Hannah and I had agreed to meet at her apartment after work. Friday nights were perfect for a late-night baking session, as well as catching up on the month that Hannah had been away in France. I'd already seen her at La Patisserie Dans La Lune earlier in the week, where we'd greeted each other enthusiastically. Hannah was busy updating her menu for the new season. Emmanuel had brought her up to speed, though as she'd remarked, Emmanuel had done a fine job of running the shop himself. In fact, it was why Hannah was able to go home a little early, and I had wiggled myself out of my responsibilities as marketing manager. 

I needed time with Hannah to talk about the inheritance. Her presence grounded me from making some surely irrational decisions, and I hoped she'd hold me accountable for seeing this to the end. One way or another.

As for Hannah, she'd decided to leave it in Emmanuel's hands. It surprised me. It was true that Emmanuel was capable. In fact, now that Emmanuel had added his own additions to the menu, Hannah was teaching him more of the shop's inner workings. But it surprised me because Hannah always looked forward to Friday nights. The shop transformed into an inexhaustive flurry of customers, and Hannah loved it.

Hopefully she wasn't doubting her skills as a confectioner again. I asked Emmanuel this. "Nah, don't think so. The opposite, actually. She's been adventurous with the menu." He was right. The chalkboard calligraphy popped with new, exotic-sounding experiments that all sounded delicious. I eyed the golden cream puffs Emmanuel brought out of the kitchen. A shame I had to watch my cholesterol.

At home, I dropped off my work supplies—no distractions from work tonight—and hopped in the shower. My hair needed a fresh layer of dark dye. Not that it could ever go back to its tawny shade. I may as well stop after this one, like I had with my concealer—it'd save me money and time. But blow-drying was a quick affair. Cropping your hair above the shoulders was perhaps the best decision I'd made. It was wonderfully time-efficient.

Fifteen minutes later, I arrived at Hannah's house. These modest townhouses were nestled in the northern suburban patch of downtown. I had considered living here, primarily to give my future pet some outdoor place and my own sense of freedom. Four years and a homebody-Meabh later, I was glad for my apartment.

Meabh sneezed from inside her crate. "Please don't let it be an allergy," I sighed. I knocked on the door.

"It's unlocked," Hannah called from inside.

Hannah's place was tidy, like mine, but the colour-coordinated rugs, furniture and light pieces made it feel like stepping into a modernized nineteenth-century home. I unlatched Meabh's crate. Meabh waltzed out and into Hannah's waiting hands. She picked her up. Her blond locks spilled over Meabh like a Goldilocks wig, and I stifled a laugh.

"Is that flour?" I asked. Hannah had left powdery handprints all over Meabh's fur like a Milky Way galaxy. Meabh shook herself, and yawned. A powdery cloud bloomed in the air.

"Flour never hurt anyone," Hananh replied with a grin. She tied her blond hair into a messy bun. Even when baking, Hannah wore her rusted pendant that complemented and brought the richness in her eyes.

She clasped her hands together. "Where do you want to start? I prepped all the baking things we need."

"Let's save it for later. You rarely post anything online while you're abroad. So? What was it like?"

Hannah laughed. "I promise, it's nothing new."

On the couch, she crossed her legs and leaned back, like she was brainstorming a future scene in her novel. I listened as she recounted memorable moments in her family reunion and the extended version of how her great-grandparents met. All of her souvenirs from France were displayed on her living room mantelpiece. There was the usual array: a miniature Eiffel tower, a romance novel propped on a small easel (no doubt she envisioned publishing her own), a frosted glass perfume cork, and photos of Hannah and her family in France. Aside from an additional picture, Hannah hadn't brought home anything new. Strange.

"I won't stop trying to convince you that history is more than it seems," said Hannah, nudging my shoulder. "It is not stagnant in the least! It's dynamic, constantly changing the present depending on our interpretation of the past. Come on, can't you find those connections in Murdoch Mysteries?"

I smiled. I had introduced the show to Hannah when we first met at a botanical garden. Along with both us being new to Aurora, we quickly bonded over the TV series. "I'm into the romance and drama, Hannah. And only the mystery to see how they are cleverly solved." 

If only all mysteries were as clear-cut in this world. The events from earlier this week loomed over my head. Looking back at her souvenirs, I said, "Television has the perfectly constructed excitement that sometimes I feel I'm missing, you know? Sometimes I'm not sure why you bother to come back here; I would move to France in a heartbeat if I could."

