Chapter 8 #4
as easily from that direction.
Erin steps out of my way as I make my way into the hallway then pull the door closed. Once again, it takes no effort at all
to twist the doorknob and open the door.
“Maybe when I opened it from the outside, it loosened something inside the mechanism,” Erin says kindly, but there’s a wary, suspicious look on her face, and I don’t blame her.
I’m racking my mind now—replaying my memory of the morning’s happenings.
Maybe the door slamming startled me so much my palm was sweaty and I wasn’t quite gripping the door?
Or maybe I imagined the whole thing.
Erin suggests we go downstairs for a “nice, soothing cup of tea.” She uses the kind of tone a nurse would use with a disturbed
patient, and I don’t blame her. I’m rattled as all hell but trying to restore some dignity, so I follow her down the stairs.
Erin stops at the front door and retrieves a mop and bucket and a caddy of cleaning products. She carries both through to
the kitchen, then rests them by the farmhouse table.
I busy myself—putting the kettle on, taking deep breaths. Ten minutes ago I thought I might die trapped in that storage room
upstairs but now I have to have a mature, calm conversation with this stranger I’ve only met once about how and when she might
help me clean my probably haunted house. My life seems more surreal by the minute.
“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” I tell her, which is as close as I’ll let myself come to warning her to
run while you can.
“Oh, I really don’t like to disappoint Ginny and she gave me some very explicit instructions,” Erin says, and there’s a slightly
nervous edge to her laugh. “I’m to stay out of your way—just dust, dust, dust. Does that sound okay?” She reaches into her
bucket to withdraw a small radio. I recognize it as the one Mum had in the laundry when I lived in the farmhouse with her
and Alan. She used to listen to talk radio while she did the folding. “She asked me to give you this. Said this old house
can be noisy especially at night and background sound might help.”
It’s a brilliant idea and I’m a little annoyed I didn’t think of it myself. But this is typical for Mum. She clearly doesn’t want me in this house, doesn’t even want to talk about it, but she loves me enough to worry for
me and to try to help me settle in.
“Thanks, Erin,” I say, and I take the radio from her hands, resting it in the very back corner of the countertop. My mother does not like to see her belongings damaged, and if some mysterious force wants to push this radio down onto the floorboards, I’m not going to make it easy for them.
Erin and I have a brief discussion about her working arrangements. We agree on three or four hours a day, and she names a
very reasonable price per hour and asks that I pay her at the end of the week. That all suits me just fine, so we shake hands
on the arrangement, then I show her to the parlour, where she gets right to work.
I wander back into the kitchen and sit at the table, resting my head in my hands. Sleep deprivation really can send a person
crazy—would a few rough nights be enough to tip me over the edge? I’m not even sure what to do, other than to try to keep
moving, to hope for a better sleep tonight and a clearer head tomorrow.
With that, I force myself to stand, to make myself busy as a distraction.
I take Mum’s little radio and pop it on a local classical station as I work on clearing off the dining room table. I take
the little card from each of the vases and the rotten flower boxes, and I tuck them off to the side for Jon to keep. I ferry
all of the trash outside to the dumpster, and then I’m dusting and wiping, and the hours start melting past.
It’s just past 2:00 p.m. when Erin comes to find me. She’s carrying a bucket in her hand, almost overflowing with filthy rags.
“I can wash those—” I say, but she pulls it away and shakes her head.
“I insist,” she says lightly. “I’ve left my mop on the back landing to dry. I’ll see you at eight tomorrow?”
“Of course. Thanks for today.”
“No need to thank me,” she insists, and I laugh softly. She’s got a smear of dust on her nose and her blue shirt is tinged
with brown.
“Of course there is. I’d still be stuck in that room if it wasn’t for you! Besides, you’re doing me a huge favor helping with
the cleaning. Have a great night and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Just as the front door closes behind her, a text message hits my phone. It’s from Jack. I wipe my hands on my jeans and pick
it up.
I’m on call tonight so I’ve got the afternoon off and I’m headed home to help with some farm jobs. Maybe I can pop in with
some afternoon tea on my way past?
I stare at that message for a long moment before I reply. I wanted a distraction, and a visit from Jack would be exponentially more distracting than cleaning this dining room.
Of course! I’m not going anywhere so see you when it suits.
I put the phone down and exhale a shaky breath as I tell myself that he’s just being friendly and this isn’t a big deal.