Page 119 of A Heart So Haunted
“Adults can gossip, too, Landry. Besides. I need to know what this man’s like. It’s not often I see you flushso pink.”
I pulled my shirt neck up immediately and glared at him. Then Emma. “You two are insufferable.” All I could think about was how Hadrian was probably eavesdropping and basking in my embarrassment.
I spotted a bag of peanut butter–filled pretzels in the basket.
Eyeing both of them, I snatched it up, then walked to the living room. “I will tell you about him on one condition.”
Sayer gasped. “Yes. Whatever it is.” He strode after me. “You would have told me anyway, but I like to humor you. I hope you know that.”
“You help me with the office and tell me why you’re here when you said you wouldn’t be.” Now, it was my turn to give an expectant look. “I’ll pay you both extra, of course. For listening to my woes.”
“My companionship is free. Off with the money.”
I ripped the bag open. Emma had trailed me, hand extended. She shoveled what I offered into her mouth. Crunched loudly. “I don’t need your money, either, Frederick. We help because we love you. And you let me use your Wi-Fi because mine sucks.”
“Fine,” I conceded.
Over Sayer’s shoulder, in the kitchen hallway to the left, a flicker of movement. Like a shoulder hiding behind a wall.
Before, I’d have felt a swell of discomfort. Or even dread. Now, it was only a warmth that started in my toes and buried itself in my blood before riding all the way to my chest.
I didn’t want to get used to the idea of him being here.
But I was starting to.
The next few days passed in a quiet calm—so much so, that I was starting to get nervous. One, because Hadrian had visited at night, each night, at his normal hour. The second reason made my skin itch.
My dad still hadn’t called me back. And Mom’s time limit was looming.
“Are you waiting for the Pentagon to call you?” Sayer heaved. “I heard they’re hiring. They would pay a lot more than—pulling—bushes.” He yanked at a dead rosebush in the front yard.
I suppose I was attached to my phone like Velcro this morning.
“You offered to help and wouldn’t take money. It’s not my fault.” I set my phone on the porch railing.
“I regret my choices.” Sayer pulled again—this time, the roots gave way. He teetered. The dead bush fell apart in his hand. “I hate gardening.”
“You heartless peasant,” I said in my best British accent. I started to lean against the porch railing. “How dare you disgrace these beautiful—ouch.” I hissed and yanked my arm back. Blood welled around an embedded splinter.
“I told you,” Sayer muttered. “Dangerous work.”
Just then, my phone vibrated twice. I hurried to catch it before it buzzed right off the porch railing. I swiped without looking at the caller ID, already walking away from Sayer for privacy.
“Hello?”
“Landry. How are you?”
I paused mid-step. “You got my message.”
“Of course I did.” Dad’s words were somehow cushioned and hurried all at once. Busy. I swallowed against a dry tongue. Waited for him to continue.
“You mentioned an estate lawyer,” he began. Shuffling in the background, similar to papers over a desk, and I imagined him in his office in Charleston, looking out at the tapered skyline. Which direction would he look today? Out toward sea or inland, where I would be?
“Um, yes,” I said. I kept my voice even. “I figured you would know someone.”
He cleared his throat. From the garden, Sayer looked up. Shielded his eyes from the sun and mouthed,Is it Vince?
I gave a pinched nod.