"Really?"

"Why not?" I trimmed the envy in my voice. "You love France. All of your family is over there, and you move back and forth quite often."

Hannah was caught off-guard. She played with her hair. "That is true, but...I do love Canada, too. Besides, I started Dans La Lune here. It belongs here, you know? There is too much competition at home."

"You're a great confectioner, Hannah. I'm sure you'll blow away the rest if you set your mind to it."

Her insecurities were so obvious and so well-hidden at the same time. But instead of asking for reassurance or affirmation, she kept it inside, letting the people around her wash away her doubts like fresh rain. It frustrated me that there didn't seem to be a source of these doubts. Her family supported her all this way. So was there something else that I had completely overlooked? Was I underestimating how well Hannah knew herself?

The slight crease in her pencil-lined eyebrows didn't disappear, but touching my arm, she said, "Let's bake some friands. That'll get things off our minds." 

As another episode of Murdoch Mysteries played in the background, Hannah and I mixed the flour, dried cranberries, butter and eggs together. It was a workout folding the dense mixture. I packed all my frustrations into it. The house. The key that appeared out of the ether. The accusing note that forced me to shoulder the weight of a cracked family. Even if I could afford to escape overseas, it wouldn't have changed a thing. I knew so little. So little about the nature of the MacIntyre family. It was ridiculous how responsible I felt.

"How is it? I was not sure if the applesauce would work," said Hannah, peeking into my bowl.

My untouched cup of applesauce sat neglected on the side. I had forgotten to substitute it in place of butter, like we had agreed. "Sorry."

"That's all right. Nora, what happened?"

Hannah gently steepled her fingers. Before I could talk, she admitted, "Vihan saw you at the bar. He seemed reluctant to tell me more, but..."

"Emmanuel's son? At Coop's?" I said incredulously. "I swear I didn't see him."

"That's what he said. Accidentally, it seemed. I suspect that wasn't the first time. Now I'm understand why Emmanuel worries about Vihan so much....but Nora, were you with someone again?"

I grudgingly gave her the run-down of my break-up with Tai. Did it qualify as a break-up after only three dates? I had reverted to calling them "failed dates" to numb myself to the pain.

"He wasn't bad," I said. The cooking supplies sat pushed aside on the table, forgotten. "Actually, he was completely reasonable. Though he did have quite the fascination with roads." 

"He tried to impress you," Hannah suggested.

"What? No, I'm sure Tai didn't mean to do that." I laughed despite myself. "I think he just liked talking about maps a lot. Only, when it came to my parents..." 

Why I bothered to tell Hannah this, I didn't know. She was a romantic without any of the useful advice. A dreamy novelist who could never decide between living here, or there, or anywhere. Both of us were still single. I continued, "None of my relationships have ever lasted long. Not even a year. I keep telling myself it's better that way."

"I'm so sorry, Nora," Hannah murmured. Her soft manicured hand wrapping my own, dry and cracked from the cold.

The floodgates buckled. I swallowed those feelings before they took hold. Marrying Hannah had been a glittering fantasy, but that was in the past. If I broke up with her, I'd have no one else.

"Do you want to talk about it? Your parents, I mean. You told me you had to run away from them."

"Had to might have been an overstatement. I honestly can't tell you much, other than the surface level things. I mean, let's see here. My mom's hair was red. Copper-red. And my dad smelled a little like cigars when he came home. Mom disliked that but I found the smell...refreshing? No, that sounds like I got high off of it. It was just different. A nice change...from the usual."

Hannah nodded encouragingly. "It's not a detailed report, Nora. Anything helps."

But why did you leave?

Why did you leave?

Why did you leave?

"I'm inheriting my Dad's house next month," I said.

"What?"

"I didn't know about any extended family beyond my parents and grandparents. But then, someone conveniently sent me this."

I brought out the envelope, in which I'd kept the MacIntyre key and the message. Hannah widened her eyes. She reached a flour-dusted hand for the envelope, then blinked.

"We should finish making these friands. Then we can talk."

I snapped my fingers. "Sounds like a plan."

-

While the friands were baking in the oven, we returned to the couch once more. This time I held nothing back. Hannah deserved to know why our baking session was pushed back by a week. Talking helped articulate my own thoughts as well. Who would send a key like that? Why would Allison hand ownership to me instead of her own brother? I hoped Hannah could share her wisdom when it came to family and house ownership—I was aware that her extended family owned an impressive sprawl of estate in France, and that had led to more than a few feuds.

