The Cottage

Shut up! Quinn thought, squeezing her eyes closed against the bright morning light as if that action could drown out the infuriating twitter of the happy birds flitting around her window. Today was not a bright happy day. Gulping down the threat of tears, Quinn flopped over in her bed. Eyes on the ceiling, she drew deep breaths. Today was going to be one of the worst days of her life.

Two months ago had been the very worst day. Her beloved Gigi had gone to Heaven after a quick, but fierce, battle against cancer. Gigi. The one person, the one constant, the one love in all of her twenty-three years. Orphaned by a car accident when a mere month old, it had been her maternal grandmother Gigi who had been there to help with the first steps, the first heartbreak, and everything between. Today, she would lose the cottage. Quinn’s last remaining physical link to the woman who had been her bedrock.

Groaning, and sliding her feet to the old wooden floorboards, she sat up. Nothing to do but face the music, she thought as she trudged to the bathroom, dodging the dozens of boxes of her belongings packed up and flung everywhere like land mines. Looking in the bathroom mirror, she could hear Gigi - “Quinny, my girl. You have to do something about that rat’s nest.” Indeed, Quinn’s curly chestnut hair did resemble a nest of some sort. Squeezing her bright blue eyes closed and sighing, Quinn hopped into the shower and did her best to transform into a functioning adult. She needed to prepare herself for the meeting with the attorney this afternoon.

Once presentable to Gigi’s standards, Quinn wandered toward the kitchen of the cottage with the vague idea of grabbing a bagel and some of Gigi’s favorite chamomile tea to fortify herself for the challenges ahead. On the way, she ran her hand delicately along the wall, gently caressing the chair rail that spanned the length of the hall. This cottage was the only home she’d ever known.

Most would call it quaint, with its small footprint nestled among the riotous beds of flowers that grew with caprice and whimsy wherever they liked. In the shadows of the tall oaks that surrounded it, Quinn just called it home. Or she had, until today. Fresh out of college Quinn had secured a wonderful position with the local elementary, teaching art. She loved it. The problem was: her wages covered her bills – and no more. She could spring for a night out here or there, but the little she’d been able to save seemed to always evaporate at the first car repair or medical expense. She’d thought the cottage would belong to her once Gigi had passed, and had found comfort in the fact that she would not have to come up with mortgage payments. She would be able save more, and finally get ahead. Gigi had always told her she’d never have to leave.

However, there was the troublesome matter of overdue property tax bills. After the estate had settled, Quinn had been informed that unless she could come up with close to twenty thousand dollars to settle the taxes and penalties, the cottage would go to auction. The blow, on top of losing Gigi, had been almost unbearable. Mr. Cartwright, Gigi’s attorney, had been almost as heartbroken as she was. He’d known Gigi since she was a young widow. He’d urged Quinn to borrow from family, except there was no one. All of her closest friends had the crushing student loans she herself was battling – none of them would be able to help. She didn’t qualify for a bank loan since she really didn’t have any credit history established, other than her school debt. She had spent the weeks after her meeting with Mr. Cartwright frantically searching for any avenue she could to hold on to the cottage. Finally, when every option was exhausted – she’d accepted defeat.

Tonight, she’d swallow her pride. Her best friend Laurel had a basement. She could stay there rent free until she found a place within her budget. Cold, dark and drafty – at least it wasn’t the street. And she knew how close she was to that eventuality. So, she’d humbly accepted Laurel’s offer.

Immersed in the dark thoughts that preyed upon her, Quinn almost missed the black book lying in the center of the table. When she saw it, she eyed it as if it were a bomb. Certain that she was alone in the cottage, and had been all night, the sight of the black Moleskine notebook alarmed her. How would it have gotten there? Having packed up, sold or stored nearly the entire contents of the cottage – Quinn was absolute in her certainty that this was a new addition. Slowly, as though it might reach up and bite her, she extended her shaking hand to the embossed silver lettering on the bottom of the front. Quinny, those letters said. Only one person in the universe called her Quinny.

With a shaky breath, she slid the notebook toward her. She wasn’t sure if this was a miracle or a curse, but she knew she had to open this Pandora’s Box and see what was within. Inside, the thick ivory pages had rounded corners and instead of lines there were dots. An artist’s book. Gigi’s book. She slowly flipped to the first page, and saw a beautiful line and wash rendering of the cottage. Gigi’s signature style. Gigi had been a watercolorist of some renown, though never famous on a grand scale. The work was beautiful and had tears welling up and spilling down Quinn’s cheeks. Had Gigi known? Had she somehow given her this sketchbook as a way of remembering the home she was about to lose? In life, Gigi had always watched over Quinn. Mother, Father, friend and angel – she had always known what it was Quinn needed. Somehow, someway, she had found a way to continue to provide it from beyond.

Realizing that the book was an afterlife gift from Gigi dispelled any apprehension, and Quinn began to move through the pages – marveling at each exquisite creation. After the first page, the miniature works of art began to resemble nothing so much as a tiny time capsule of Quinn’s life: drawings that captured scenes from her baby face to her graduation looked out at her from the pages. As she reached the last page, she saw the scrawling scratch that passed as Gigi’s handwriting.

“Quinny, oh how I hate to see you so heartbroken. Know that I will always live on in you and I will always watch over you. No time or space can change that, my girl. All you have to do is close your eyes, and there I am.” Closing her eyes, Quinn took a deep breath. She could, almost, feel a hug surround her. Content, she opened her eyes and began to close her new treasure. She stopped as she noticed an expandable pocket at the back of the book. Opening it, she drew out a cashier’s check with her name on it. For twenty thousand dollars.

Head reeling, she dropped into the chair behind her. Her breath was now coming in short bursts. Excitement welled up in her. Gigi knew. Somehow she knew, and she had followed through on her promise. Quinn would not have to leave!

Forgetting breakfast, Quinn grabbed her bag and rushed to her second hand but reliable Accord. Dialing Mr. Cartwright with shaking hands, she explained what had happened and asked for instructions on what to do next. After depositing the check, and securing a cashier’s check of her own, she met Mr. Cartwright at his office. He had told her that, in honor of Gigi, he would handle the tax office and make certain that the cottage would not go to auction. With a tearful hug, they parted ways.

Quinn zipped across town. Having taken the day off for what she knew would be an emotional mess of a day, she was now free to tackle Laurel at her job and share her exciting news. After more hugs, and a happy dance, Quinn headed back to the cottage. Her cottage. To unpack. Suddenly, the birdsong sounded like the most heavenly chorus of happiness. Grin splitting her face, Quinn pushed up her sleeves. It was time to get to work and put everything back.

As she was pulling a box off the stack that was headed to storage, Quinn’s foot got tangled in the jacket she’d dropped precipitously on the floor in her excitement. As she fell in slow motion toward the foot of the bed, Quinn had just enough time to realize that this was going to hurt. Then everything went black.

When Quinn woke, she was in her bed and the birds were singing and the sun was shining. Realizing it had all been a dream, and that not only would she indeed have to leave – but that she had also imagined all of Gigi’s illustrations of her life, Quinn was bereft. The dam broke, and tears she could not – would not – hold back rushed in torrents down her face. Burying her head in the pillow, she shoved her hands beneath to better stifle her sobs. Her hands brushed something hard. Calming enough to pull out the hidden object, she pulled out a small black artist’s sketchbook.

On the front cover, in silver, was “Quinny.”