Chapter 2
Chapter Two
“That is … a long list,” I said. The paper’s corners trembled in my hands, so I steadied my elbows on the dining room table.
Aunt Cadence had always been proud of this dining room set—carved cherry wood, with swirls around its thickened legs and matching chairs. There were still marks in the finish from where I’d dragged my colored pencils through construction paper.
My mom had scolded me.
Aunt Cadence said it gave the table character.
Eleanora leaned back at the head of the table to my right.
The sun reflected in grids through the Palladian window that faced the backyard.
My eyes skimmed the wilted garden just past the porch, at the edge of the trees.
A beautiful day. A shame to be inside for it. Eleanora’s voice drew me back in.
“It may be rather long, but it’s an effective—and necessary—collection of changes.” A miniature tea set glinted in the sun behind Eleanora’s head, aligned in a neat row on the floating shelf.
“Of course.”
I hated the lilt to her words. Her tongue wasn’t lazy with syllables, the muscles in her jaw weren’t lax. No drawl, no semblance of home. Northern, it told me. But something more. Rich people money, it told me.
My aunt would’ve liked her. She’d have asked where she was from, if she liked to fly or drive when she traveled. Where she’d visited, the houses she’d sold. Rooted herself right there under Eleanora’s skin like a burrowing mouse, ready to hear the full story.
Why couldn’t I bring myself to do that?
The pounding in my chest hadn’t calmed, like my heart knew I’d jumped a precipice. No turning back now. If I breathed in deep enough, I caught the mix of casseroles from the kitchen. Now, instead of just slightly anxious, I was also slightly anxious and nauseous.
“They wouldn’t take much time with the right help. I understand you do small project renovations for a living?”
My eyes snapped up. Help?
“I didn’t think I’d need to hire help,” I said. “Or remove walls.” A hint of bitterness on my tongue. Walls and doors meant permits.
“Oh, you don’t have to. These are merely suggestions.”
Which told me they weren’t.
“However, if you want to sell it, and sell it quick, we need to make it stand out. People want modern with old bones—vintage chic. Any realtor will tell you this. I know you’re on a deadline, which is why I suggested outside help.
” She flitted her fingers to her copy of the suggestions.
“Trust me. The bones of this house are wonderful. But let’s face facts.
It’s old. The market doesn’t favor builds from the eighteen hundreds.
Sure, Cadence took care of it, but there are worn boards, creaking steps, and it feels—congested. ”
Her nose wrinkled at the word. I couldn’t help but note the way her eyes flitted about the room. As if the ample space was closing in on her.
I swallowed hard. Play nice. Keep an open mind. “I’ll need to check with the historic registry.”
A wave of a manicured hand. “Oh, of course. Absolutely.”
“How much would all this cost?” My eyes returned to the page. Have central air checked for Nest installation? *everyone prefers smart units these days.
She rattled off a number.
Sayer, knowing my budget, balked at the back of her head. Then, he met my gaze and mouthed one word:
Insane.
“We’ve clocked, what, almost four thousand square feet? It pays to play,” Eleanora finished. “I can get you in touch with a few contractors. Quick and easy. Painless, actually. And we would be on pace for the proposed listing date.”
“I planned on—”
“You can’t do work like this, dear,” she said with a sad cringe.
I bristled but didn’t argue.
“Think about it, okay?” She patted my hand. Her palms were soft. It took everything in my power to not pull away. “Let me know. But I think it would be great if we could get this place on the market by end of summer. Plenty of time, yes?”
I sat, mouth open.
The funeral was just this morning. I didn’t even have Aunt Cadence’s ashes yet.
This felt wrong—too soon. But I couldn’t back out. I couldn’t pay to keep Harthwait when I already had other jobs waiting on me. My wallet screamed at the thought. I didn’t have a year to get this house in shape. It had to be sold by end of summer so I could move on to my other clients.
“Well, Miss Landry, it was a pleasure meeting you. Thank you for allowing me to poke about.” She pushed to stand. The chair scratched the floor.
“The pleasure was mine. I appreciate you coming out.” The words tasted fake.
With a nod to me and a sharp smile, Eleanora pivoted on a heel and stalked from the room. Sayer and I waited as she showed herself out. I could picture the stained-glass covers trembling like my fingers. There it was again, that fluttering at the base of my throat.
Sayer took Eleanora’s seat and snatched the paper from my hand.
“This is typed,” he said.
I sighed, brow scrunched. “I noticed that.”
