A hunt for love

Salt stings my eyes reminding me of the heat as I wipe the sweat from my brow. “She never did like air-conditioning.” I chuckle sadly, sitting in my grandmothers’ house unfolding box after box preparing to pack all the things she gathered throughout her life. Nothing of great value, just old knick-knacks from a time forgotten, books towering upon books of all the fictional stories she loved to read to me, fuelling my imagination. No this is simply a house of memories.

It was only her and I left, the one that raised me when my mum died. Grandma opened her arms and home to me with reassuring words and kindness, letting me know that I was not alone, well, until now.

I’ll never forget that phone call, the whole reason why I’m sitting here now lost in the memories of a woman who turned tragedy into happiness, a stranger telling me that my grandmother had passed away. I had been so busy with work fighting for a promotion that I hadn’t seen her for over a year.

“No need to be dwelling on that now” I reprimand myself returning to the task at hand.

A gush of wind rushes through the open window cooling the sweat upon my back, a shiver running down my spine while a short chime of music tingles in calling, drawing my attention to a music box upon a shelf of the wall wrapping bookcase. A gentle smile curls my lips as I rise to my feet, directing me towards the trinket.

Memories of my childhood rush back to me as my finger slides along the intricate designs upon the lid, remembering the times grief would strike me from my loss, my grandmother would pull out this music box and allow me to listen to it for hours on end just to be calmed by the melody. Feeling the need for it now, I grasp the edges, lifting the lid as the unoiled hinges squeak from the forgotten motion, freeing the solo dancer within to position itself, ready to perform. But instead of a calming tune, I hear a constant clicking as though the key is catching.

“Maybe it’s not wound up...” I mumble, winding my hand to the back of the box to turn the delicate winch. But the moment my fingers ensnare the tool I notice it can turn no further. “Don’t tell me it’s broken?”

Lifting the music box from the shelf I stroll over to the lounge taking a seat in hopes of fixing whatever ails my favoured trinket. Closing the lid, I twist and turn the box within my palms, looking for any damage, before opening the lid once more. Again, the solo dance arises but no music comes forth just an insistent clicking of the key upon the tune roll. Not really having a skill for fixing such things, I’m still determined to discover the truth as I pry away the velvet cover hiding the mechanism within. My eyes widened with a gasp when the appearance of a folded sheet of paper, wedged between the key and the roller preventing its song.

“Who would do such a thing?” I wonder as I gently release it’s holding, relieved as the music begins to play flawlessly.

Returning the music box to the shelf I slowly unfold the paper to reveal my grandmother's handwriting. “What!?” I gasp, hurrying to soften the folds that have cracked over time to better read her words.

‘To my dearest Lily,

If you are reading this then I know the time has come and I am no longer here with you. I wish that I did not have to leave you alone, but hopefully what I have planned will lighten the burden ahead of you.

Within this house, you will surely find yourself lost in memories as you sort through everything that we held dear. But what you do not know is that I have prepared a small treasure hunt. This note is the first clue to where you will find the next, so read my words carefully or you will never know what awaits you. When you looked upon my bookcase what did your imagination capture? Was it the words of others or secrets just for you?’

“A scavenger hunt! Seriously?” I burst out in a chortle, “That is exactly like her!”

My solemn mood lifted, I control my giggles as my eyes scroll over the note, trying to derive the clue. “Hmm... what did I think about this bookcase?”

My eyes rise to what stands before me. Shelves upon shelves of tales from others. “Clearly the note is telling me that the next clue is here as well... but where to find it?”

I comb through my memories, to the time when I was still just a little girl. My grandmother would run her fingers along the tomes, asking me to choose the next story I’d like to be told. “Secrets just for you?” I breathe as my eyes roam the titles, before coming to a halt on the famous British spy novel ‘007’. “That’s right!” I exclaim reaching for the book, “When she read me this, I remember saying that this bookcase would be perfect for a secret door just like in a spy story.”

Opening the cover, another note flutters to the ground. Quickly, I bend to retrieve it. While absentmindedly returning the tome to the shelf, I unfold my next clue.

‘A spy you are indeed! One of your earliest wishes. Though that dream did not come true, I am sure you understand where dreams are made?’

“Dreams are made for when you sleep... That is what you told me when I refused to go to bed.” I grin, turning towards the hall.