Hannah jotted it all down in her notebook. I watched Detective Murdoch interrogate a suspect on the TV while Hannah hummed to herself, crossed out some things, then wrote some more. The oven timer ticked merrily in the kitchen.

Hannah set down her pen. "I have no idea who could have sent the key. I mean, Tai seems very unlikely. That's probably just a coincidence." I nodded. Naturally that was the conclusion Hannah would come to.

I did have my own theories about Tai. The small, nagging detail of something told me that there was more to him that what met the eye. But I couldn't place my finger on it. That was for another time. 

Hannah continued, "As for the house, I'll say this: You need to talk to your parents, Nora."

I grunted.

"I love to play detective, but for this, it would be much less of a hassle. A house can't speak, Nora." Hannah uncrossed her legs and shifted towards me. "I can understand you have a complicated relationship with them, but you can't walk away."

"Why not? I have no reason to care about them. Or the house."

"You do," Hannah emphasised. "No one is telling you to care. In a month, it will be your house and no one can tell you what to do with it! Instead, you've done your own investigating. That had raised more questions, I'd imagine."

Very true. I had yet to organize what arbitrary facts I've gleaned from the house. They'd only solidified my dread. "My dad must have known about the will. Yet it took a random stranger—" Or Tai, I'm sure of it "—to tell me I had other relatives. My parents won't tell me anything useful."

Hannah silently noted the dry amusement in my voice. "It's good that you care. I think connecting with them will unravel some of your questions, and give you peace of mind. That's what you need right now. It'd be ideal if your aunt was still alive, but now your dad is the next best option. And..."

"'I haven't spoken to them in so long. I may as well contact them. Maybe they've changed.' Right."

"You can start by phone," Hannah said. "A Skype call. Or text messages! Short ones. Ask...well, ask about the house, and the other things on your mind, and see what comes out of it."

She switched off the TV. Now that she had my full attention, Hannah laced her fingers. "Parents go through a lot. Mine, Mama and Pa had a few big fights but like they told me, after you've lived with someone for long enough you know each other's buttons. No love is perfect. But even when parents try their best..."

We sighed at the same time. Hannah, no doubt had Vihan and Emmanuel on her mind.

That was the sticking point, wasn't it? Good people made mistakes. And if I couldn't even articulate what made my parents so bad...well, I refused to believe they were bad people. All I knew was I couldn't live there.

"Okay. Okay." I nodded to myself. "I will call them. Next week. Tonight will be my time to relax. This was supposed to be a fun Friday, after all."

Hannah let out a breath, and smiled. "No worries. I'm glad you came."

We perked up as the oven timer dinged. A thin muffin-like aroma reached the living room.

I smiled and got up. "Let's see how they turned out."

—

Mom and I spent the morning putting up all my drawings around Grandpa's bedroom. "They'll make Grandpa happier," Mom had exclaimed when I showed them to her. Grandpa had always liked my drawings, but I never knew Mom would like them so much that she bought cork boards, pins and even some frames. It caught me by surprise.

My eyes travelled along the room's walls. Some of my drawings were as old as three years ago. They ranged from scribbles to half-decent drawings of the world as I knew it. Art class in school helped a bunch, but I still had a ways to go.

We'd ordered my drawings by colour and tone, so they had a rainbow gradient, melting from pink on one side to purple on the other. Now Grandpa wouldn't feel so alone in his room. He dozed in the middle of the rainbow.

"They're beautiful, Nora," Mom gushed. She hugged me, clasped my face, and smiled. Mom was in a good mood today.

I smiled, embarrassed. "I worked hard on them."

"You did, you did! My talented daughter. I'm so proud of you."

"Jeez, you're embarrassing," I muttered. But this was a rare occasion. So I hugged her. Mom's floral blouse smelled like perfume and autumn.

The key gave me lots of inspiration and practice. Even now, drawing my dreams helped them make sense. If I was lucky I'd get a glimpse of Mom or Dad working outside home. Fortunately the mini stick figures from my elementary years were too unrecognizable for either of them to catch on. Now I was careful to draw symbolically. Most of what I saw was in the house, but at interesting angles: Like the washroom, only it was upside down. There were weird shadows in places though. My teacher had said it wasn't supposed to be like that, but I only drew my pictures as I saw them. 

I'd always wanted to repaint the drab walls in the house. Maybe, once Grandpa got better we could do just that!