“How did she bring this on first meeting, typed?” he pressed. “What happened to just taking a look?”
I shrugged. Covered my face with my hands. “I don’t know, Say. Maybe she made an assumption from selling homes like this before?” All it emphasized, to me, was the urgency.
That thought burrowed against my spine. Urgency wasn’t always a good thing, though—I’d seen it, felt it on my own skin. It could mean impatience or lack of thought for others, a selfishness that could be driven by an undisclosed, rabid desire that I knew nothing about.
Or I could just be letting doubt creep in. I shifted in my chair.
“You don’t have to give her the listing,” he said, low. “You can wait. Pick someone else. Give it time. Today’s already been—enough.”
“I don’t have a choice.” My skin erupted in goosebumps. The projected sell price of Harthwait glared at me from the bottom of the reno list. Underlined in red.
That money could do so many things. Provide cushion. Pay a credit card, or better yet, remove the last couple thousand I owed on my car. Yet somehow, those zeros did nothing to cushion how the house had come into my possession.
I ran a finger over an eye in the wood of the table. It was dull in this spot, where the finish had worn away. How many elbows had sat in this tiny, square inch of space? How many years had it taken to wear it down to the grain?
Had it been my younger elbows, during day visits? My mother’s? Aunt Cadence’s?
Maybe even my father, the few times before he left Mom.
“This would bother me, too, if I were you.” Sayer looked at me over his glasses’ frames. Instead of librarian, all I saw was subdued pity.
I settled against the wooden back of the chair.
My mouth watered while my stomach churned and churned.
Like a cauldron eddying over a rolling flame.
It didn’t really matter what I thought or what I felt.
I was one person—one single, unattached individual that had no partner, no child, no roommates, and no reason to root myself in Stetson. The only logical route was selling.
Unbidden, a memory needled me.
Will it get better when I’m old like you, Aunt Denny? I’d asked. Her name was a lilt of highs and lows on my tongue. Live in a house alone like you? Away from people like Mommy?
She’d looked at me with glassy eyes. A hard swallow. Don’t know if you’d want a house like this, Lanny. Lot of empty rooms can be lonesome.
But I wanna be alone.
Well, that’s fine.
Is this what better felt like?
“I need to go back to the funeral home,” I said, changing the subject.
“What for?”
“I need to pick up the floral arrangements that were left behind. The lady said she’d keep them in the front office for after I met with Eleanora.”
“I have a car,” Sayer said. “Let me go.”
“Didn’t you have some work to finish up?” He’d uprooted himself to help me. I couldn’t expect him to throw away all responsibility.
“Lan, it’s Saturday.”
I sighed. “Good point. But I’d rather go myself.”
He set the paper down. A long pause. Then, “I’m sorry that you didn’t get to see her first.”
I chewed the inside of my lip, bit down until the skin pulled away and I tasted blood. That burn brewed again, this time so deep in the back of my skull that I was scared if I blinked that the tears would fall immediately.
I managed a slight nod. I wished I’d been able to see her one last time, too. But I hadn’t. And there was nothing I could do about it.
Guilt—that’s what the burning was. Guilt that I’d wiped my hands of my family in an effort to keep the hurt at bay, if only a little while longer. What I hadn’t banked on was Cadence being taken so soon without any preliminary health problems—that were known, anyway.
A heart attack, the doctor said. Someone had requested a welfare check when a phone call hadn’t been returned, is what the officer said. She’d been found that following Monday, on the rug in the office.
The timing had been almost eerie. I’d just finished a job close to Charleston when I’d gotten the call that she’d passed.
Now, with free housing for the summer, all my belongings were stuffed in a storage unit an hour away. I’d given up my apartment, my work schedule, everything to take care of this.
To come back here.
“Do you think you’ll see him?” Sayer whispered, as if he could hear my thoughts.
“You’re asking all the hard questions.” I picked at a hangnail instead of looking at him.
“I ask because I care.”
Another tight-lipped nod. “Maybe.” Maybe not. I tried to stifle the tiny flutter at the thought. But it might not happen—a lot of our graduating class had moved, like myself, after school. For college or jobs or family.
I tried to keep my browser history empty of his name, either way.
“Hopefully not,” I said. Then I stood. “It’s only a few months, anyway. If I do, I don’t care. What’s done is done.”
“Lan—”
“I don’t have a choice,” I bit. The words were painful in my throat.
“We can still—”
The doorbell rang like a gong through the house.