The following morning, I retracted my assertion of needing Jordan's help only through the weekend. We had another full table for breakfast and then the added responsibility of handling check out for all but one of our couples. Jordan assured me this wasn't typical and that usually weekenders left Sunday morning, but with the tree lighting and the traffic congestion that a holiday weekend brought, often guests would stay a tad later than normal.

Once we helped shuttle everyone's things down the stairs and out to the little parking lot on the south side of the manor, I went to cleaning up the only occupied room in the house. Then, I moved on to stripping down the now vacated rooms and scrubbing them raw. It was past lunch by the time I dragged my tired bones back to my room with a rejuvenating cup of coffee in hand.

I walked over to my desk and peered out one of the windows to find Jordan hammering the railing that lined a raised portion of the patio. From what he told me, the posts were spaced too far apart and could be a safety hazard for children. I told him about how that portion of the patio was completely made by Gina and how she learned how to do it by checking out books at the library. He just grinned and said that explained why it was so horribly out of line with code.

The memory of his warm laughter tickled the corners of my lips. Perhaps sensing my thoughts, he turned up from his work and looked straight to my window. I couldn't see his smile through the breath-fogged glass, but I saw his hand raise in greeting. I bit my lip to contain my grin and responded with a similar gesture.

Thinking I'd better get to my desk before I did anymore damage, I slumped into my chair and pulled my laptop towards me.

I'd finally lugged my computer out of my bag that morning, sending out an email before our guests had even considered rising from their peaceful slumber. I notified the office that I had to extend my holiday, taking half days and working remotely until I could settle my aunt's estate. Thankfully, I had plenty of vacation built up, since the last time I used any was for my grandmother's death years ago. Often weeks of vacation were thrown in the trash because I didn't take advantage of them.

When the laptop screen awoke, my email client was still open. Already, several emails from my coworkers filled my inbox, offering their condolences. Mary's email, however, had a touch of enthusiasm in it. She'd already learned the news of my aunt's death after all, so she didn't need to offer her pity. Instead, she asked about how the inn was, whether I got to do anything fun over the holiday, and if the town was really as beautiful as the pictures in the brochure. Although I initially considered pushing Mary's email to the side, I decided to give her a lengthy report. She might then diffuse that information out to the others and they wouldn't pester me further on the topic. Knowing Mary, there's no doubt she'd be bursting with excitement over my email and would tell everyone about my trip, even if no one else particularly cared. I could always count on her to dote on me.

Then, there was the email from HR. After learning of the death in my family, they wanted to point out that I didn't need to use my vacation time to cover this unforeseen trip. I had a few days available that were granted whenever there was a loss in the family.

I really wondered about my family, though. The more I read my aunt's journal, the more I doubted that word. I had stumbled across a few more snippets of my family's history in her entries. Mainly that she had tried to send letters to my father during his childhood years, but they were always returned unopened. Then one day she actually got a letter back. Unfortunately, it was from my grandmother and not my father. To make matters worse, my grandmother threatened to get the police involved if Georgina didn't stop harassing her family.

Her family.

What was even more surprising than my grandmother's disdainful reaction to Georgina's attempts to connect with her nephew was that my great aunt didn't fight what was a gross overreaction. She certainly lamented that the threat was a bit much, but also didn't suggest that my grandmother's continued barrier between her and Jack was wrong. She instead gave up and never sent a letter again. After that, there was no mention of my family. Instead, it was only about opening up the inn after five years of renovating and working odd jobs in town to pay for it. She'd been a waitress, a house painter, a receptionist, and even a mime. But on April 16, 1979, the Hound and Sparrow Inn opened for business. She named it after nicknames she and my grandfather had for each other, but didn't elaborate more than that. She rarely talked about my grandfather in her journal.

Then, by the time I reached 1983, my father had turned 18. He was an adult and so my great aunt made a plan. One that I hadn't seen play out in her journal yet, but I knew I was only an entry away. If I hadn't fallen asleep with the journal in my hand, I would have found out what became of my father and Gina the night before. Unfortunately, a day of cleaning, cooking, hunting down Gina's handiwork around the inn, and attending a tree lighting ran me down pretty good. Even with my hard, uncomfortable bed on the floor, I still fell asleep with impressive ease.

Thinking I deserved a break after a rough morning, I pushed my actual job aside and opened up the journal.

May 24, 1983

Where do I even start...

I blocked off every day this week, up to Friday at least. I had hoped maybe things would go right and I could stay in the city longer so I could get to know my nephew. Not sure what I was really expecting, though. A fantasy I guess.

It wasn't hard to find when and where the graduation was going to be held. It was in the newspapers, so I just showed up. I didn't expect to be let in since I didn't have a ticket. I wasn't about to ask Norma just so she could tell me no and alert her to my plans.

