Page 64 of A Heart So Haunted
“Careful,” he warned. “If you damage a nail, it might not grow back the same. All thick and curved and—what?”
My nose wrinkled. “Thank you, Doctor, for that lovely mental image.”
“My grandfather could show you his feet if you need proof. The number of times a horse stepped on his big toe. You should see how ugly it grew back—”
“I think I’ll pass.” I shook it again. “The box is neat, though. Reminds me of a trinket tray. It could go on one of the mantels, maybe the library. It might match the feel of the room when it’s finished.” Most of the rooms had a hearth, even if they weren’t functional.
“What about this bag?” Emma called. She held up a white trash bag and shielded her eyes from the sun. “Do you want me to put it in the hallway closet for now?”
I hesitated a moment too long. Did she want me to answer? I couldn’t tell if she was looking at me or Sayer.
“Donate,” Sayer said. He swiveled back to me. “And shame on you.”
I stalled, eyes going wide in silent question.
“For not letting me help you clean up that wall after I hit my head through it.”
A chill—similar to how I felt when a fork scraped across the bottom of a bowl wrong—raced over my spine.
Sayer remembered the first wall incident, but didn’t go on to mention the night when I told him I’d break the wall down anyway. As if his memories had been flipped completely.
“Mind telling me why you two are acting like the other hasn’t showered in a week?” he asked, changing the subject.
“I showered this morning.” I gathered my composure. Maybe the memory issue was nothing to worry about.
“I mean the wide birth you’re giving each other.”
I tried to keep my shrug nonchalant. “We’ve agreed to disagree.” And left it at that.
Still, I knew that Sayer knew. But I’d rather stick my hand in a flooded toilet than bring up the words Emma and I had exchanged—especially when she was bound to hear from the porch.
By lunchtime, Sayer agreed to help Emma go through the rest of the boxes we’d collected from the garage that wouldn’t fit in my carto donate. I would either take the rest to the shelter, which was a forty-minute drive outside of town, or to Meredith’s. By late afternoon, I’d already unloaded a few boxes at the shelter and made it back to Meredith’s before closing.
I wiped my palm over the back of my knees as I pulled the trunk lid down. “Can I ask you something?
She sat the last box in front of the store’s door as a momentary doorstop. Her T-shirt was damp around the neck. I’m sure I didn’t look much better.
She fanned herself. “Sure, sure. What’s on your mind, honey?”
“Did Aunt Cadence ever talk about the house’s history?” My words were breathy. What I would have done—the amount of money I might have paid—just to go lay in that puddle off the sidewalk, no matter how inappropriate.
Meredith pulled a tissue out of her pocket and blotted her face. I propped both hands on my hips. “Oh, this and that. I know she went to the deed’s office once or twice. She usually just brought me my junk, talked gossip a bit, then left. Why?”
“Just curious.”
“You check the info on the historical registry?” She folded her tissue. “On the house, I mean?”
A wilted nod. “Yeah, I saw when it was built. The first owner. Not much else.” The first owner, who wasn’t a Belfaunte. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe Hadrian was telling me the truth about it being his house at one point. I just wanted proof. Something solid to point me in a direction.
Or something not-so-solid, like speculation, that would give me an idea as to what exactly I would be looking for.
“Well, if it ain’t on the registry or in the historical records, I don’t know what to tell you, dear.” She huffed, then eyed me. “Somethin’ wrong with it?”
“Oh, no. Right as rain.”
She made a noncommittal noise. “You’re a bad liar, honey.”
My mouth fell open. Maybe the comment stung since Hadrian had said something similar. “I’m not lying.” The half-truth fell out before I had a chance to think. “I just have nights where I think I hear things.”
