Perfect Summer | Yzacole

Perfect Summer: One

I was going to spend my summer in Florence. Not the cosmopolitan city of Florence, Italy, but small town Florence, Oregon. I hadn't even heard of it until last week, when I received a notice that my great aunt Marnie had died and left me her house. Just like that. I had met her only once in my life when I was three, and here I was, twenty-two years-later, her only heir.

I, Yzabel Divinagracia, an heiress!

I snorted as I drove on Route 101, the July sun glaring through my sunglasses. I had been driving for nine long hours-plus an hour to eat and stretch. My boss had said I was crazy driving there instead of flying, but she didn't understand I loved driving. Of course, Dr. Alice De Leon didn't understand many things about me, like why I hadn't taken a vacation in three years and preferred spending time at the hospital taking care of broken-hearted patients. Literally, since I was a cardiology nurse. I suppose I felt no one took better care of people than I did, which was a gross misconception. Nonetheless, Dr. De Leon had ordered me to take my well-deserved paid vacation asap. Coincidentally-or not-it was the same day the lawyer called me to inform me of my great aunt's demise and made the astonishing announcement regarding my sudden inheritance.

Don't get me wrong, I was pleased by the news. I mean, who wouldn't want to receive a house out of the blue? But there was no way I could give up my exciting life in San Francisco to move to a small town, even if the house had an ocean view, according to the lawyer. The only thing I could do was sell it. Hopefully, with the money from the sale, I could replace my small rented apartment with an even smaller condo. Owning was better than renting, for sure.

I had a strange impulse to go see the house before I put it on the market. After all, I had no plans for the two weeks Dr. De Leon had virtually banned me from the hospital. Why not take advantage and try to have a real holiday for a change? Summer, ocean, an empty house all of my own... It was bound to be fun.

As a general rule I was addicted to city life, to noise, crowds, work pressure, and excitement. But on rare occasions, it all became overwhelming. It was almost impossible to find one moment of perfect silence-no phone ringing, no constant hospital chatter and machine noises, no traffic sounds, even at the latest of hours. This inheritance/vacation thing could be a Godsend.

I smiled and lowered my window as I drove into the city on the heavily-forested road, deeply inhaling the fresh air. It was hot and humid. The sun dipped low in the sky, giving way to dusk and holding the promise of a cool night. Driving my red convertible Mini Cooper along the narrow streets bordered by houses and small shops, I followed the GPS, turning whenever required to. As I approached the destination showing as a dot on the GPS screen, I could taste the refreshing saltiness in the air.

The neighborhoods here were newer, ritzier, and you could see a lot of them were vacation homes, inns, or summer rentals. Beyond them, the ocean played peek-a-boo with the road, making me gasp in delight. I drove on for a bit until the GPS announced I had reached my destination. I slowed and looked at the row of neat, white houses, then frowned and reached for my phone to double-check the address. Yep, this was it. But the lawyer hadn't mentioned the house was in fact half of a semi-detached home.

So much for my quiet holiday in the secluded beach house I had pictured. I might as well be sharing a house with God knows who. Though there was no one around now, an image flashed through my mind of a herd of screaming kids chasing each other on the well-kept front lawn, unmindful of any rules of privacy or sound barriers. Not that I didn't like kids, but it was enchanted more the kind of admiration one has for animals at the zoo-brief and from a distance.

Or it could be worse: the neighbors could be a couple of elderly people who couldn't stand if the TV volume were higher than two and would come over every time they saw me outside to nose around and chat.

"Frigging great."

Totally deflated, I pulled the Mini into my driveway, then got out of the car to look around. The two-story house was less than ten years old, with a ground-level entry and two bedrooms on the top floor. There was more concrete than grass in front of it, and the advertised ocean-view was nowhere in sight. Perhaps if I climbed on the roof I might spot a wave.

