Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
At least it got to keep the girl for a while longer. There was something about being heard that warmed a heart—any heart. She’d heard it, hadn’t ignored it, not like the ones before.
Harthwait relaxed at the thought. Yes, that would work. Borrowed time while the knot inside of its foundation settled.
It knew—it knew—as soon as Cadence had ushered the girl out during the day that she’d be able to hear the house, feel it, and that Cadence had known it, too. That the girl would come back to Harthwait, slowly but surely.
And now, it felt different. The air a bit lighter. The gnarled, jagged feeling inside of its walls smoother, less hungry.
He was gone, at least—that poor boy that had the atrocious father.
Always a bad sore, that one, drawing in that darkness, or whatever his guardian had done to keep the boy anchored here.
Harthwait never had minded him. He made it feel alive in a different way, but maybe now it was time to sleep.
One day, Harthwait might miss that feeling.
The starvation for attention, for life, for someone to give to it. If it ever gained that ability again.
Yes, that sounded like a nice idea.
Now, Harthwait felt their feet on the front porch steps.
They’d been with Landry quite often the last few weeks.
The sister, Emma, talked with her hands, hair bobbing as she spoke.
The mourning doves called; the sky wasn’t quite dark, but near.
In the driveway, the man with taped glasses attempted to gather bags in both arms and close the car door with his shoe.
Landry jogged back. He shook his head, but she took a bag or two anyway. Emma still talked, eyes wide.
A family. It was nice to have a family.
“And then,” Emma exclaimed, “he said my PTO days were included. Guess how many that left me? None. So you wanna know what I emailed back?”
Landry eased up the steps. What a familiar picture: her expression weary, lips parted, hands fisted at her sides, but with shopping bags this time. Her eyebrow quirked. Except now she was grown, her mother wasn’t in the driveway, and Cadence was gone.
Sayer waddled up behind them. Groaned. Closed his eyes.
“What?” he wheezed. “Hurry up before I drop something. You’re both in my way.”
Landry stepped aside. Suppressed a little smile.
“I said ‘I hope this email finds you before I do.’ ” Emma smirked.
Landry’s eyes widened, her mouth formed an O. Sayer froze midstep.
“Emma, you didn’t,” Landry breathed.
“Oh, but I did.”
“So that’s how you got fired.” Sayer pushed around both of them, knocking the doorway when he entered. “I shouldn’t be surprised.” He fumbled through the living room, straight to the kitchen.
Harthwait strained—just for a second.
The light over the sink flickered on.
Sayer froze. Glanced about. Carefully, slowly, began unloading the bags with a gradual urgency.
If Harthwait could have smiled, it would have. But it didn’t have the energy for much else. Not with him gone—not anymore.
“Hey, Lan?” He tossed the milk in the fridge and beelined back to the foyer.
“… so he didn’t fire you—”
“—a promotion, is what I was getting at—”
“Hey,” Sayer blurted. His knuckles whitened as he clutched the doorframe.
Emma stopped in the foyer, the front door open. A country silence, the type that felt cushioned with swaying grass, chirping crickets, and cicadas, filled the room.
“What’s wrong?” Landry glanced up the steps out of habit.
It made Harthwait shrink in shame. Just a little.
“I swear the kitchen light just came on by itself.”
Emma’s eyes went wide. She gasped. “Really? Do you think it’s—”
“I replaced the bulb today,” Landry cut in. She deflated. Brought her bags into the kitchen while the other two trailed behind her like chickens after their mother. “I’m sure it’s a bad circuit.”
A bad circuit. Yes, that’s what it was.
And after that, Harthwait worried that’s all it ever would be: a house with a thousand possibilities, where one day it would be left, with no family that could hear it. Where Landry might leave and take her sister and friend with her.
Her family. Its family.
So until it couldn’t anymore, Harthwait might let them know that it was still there. Somehow. Until what little festering life drained away completely.
Then it would be as if the boy had never been, the house had never felt, and Landry had never heard anything—anything at all.