Page 15 of A Heart So Haunted
Maybe it was the funeral that made these thoughts surface. Would I look in the mirror one day and notice a change? How old would I be when I noticed the fine lines weren’t so fine anymore?
“I brought you chickens, if that’s okay?” I held the box up a bit. The contents rattled.
She shuffled up beside me, glanced inside, then squished me in a tight embrace. Her long, tight curls brushed my cheek. “My girl! How dare you. You didn’t need to do that already. You should beresting,” she emphasized.
My inhale shook. “I know.”
“Well.” Her black eyes were earnest, if a bit teary. She cupped my face in her hands and swiped her thumbs over my cheeks. “You, my girl, are a sight for sore eyes anyway. Now. Why are you bringing me chickens?”
A hairline fissure started in my throat. I couldn’t cry. Not already.
Not in front of Meredith.
“I have enough casseroles to sink a battleship and the chickens were taking up too much room,” I said, and I meant it. Short, tall, round, square, all colors and makes. It made me question Aunt Cadence’s intentions—were the chickens merely collector’s, or an effort to re-create her own childhood kitchen? Bowing to a fad, maybe? Either way, I couldn’t keep them all. “I figured you could use a few?”
“A few. A few means less than eight, surely. But, I won’t lie, they sell well enough. Can’s see why not.” At this, she pulled back. Both hands perched on her hips; her floral blouse managed to look intimidating. She squinted. “You ain’t eaten today?”
“Earlier.” The word tasted sour.
“Well. You’re here. And I did tell you to bring things by when you were ready.” She gave me a look. “Follow me to the dungeon, I guess. Just don’t judge me. I ain’t got but one part- timer and it takes a good day and a half to price every other box your Cadence brought us a couple weeks ago.”
Your Cadence.
“I didn’t know she … brought so much stuff?” I trailed after Meredith, sidestepping a tea towel display, an intricate shelf of kitchen decor, all the way back to a short hallway that coughed us out into a crowded back room. Meredith was right. It did look like a hoarder’s dungeon.
“Oh, all the time.” Meredith stepped over a set of flat plastic storage containers. “Matter of fact, she brought in a whole load of stuff the week before—” she stopped. Pointed to an empty space, as if neither of us would notice the pivot. She whipped a sticky note pad out of her pocket, along with a pen. “Right here’s a good spot, Landry.”
I picked my way through, deposited the box, then watched as Meredith scribbled on a sticky note and stuck it on the top of the box.
“You don’t mind that I bring her things?” I asked. She stickered a few more. “It’s not overwhelming?”
“Oh, no, no. Might take me a while to get through it, but I’ll manage. Just keep bringing them,” she said. Another stick. Another smack. Then, “Your momma gonna take any of her things and help out?”
“You know Carla. If there’s not money involved, she doesn’t want it.”
Meredith stilled. Turned slowly to face me. I realized then that she’d never turned an overhead light on. Only the opened door illuminated her features.
“She still taking?” she asked. An edge there, but not for me.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” I shrugged. I couldn’t remember the last time Mom had been clean longer than a week—especially since Meredith met her years ago. “There are more roosters at the house, if you want them. I can bring them by early on Monday?”
I watched the gears shift. Steam built in her ears. But Meredith wouldn’t ask for more details if I didn’t offer, no matter what questions grew legs in her mind. As if she was luring me out like a dumped animal, gaining my trust, little by little.
My chest constricted at the thought. I glanced away.
She might not ever get that trust. Not completely.
I wasn’t sure anyone would. Why would they want it, anyway?
“That ought not to be a problem,” she concluded. She stickered the last of the roosters and straightened with a groan. “If you want, I’ll pay you extra to help me sort through some of it.”
I started to back out of the room. “No—I can help—don’t pay me—”
“I meanallof it.” She swept an arm out and chuckled. “Not just chickens. All this didn’t just fall from the sky.”
My eyes widened. I held my elbows in a hug as I scanned the scuffed dressers, the antique record stand, the coat rack that looked suspiciously like something that had stood next to the front door at Harthwait when I was younger.
“She brought you all this?”
