Page 27 of A Heart So Haunted
I peeled the shipping lid back, stared at the handles inside, and frowned.
They weren’t what I ordered.
I pulled out a barstool, collapsing into it and covering my face with my hands. “I should have just gotten the ones from Home Depot,” I groaned. I suppose this was my punishment for trying to save a few dollars.
The front door burst open.
I jumped.
Emma strode in, white tank and shorts plastered to her body. Sweat dewed her collarbone. Her knees were patched with porcelain, as were her hands and areas around her mouth, but it only emphasized the honey in her hair and the deepness in her eyes.
“I come bearing gifts.” She dropped two reusable shopping bags on the counter, both covered in palm trees and toucans. “I’m ready to strip some wallpaper, boss.” She withdrew a bottle of fabric softener and a handle of vinegar. When mixed with portions of hot water, it usually stripped wallpaper like a champ.
I sighed. “Hopefully.”
Her nose wrinkled. “What’s wrong with you?”
I shrugged. Mom. The primer taking so long to dry. The cabinet handles. Everything.
When she continued to stare at me, I said, “That wallpaper’s been up so long, I don’t know if it’ll come off in one go.”
Emma’s hands dropped, but her shoulders tightened. “I got it. Don’t worry.”
A muffled, “No!” came from upstairs. Then a heavy thud, like a box filled with donation clothes, dropping to the floor. “Lanny!”
I stifled a groan. My head dropped back, eyes closed. “What?”
“I think I chipped the sink.” A pause. “Or not.”
I sighed, then said, loud enough for Sayer to hear me over his music, “I’m replacing it anyway.”
More banging. Emma slipped out of the pantry with an old deli meat container and a pack of toothpicks. She peeled the plastic lid off, set it aside, and got to work opening the vinegar bottle.
With all these fumes, we’d be as high as a kite before sundown.
Sayer’s footsteps grew louder. I pictured him leaning over the banister, glasses askew. “I’ll go ahead and tear up this transition strip. I splintered it when I tripped and—”
“That’s fine.”
He shuffled away.
I slipped from the stool and opened one of the three windows in the breakfast nook, then flipped the living room fan on. A separate, short fan hummed in the corner of the kitchen floor, facing the last section of wall that hadn’t dried yet.
“See? Who needs expensive contractors when you have us to help you,” Emma said, pert. She poured a cup of vinegar in the container, then unscrewed the fabric softener. “Cheap labor and great community.”
I nodded, biting my lip. She was right. Not necessarily about the cheap labor, but the great company—and a reason for the house to be filled with explainable noises. Not children crying, which I’d failed to mention to either of them yet.
The idea of explaining what I’d heard—or what Ihadn’theard, since the crying hadn’t woken up Emma—made all four corners of my heart twist into knots.
“I saw Ivan in town,” she said. She measured out the softener, careful to not look up.
“Mm.”
“He asked about you. I didn’t know he still lived here.”
I continued arranging the roosters.
“He seemed—interested.”
