Page 7 of A Heart So Haunted
“It’s stuck,” Sayer blurted. At the noise, the raccoon scurried under the Beetle in an attempt to find cover.
A distant voice called, “Is everything okay?”
Evanescence-Evangelina was about to find me with a brand across my forehead that read:Dunce. I am, in fact, not a responsible adult. Please donothelp me sell this house.
“Obviously not,” I mumbled. I limped over and squatted next to Sayer, who was now attempting to push the door up by hand. We pulled at the same time—enough for the hinges toclick-click-snapand the door to release.
Sunlight swept into the garage and took the chilled air with it. The sound of heels echoed closer and closer, just as the raccoonscurried out from under the car and into the driveway. It waddled through the landscaping, the tired and wilted peonies, before whispering its way across the lawn and toward the trees.
Sweat trickled down my back. I looked at Sayer, eyebrows raised. “See. I told you it wasn’t a ghost.”
Evangeline-Evanescence-Elevana found us with labored breaths not seconds later.
“Is everyone—what is goingon?” she hissed.
I settled my hands on my hips. A twinge of pain shot up my lower back, reminiscent of a needle inserting itself into my pelvis. Just a subtle reminder that I wasn’t as young as I once was.
Sayer ran a hand down his hip. “I think I pulled something.” Then he paused. Looked over his shoulder. “I ripped my pants.”
“What is that on the floor?” she snarled.
I pushed hair from my face and turned to the woman. Not an ounce of concern filled her eyes; only chipped irritation. When she met my gaze, a strange burn started at the back of my throat. The moment felt almost expectant—like I was the adult that should have things under control. The responsible party.
Because I was.
I shouldn’t have been, but I was.
My mother hadn’t come to her own sister’s funeral. My father wasn’t here to help me. I had no siblings by blood on my mother’s side. No more aunts. No uncles. No grandparents.
Just me and my friend, who I’d almost told not to come, that things weren’t that serious. That I could handle the funeral and the food and the wake, just like any adult should.
And now here I stood, in a dirty garage and with a realtor I didn’t know, not really, in a pile of broken glass.
“Raccoon,” Sayer breathed. “But don’t worry. It’s gone.”
“Well. That is certainly … something.” She said it with a wrinkled nose and pinched cheeks.Eleanora—that was her name.
I brushed myself off, my neck slowly heating.
“So.” I swallowed. “How do you like the house so far?”
Sayer had the decency to shift in place.
Her upper lip, which no longer had a cupid’s bow from an excess amount of filler, puckered. “I was ready to discuss, ah, things with you. But if you’re busy, then I can schedule something another day.”
My body went rigid. Calm. Serene thoughts. Deep breaths. I licked my chapped lips, pushed down the condescending hint in her words. I may have given Sayer a hard time about his mother recommending Eleanora, but I’d glanced at her company’s website, albeit however briefly. She’d taken many historic homes to large buyers—buyers with the capital and time to put into places like this—selling for well above list price.
I needed this woman far more than she needed me.
“Yes, of course we can discuss things,” I said. Casual. Simple. As if there weren’t broken jars on the floor and pinpricks behind my eyes.
“Good,” Eleanora said. She motioned toward me. “It will only take a few moments. I’ll, wait for you in the formal dining room.” Her mouth quirked.
She turned and strode through the mudroom with a high chin. As if she had a better grasp upon the house than I did.
As if she knew I was scrambling. Out of place and utterly alone.
Chapter Two