I instead watched from the fence, looking out over the football field, wondering if I could figure out which of those black hats was Jack. I was there when they called his name and he went up to get his diploma. Some of his friends cheered for him and he waved to the crowd. I'm glad he's a well-liked kid.

When it was over, I clutched my little envelope, uncertain where to go from there. I needed to get to him before Norma found him. He'd go right to her, I felt certain, but I also noticed that a photographer was setting up in a smaller practice field near where I stood. I wandered over and found out they were taking a group picture with everyone holding their diplomas. Parents and family, however, would start making their way into the cafeteria for a reception. I had my chance.

A couple of other family members ignored the directive to go to the cafeteria and also made their way over to the field, hoping to snap their own photos of the fresh graduates. I worried for a moment my plan was ruined, but then I realized Norma would never break a rule. She was told to go inside and that's exactly what she would do.

I stood a good distance away, trying to pinpoint Jack. It wasn't hard. I knew the moment my eyes cast over him he was the spitting image of my brother, Jack's namesake. I fought back the cry in my throat, but then I realized there were mothers there, weepy with trembling lips as they looked over their babies who had all grown up. The pain of seeing my beloved brother's face would not be odd in that company. I allowed a few quivering cries to escape me, but I composed myself by the time the photograph was taken. Then the graduates were sent to their cafeteria one last time.

I approached him, nearly knocking over a few of his classmates in the process. This sadly earned me some scrutiny from him. A couple of his friends even lingered behind him when they saw the puzzled expression on his face and the odd woman trembling in front of him. But I couldn't be distracted. I had to do this. This may very well have been the one and only time I would ever see my nephew with my own eyes. The thought of that alone was enough to tempt my tears and his friends asked if they should go get Norma, but at the sound of her name I begged them not to and told Jack I was his Aunt Gina.

At this, he groaned and told his friends to go on ahead without him. It was clear by the way he crossed his arms and kept his eyes from mine that Norma had poisoned him against me. It wasn't much of a surprise, but it still rubbed salt in the wound she made in me... no, the one I made in myself so many years ago.

I told him I was so proud of him for finishing school and I wanted to know what he was going to do with his life. He told me he shouldn't be talking to me and that I should leave before his mom found out. My breath got quick, and I felt lightheaded. My nails almost tore holes through his card.

I told him I loved his father so much and that I should have been there. There's no going back though, no matter how much I wish for it. All we've got is now and at least now I was there. And I wanted to keep being there for him. I'm not sure he understood or appreciated my words, but it didn't matter. I said what I needed to say. So then I shoved the card into his hand, begging him to take it. I told him I wanted to help with his schooling and that he should use it at college. He warmed up a little to this and finally looked at me proper. I think he was about to say thank you when Norma appeared out of nowhere and snatched the card from his hand.

She tried to hand it back to me, but when I begged her not to do it, she simply dropped it on the ground and said that Jack didn't need my help to succeed, that he can reach his dreams on his own. I reminded her that's what I did and to look where it got me. That at least got her to hesitate, but she still wrapped her arm around Jack's shoulders and turned away.

She told me with Jack it's different. That Jack would not abandon her or his family. They started to walk back to the school and I could no longer keep the tears from tearing apart my voice. I called to them, telling them I was sorry, that I screwed up. When she said she didn't care, anger slipped in and I called her a hypocrite. I asked her what she was teaching him by abandoning me now.

She didn't answer. She just kept walking. I think Jack may have looked back one last time, but at that point, I couldn't see past the tears and I'd fallen to my knees. I sat there in the grass crying, staring at the discarded envelope with the money I had saved up for years. Eventually, the photographer finished packing her things and came over to help me back up. She bought me a coffee, and I told her everything. Her name was Eileen, and she said my mistake came from youth, not malice. She said she would have forgiven me, but she isn't as close to it as Norma is.

Eileen wished me well, hoping I might find forgiveness someday. I know I'll never be forgiven, but Norma could have at least accepted my help.

I put the money away. I won't ever spend it. It's not my money. It will always be Jack's. Someday he'll get it.

Someday.

I closed the book, unable to turn the page and read the next entry. I felt torn between sorrow and anger. My grandmother hammered into me the ideals of patience and understanding. I was to offer kindness when I could and gratitude for what I had. My disposition is admittedly strong willed—something I was starting to see I got from her—but she always reminded me to take a step back, to breathe, and to approach the unpleasant interactions in my life with a level voice and an open mind. I may have been slipping in the years since she left me, but that didn't change the image of her I carried within me. I didn't understand how the woman that raised me was also this hateful person.

I needed to step away and, as if my prayers were heard, the doorbell chimed, recalling me to the present. I learned a long time ago that no good comes in dwelling on the past. I opened the desk drawer and placed the journal inside before heading down to see who awaited me.