The Ivy House

chapter 5

“Hi there.” Phoebe turned to see a woman standing on her porch.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to intrude. I’m Lynn Masters. I live next door.” Lynn was shorter than Phoebe by a couple of inches, with long, wavy brown hair and dark chocolate-colored eyes. She was wearing blue hospital scrubs and had a welcoming smile on her face.

“Hi. Phoebe Ryan,” Phoebe said, stuffing Chase’s envelope into her pocket. How long she had been standing there, in the hallway, dazed, with the front door wide open, she didn’t know.

“Are you related?”

“Excuse me?” Phoebe braced herself. Her brush with anonymity was truly over, she supposed.

“Your last name. Were you really related to Savannah Ryan?” Lynn asked, excitement sparking in her eyes.

“Yes. I’m her granddaughter.” Phoebe said, stepping onto the porch. The sun was out in full force and the porch was warmer—much warmer—than the inside of the house, and Phoebe realized it felt nice.

“Wow, that is so cool. My parents moved here about two years ago. My mom was so excited when the real estate agent told her that Savannah Ryan lived here, she nearly had a cow, but of course once we moved in, she realized that it didn’t mean Savannah still lived here.”

Phoebe gave a small smile. Lynn was chatty and, apparently, a fan, or at least her mom was. Once people found out the relationship, they usually pumped Phoebe for information. Over the years, Phoebe had learned to keep quiet about the family connection with Savannah if she didn’t want total strangers asking her bizarrely private questions, like if Savannah really spent all day in pink silk pajamas.

“Looks like you have your work cut out for you,” Lynn said and Phoebe forced her attention back to her.

“What?”

“This house. It’s such a great-looking place, but the last couple of tenants were a little crazy. College kids. Threw some great parties though.”

“Oh.” Phoebe looked around, remembering the condition of the property. “Yeah, it will probably take a while to clean it up.”

“Did you know Savannah well? Oh gosh, where are my manners. I am so sorry for your loss. I just couldn’t believe it when I read about her death.”

“Thank you.” Phoebe had to smile at Lynn’s openness and lack of pretense. Lynn’s face radiated sincerity, and instead of feeling the onslaught of tears, Phoebe was able to summon up a bit of lightness.

“Well, she was well over eighty.” All the years of cigarettes and champagne had finally caught up with Savannah. And in the end, it had been time for Savannah to let go.

“Well, it’s nice to know that the house will still be in the family. Are you going to be moving here alone?” Lynn shook her head, her brown hair moving with her.

Phoebe gave a noncommittal shrug. She didn’t know what she was going to be doing. The next couple of months stretched wide open in front of her, but the truth was that except for this wreck of a house and her room at the Osprey Arms, she had nowhere else to be. But she didn’t need to explain that to anyone, did she?

“Oh. Well, like I said, it would be cool if someone young moved in. Queensbay’s pretty and all that, but it’s not exactly a big city.”

“So you live next door?” Phoebe asked, glad the subject had veered away from her family.

“Yes, I’m finishing my last year of residency. Pediatrics,” Lynn said, waving a hand to explain the scrubs, “So I’m living with my parents to save money. Plus, I’m rarely home, so it doesn’t make much sense to have my own place. And,” Lynn dropped her voice, “my mom is a great cook.”

Phoebe smiled at the conspiratorial tone.

“Which is one of the reasons why I’m here. When my mom heard that there was someone closer to my age moving in, well, she wanted to make sure I invited you over for dinner.”

As an afterthought, Lynn added, “…if you don’t mind, that is. Like I said, she’s a really good cook. And she’s not as meddling as I might have suggested.”

Phoebe was disarmed by Lynn’s friendliness. Phoebe was happy being on her own and she had envisioned a quiet few days in a new place to get her head on straight. It was on the tip of her tongue to say no, but Lynn’s open smile and friendly manner had her changing her mind.

“That would be nice,” Phoebe agreed. The thought of a home-cooked meal suddenly sounded very enticing.

“Great,” Lynn said. “I have to run out to work now, but how about six tomorrow night? My mom’s making something Italian, is that OK?

“Sounds great,” Phoebe nodded. She would bring a bottle of red, she decided, as a thank you.

Lynn stole a glance around Phoebe and into the house. “Good luck with the place. Everyone’s excited that someone’s taking an interest in it, after all these years. Not that all renters are bad, but I think it’s time this place had someone who really cared about it.” Lynn put her hand on one of the columns of the porch and, as if on cue, a part of it fell off and bounced on the porch.

“Oh, dear,” Lynn started to reach down to pick up the piece of rotted wood.

Phoebe laughed. “Don’t bother. I am sure it won’t be the last thing that falls down around here.”

“Well, I guess it’s good you have a sense of humor about the whole thing.”

They shared a laugh and Phoebe said goodbye to her new neighbor. Lynn squeezed through an opening in the bushes and a moment or two later, Phoebe saw a car drive past, with a hand waving out the window.

Not trusting the rusty chairs and wanting to enjoy the sunshine, Phoebe plopped herself down on the porch step, drawing her knees up so her chin rested on them, thinking. The house was both more and less than she had bargained for.

She remembered it from when she had been young and visited. Everything about the place and the town had seemed magical from a little kid’s perspective. But now the house seemed smaller and dingier and it needed a lot of work. Savannah, though, had loved it so—must have—to keep it all these years, without letting on that she still owned it.

Phoebe sighed. She knew why Savannah had left it to her. Phoebe’s parents had been Hollywood types too—her father an up-and-coming director, her mother a soon-to-not-be struggling actress—when they died in a car crash. Savannah had taken her in, her only living relative, but Savannah had never been the maternal type. Ivy House had been a part of Savannah’s history, her happiest times. A place where Savannah had believed that anything was possible, until it wasn’t.

The reasonable, solid, practical thing to do would be to sell Ivy House. Phoebe had built her own life a whole country away, in Los Angeles, and if her prospects there were somewhat in flux, it made more sense to stay there than to think about moving her whole life here. Her practical, reasonable half pulled the envelope Chase had given her from her pocket, because selling Ivy House, even to someone who only wanted it for the view, was the smart thing to do. She didn’t belong here. This was Savannah’s history, not hers.

A picture of Savannah from long ago flashed into her mind, when Phoebe had been little, her red-gold hair in pigtails. She had been whispering to Savannah about how the house was magical. And Savannah had been in full, solemn agreement and had made her promise not to tell anyone else. Their secret.

Phoebe sighed again. Just what had Savannah gotten her into?