nose in her business, mocking her, so she went quickly back inside to search for more things that needed to be thrown out.

The kitchen was filled with junk – rusty utensils, colanders with broken handles, saucepans with burnt stuff at the bottom. Emily could see why her mom got so frustrated with her dad. He hadn’t just been an antiques collector or bargain hunter, he’d been a hoarder. Perhaps her mom’s love of the clean and sterile had been caused by her dad.

Emily filled a whole bin bag with bent spoons, chipped crockery, and various useless kitchen gadgets like egg timers. Then there were reams of baking paper, tin foil, kitchen roll, and all kinds of electronic equipment. Emily counted five blenders, six mechanical whisks, and four different types of weighing scales. She bundled them all up in her arms and carried them to the sidewalk, where she dumped them with the other bits of junk. It was starting to turn into a heap. The mustached man was out on his porch again, sitting in a deck-style chair, watching her, or, more specifically, watching the mound of junk that was slowly growing on the sidewalk. Emily got the sense he was less than thrilled by her behavior and so she waved in what she hoped looked like a friendly manner before retreating into the house to continue her purge.