Page 14 of A Heart So Haunted
The interior still smelled of faint mint and—lilies. I glanced down. Sure enough, a quadruplet of seedlings and one single potted plant stood at attention in the floorboard. Someone had given them to me in the church parking lot that morning. Another consolation prize for having to organize a funeral. I didn’t feel like getting back out of the car to move them, so the smell would remain.
“You know, raccoons make amazing pets! Haven’t you seen the videos online? They eat marshmallows.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said with a wince. All I pictured were its claws, its black eyes. The way it scurried and slunk instead of ambling like a dog.
Again, the possible disease.
Emma glared. “Don’t be such a pessimist. Anything can be tamed if you love it enough. And you can’t judge a book by its cover.”
I stifled a cringe. “I’ll pass.”
“Ooooor,” she sang, leaning into the driver’s window, “if you’re so scared, we could get a guard dog.”
My expression flattened. “I’m notthatscared.”
She smirked. “Not yet.”
Chapter Three
Alone stoplight guarded Stetson’s single intersection. Meredith’s Gift Shop, Lottie’s Diner, and Dosi-Do’s Ice Cream lined the street across from the post office and library. On an unlucky day, one might wander a few blocks down to Rosco’s Mechanics (a bit dodgy, but beggars couldn’t be choosers) or the hardware store, which sat parallel to the railroad tracks behind Main Street. From there, a line of four homes squatted across the railway like afterthoughts. My favorite of the four was daffodil yellow, tucked closest to the swinging bridge over the creek.
Stetson was no different from any other old town. Every building had paneling or brick bleached by the sun, and the sidewalks dipped in the center from hundreds of thousands of feet that walked them for decades. The lampposts—tall, bulbous, with a horse and wagon atop the lantern—leaned a bit.
I eyed the small two-story apartment building from my parking spot. If you went upstairs, you’d find a single studio flat with cigarette smoke-stained walls and shag carpet. Every evening after school once Mom and Dad split, I’d sit at a windowsill on the other side of the building. It faced that little yellow house. I’d wait and watch the family who lived there at the time. The two boys would run in thehouse, then straight back out while their mother’s shadow moved against the curtains. Then the car was loaded with bags and snacks and water bottles.
Once the family left, the boys grown and long gone, an older lady took over. The flower beds darkened with new mulch and fresh flowers and a young man showed up every weekend—a grandson or nephew, maybe. In the summer, they piddled outside. In the winter, the kitchen light remained warm and yellow.
I sunk deeper into my seat. I was stalling—and I knew it. Pushing away the inevitable because of the slight chance someone would see me.
Because if they did, they would speak to me. They would say they were sorry. They would praise Aunt Cadence’s life, even if they hadn’t spoken to her in over a decade.Oh, but I always ran into her at the post office when she was a kid. You know she worked there as a clerk before she could even drive, right?
They would offer sharp shells of memories, thinking it would make me feel comforted, when all it really did was remind me of all of the minutes I’dnothad with her.
They’d pluck with good intention, taking away the last little bits of myself that protected my composure from my decomposition.
I’m so sorry for your lossturned intoCan I have a little piece of your sternum, dear? Just a bit. It won’t hurt.
Call me if you need anythingslithered intoYou have plenty of teeth, dear, just give me one and I’ll be on my way. You’ll be fine.
Then I’d be left shivering in their aftermath, wondering why they were able to walk away from the pain and I wasn’t.
I stared at the crooked sidewalks. The chipped brick sidings worn with age. The paint-peeled window frames, the stout concrete steps, the bike rack outside the library.
I bit my cheek and climbed out of the car. If I didn’t do it now, I wouldn’t do it at all.
The thickened longleaf pines and river birch trees swayed absently in the soggy breeze, but the gravel was crisp with heat. I hauled thebox of ceramic chickens out of my trunk, then locked the car. The SUV beeped in farewell, then I started off down Main Street.
Meredith first—maybe coffee afterward, as a reward. For making it this far.
I moseyed from storefront to storefront, box cradled to my chest. Meredith’s sign dangled from an iron pole like a beacon. When I walked in, her door chimed. Air, warm and spiced, greeted me.
The front displays were covered in homeware, dish sets, trinkets like napkin holders and placemats and salt and pepper shakers. The tension immediately fell from my neck and shoulders with the first inhale.
“Well, if I ain’t ever!” a husky voice called, as if she hadn’t been at the funeral this morning. “You’re supposed to be home, sweet pea.”
I gave a tentative smile. I meant for it to lighten the mood. She only sighed.
Meredith rounded the checkout counter, her warm skin, wide smile, and throaty hum of happiness like a magnet. It was staggering, really, to see how similar someone could look to a memory, but so different, too. Like time had brushed against a person, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on how.