Rushing down the hallway, I stumble on a raised floorboard, almost falling face-first into my rooms faded pink door. “I always hated this colour, but you refused to change it,” I remember, shaking my head with a wry smile before clasping the handle. Dust coats the contents within, nothing changed or touched since my last visit, treating the room almost like a shrine awaiting an occupant that never returns. Guilt rushes through me once more, reminding me of just how long it’s been since I stayed. “Is this why you put your next clue here?” I sigh while walking towards the bed. “You always were subtle with your nagging. Forcing me to find the answer, rather than giving it.”

I pat my hands over the cover, finding nothing but dust clouds to fill my lungs. Next, I lift my pillows, only to find the sheets bare beneath. Frowning in confusion, I return the pillows, placing my hands on my hips. “Come on!” I curse in dismay, “this is obviously where dreams are made!”

Grunting in frustration I flop upon my bed ignoring the dust that cascades through the air to settle on me. I watch dust motes flying about the space, reflected by the sunlight shining brightly through the solitary window. Rolling to my side, readying to get up to open said window, I hear a crackle of paper beneath my ear. Sitting up with a start I return my sight to the pillow. I slide my hand into the pillow slip and there I find my next clue. I sit on the edge of my bed, unfolding it to reveal its contents.

‘Dreams are made for when you sleep, so you can enjoy them at their best potential. I am sure you remember those words well, as well as the words you would counter me with when you sort another place for comfort.’

Once again, I find myself laughing. “It is not only dreams when you sleep, you can also have nightmares.” I would say when I entered her room begging to share her bed for the night.

My search begins again, I muse, as I rise to my feet heading to the room I was planning to pack last. Emotion overwhelms me as I stand before her door, directly across the hall from my own. My earlier thoughts of mirth have left me and all I feel is sadness in knowing that she will not be there to comfort me when I enter. Reminding myself of what she is giving me, another clue to be found, I take a deep breath before slowly opening the door.

No dust smothers this room as it was well used until just recently. A Queen-sized bed nestled between two side tables, with a simple mahogany vanity settled beside a tall, well-worn wardrobe. Simple as it ever was but now unsettling with its stillness. I take a shuddering step inside, the floor creaking beneath my feet as I close in on her bed. No search needed this time, as I take note of a sealed envelope with the name ‘Lily’ written across it, nestled upon her side table. A single tear rolls down my cheek, as I sit on the edge of her bed hesitantly reaching for the envelope. With shaking hands, I break the seal, while wiping the tear from my cheek with a rub of my shoulder.

A single sheet of paper is held within, waiting to be read. Believing this to be the end of my journey I find its removal a daunting task. Blinking back a few more tears I remove its contents only to be shocked that it reveals nothing but a single line.

‘To know where you’re going, you must look to where you’ve been. A person’s shoes reveal that truth.’

“Shoes?” I wonder turning my head to her wardrobe.

I leave the note on her bed and turn my attention to where she kept hers. Though old it is, the wardrobe is a beautiful antique, rich grained wood with carvings that swirl to frame its beauty. I drop to my knees, opening the lower draw, where I find a single shoebox.

With careful hands I remove the solitary object, crossing my legs as I place the box within my lap. Gingerly, I open the lid and burst into tears with what I find.

A stack of money, a small black notebook and a letter. Confused and taken aback, I retrieved the letter to understand what I have found.

‘To my dearest Lily,

I hope you enjoyed your little adventure, as I did try to teach you that life can be fun if you know how to seek it, considering you had such a sad beginning.

The day your mother, my only daughter, died, I was stricken with grief at the loss, but also heartened by the gift I had been given. That was you, Lily. You alone survived the car crash, something that could have taken you both from my world. Though I did not have a lot to give I had hoped to give you what you needed the most and that was the love that I held for you. I know at times you believed that I found you to be nothing but a burden, but I hope you know that is not true. You were my shining hope, my truest treasure and together we searched and found real happiness and wonder.

Within this box, is a copy of my journal, telling the tale of our life together, as well as my years with your mother and grandfather. I hope they will give you comfort when you need it most.

But words alone can only bring comfort to the heart, I wish to bring you comfort in another way if I can. That is why I saved as much as I could for you and your future in a practical sense. With my last counting, $20,000 is yours for the taking to do with as you please. So, all that is left to leave you with is my words of love, as well as my last drop of wisdom.

We live, we laugh, we hurt, we cry, but the truth will set us free. Find your truth my treasure, and allow your feet to take you there.

Love always,

Grandma.’