Page 42 of A Heart So Haunted
Emma’s entire face was red. Her shoulders were nearly at her ears. “Landry.”
I wrangled my keys out of my bag. “I’ll be back in an hour.” The front door ricocheted off the wall, I’d opened it so hard.
“Stop!”
I whirled halfway down the steps. “What?”
“I just—I can pay for the inspection.”
“That’s not the point, Emma!” I snapped. I might have been shouting. I didn’t care.
Why did she have to do this? This wasn’t her house, her project, her responsibility. I hadn’t asked her to come. It was one thing to visit because of a funeral, but she hadn’t come to the funeral. Instead, she’d rolled up two weeks after I’d told her about Aunt Cadence’s death while Sayer had been drifting around me like a hovering parent, making sure I didn’t run into a lamppost while my marbles rolled away.
“Then tell me the point!” she shouted back. Her hands were splayed like she was waiting for gold to fall from the sky. “What happened? Why are you—so—snappy. I feel like I need to walk on eggshells to keep you happy, just like your mom.”
The shards in my stomach crashed to the floor.
Just like Mom.
I stood there, taut with unsaid words, before I took a single, traitorous inhale. It rattled in my chest.
Then I said, “Don’t sign any papers. You don’t own this place.”
I stalked down the driveway, the sound of Ivan and Trevor’s distant voices nothing but a tangled suggestion in my wake. Emma stood on the porch, her body strung tight.
I didn’t know where I was going. But anywhere was better than here.
There was a serenity that came with a hardware store’s atmosphere. Professional-grade rubber, mulch and cement floors, and metal shelving all melded into a smell so distinct, so reverent, that I almost fell to my knees and wept when the double doors whooshed open.
The hardware store was a turning point—it was the bookend to a project or the start of something new.
I wandered for a few minutes through the gardening section before I beelined for the tools. My list was four items deep, but there was one thing I needed in particular.
A sledgehammer.
My eyes skipped over yellow tags and display signs. I found myself hovering over items I knew I didn’t need—like a new rake—before I eased toward the far end of the aisle where the sledgehammers were. I traced a handle, debating. I could use a hammer and body weight to pull the sheetrock off and away from the hidden door. I didn’tneedthis purchase.
You don’t need new clothes, Landry, Mom said.
I just bought you new notebooks last year for school. Why do you need more?
The anger from earlier and the hiss of memories fueled me into a sudden haze of justification. I needed it justbecause.
Without a second thought, I grabbed the sledgehammer, then went in search for spackling.
I scanned my email—mostly caught up, save for two tentative new client requests, ushered in from my renovation website—while I stood in line. Then paused when a thought occurred to me.
I’d never looked through Ivan’s social media. Maybe there was truth to Emma’s words. I was a little angry he was doing well, when for years I hadn’t. When I’d struggled to stand on my own two feetemotionally. To be dependent of my mother, my father. Even now … I didn’t feel like I could.
Had Ivan been with anyone after me? Had I been the only one? Were all these feelings warranted, or was Emma right, was it simple jealousy?
My curiosity got the best of me. I typed in his name and started scrolling.
By the time a self-serve register opened, I’d found two separate accounts, all recently updated. A lot of the posts were about work, which I’d expected. A few notes on his personal life (something about golf and a trip with his family out of the country), and then further down, dating three years ago, a relationship. All his posts with her remained up. I scrolled down further, and sure enough—two pictures of us together. One at the famed football game where we’d had an argument on the tailgate, and the second two months after, his arms around me from behind while we stood outside of Dosi-Do’s.
My heart bounced into my throat when I scrolled back up. To the relationship he’d had after me.
I zeroed in on her pictures, paying little attention to her handle. She was local to Charleston. I scanned her profile, noting the dates of each post. For a couple weeks, she’d posted daily. Then, during the same time frame they had been pictured together on Ivan’s timeline, there were absences. A few updates here and there, otherwise—radio silence. As if she’d deleted things.