Miffed, I peeked toward the neighbors' side, but it looked like no one was at home. The windows were dark, and there was no car in the driveway. Perhaps they were away for the summer, I thought, feeling a twinge of hope.

my suitcase from the backseat. I hadn't brought much with me, but even with the bare necessities I dug inside my purse for the keys the lawyer had sent via express courier, then hauled out I had filled a large suitcase. After locking my car, I walked to the front door. There were several keys in the set I had, so I had to try three before I discovered the one for the entry. The door slid open without a sound. I fumbled in the semi-darkness until I found the light switch, then flicked it. The lawyer had told me Great Aunt Marnie had sold her old house a few years ago and bought a modern one, but it was a pleasant surprise to see just how modern this was. From the little I knew about Great Aunt Marnie, the house reflected her feisty, no-nonsense personality. It was done in simple colors and lines-white walls, dark walnut floors, basic furniture. I walked through the rooms, switching on lights and opening windows, still filled with a surreal feeling. I couldn't grasp that this house was mine. I mean, I had my plans like any millennial: I'd work like crazy, get a mortgage, make monthly payments for thirty years, and if I was lucky enough to live past sixty-five, then I would own a house. It had never crossed my mind I'd be gifted one before my twenty-fifth birthday.

In the spacious living room there was a leather couch, a coffee table, and a floor-to-ceiling set of bookshelves. It was loaded with books and framed photos. I walked to it, my steps almost soundless in the silent house. I brushed a finger over the dusty surfaces, looking at all these treasures my great aunt had gathered in her eighty-seven years. A lifetime of memories, yet it seemed so little for someone who'd lived for almost nine decades. I gently took a framed photo off the shelf and looked at the young, beautiful woman with honey-brown eyes and dark curly hair. Great Aunt Marnie looked a lot like me, I realized-or rather, I looked like her.

It was a wonder and a shame such a beautiful woman had never married, never had children, and had chosen to spend her life alone. I had never wondered about her until last week, and since then I had questioned my parents relentlessly about my grandmother's sister. Like me, they didn't know much about Aunt Marnie, except that she liked to travel, and had been on the road most of her life. While my granny, Georgette, had married straight out of high school, then had my mother and her brother, Great Aunt Marnie had been a rebel and never wanted to settle. In an era when this was considered extremely unwomanly, she'd studied archeology and proceeded to become an archeologist. Her entire life had been an adventure, and the captioned photos on the bookshelf told only part of the story. There was a shot of her dressed in pants, a man's shirt and a safari hat in front of the Sphinx. Another one showed her among some ruins in Greece, another was captioned 'Sarmizegetusa, Romania', and on an upper shelf she was smiling up from a pile of dirt somewhere in Africa.

What a life! I set the photos back with a feeling of longing. Perhaps I was a bit like Great Aunt Marnie, always looking for adventure-except I couldn't afford to travel on a nurse's salary, and I didn't think I could make a living as an archeologist nowadays. All in all, I regretted immensely not knowing her better.

"I'm sorry, Aunt." I reached out to stroke her pretty face, immortalized behind thin glass and decades-old paper. "Thank you for leaving me this house. And forgive me because I can't keep it."

Before I became too sentimental, I heard the roar of an engine outside, getting closer, and stopping right in front of the house. Now I had a bad feeling. I went to the window quickly and peered out. The automated outside lights had switched on, giving me my first look at my new neighbor.

A huge black Jeep was now parked in the other driveway, and a dark-haired woman climbed out of it. Immediately she noticed my Mini Cooper and stared at the lighted windows of the house. Since I was in stronger light, she had the advantage because she could see me much better than I could see her. I must have been a vision with my curly, rats-nest hair and wrinkled jeans. As for her, I made out a tall woman with wide shoulders and slim hips, a crop of unruly hair and a pair of eyes as dark as the night. Like mine, they were filled with suspicion as we stared at each other through the window, sizing up one another. As a first impression, my summer neighbor was quite memorable.