Chapter Three
A week in, the carpet had become the enemy.
The crew was not coming until the afternoon, which left me the morning, and I was spending it on my hands and knees in the living room.
I found a loose corner, pulled, and the tack strip fought me a moment before letting go all at once with a sound like Velcro.
The padding underneath was worse than the carpet.
The hardwood, though, was nearly perfect.
A narrow, honey-colored plank that hadn’t seen the light of day in decades.
By noon I had cleared a good portion of the room. Sweat had soaked through my T-shirt. Carpet fiber itched in my hair, on my skin, in places I would find it for days. My hands ached inside the work gloves, but I reached for the next corner.
When I finally stopped, I sat back on the bare floor, peeled off a glove, and checked my phone. There was a text from Rachel.
how’s the money pit
I took a picture of the half-stripped room and sent it back.
that looks like a crime scene
it’s PROGRESS, there’s hardwood under here. original. it’s gorgeous
it’s a crime scene with hardwood
I was smiling at my phone, thumbs moving, when something caught at the corner of my eye.
Through the kitchen doorway, the lower cabinet to the left of the sink drifted slowly open. Not all the way. Maybe a foot.
I did not move, just sat watching the cabinet hang open. It did not do anything else.
I got up, crossed the kitchen, and crouched in front of it. There was nothing inside but a square of yellowed shelf liner curling at one corner. I pushed the door shut. The latch clicked. I opened it and pushed it shut a second time, then a third. Every time it caught and held.
Old house. Old latch.
I went back to my corner.
Rachel had sent another line: seriously though I’m proud of you. this is a huge thing you did. most people just talk about starting over.
I looked at the screen a moment.
My thumbs moved. the house has so much personality, half the cabinets won’t even stay shut. I read it back. True. Funny.
I deleted it.
thank you. that means a lot. it’s going to be amazing, I promise. come see it when there’s something to see.
deal. send more crime scene photos
always
I put the phone face-down on the floor and got back to the carpet.
The crew came at one, and the afternoon filled up with noise. One of Pete’s guys was framing out the bathroom. The house was loud and full of people, and I was in the middle of it, answering questions, making decisions, pulling more carpet.
It was only later, after everyone had gone and the house had gone quiet and I had showered the carpet fibers out of my hair, that the smell came back.
I had smelled it a few times now — always at night, always upstairs — and still could not place it.
Not floral. Warmer than that. A little smoky underneath, like the back end of a candle, like incense.
Something somebody had burned in this room a long time ago.
I stood in the middle of the bedroom and breathed it in until the chill chased me into bed. I piled the blankets over myself and waited to stop shivering. Eventually I drifted off to the old house ticking and settling.