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I take a step deeper inside, and my foot creaks against the hardwood floors. I look down at my feet. The toes of my tennis shoes are touching a large black rug that crawls across the entire space. “Original floors?” I ask. Because what the hell else am I going to say?
“Sure is!” he exclaims proudly. Directly after, he goes into a fit of coughs.
I wait until he’s done to nod and venture deeper into the living room. I brush my hand against the back of the couch, careful to avoid the cobwebs. My fingertips grit against the dust on the fabric, but my eyes take in the space better.
On the yellowing floral wallpapered walls are pictures that were probably Derek’s parents. I head to one and brush my finger against the glass protecting the picture to remove the dust and get a better look. It’s a family of five and so old that the picture is faded and even more yellow than the wallpaper.
“Is this you?” I ask, gesturing vaguely to the picture. In the photograph, there are three boys, an older, middle-aged woman, and a hunched, overworked man. The boys look to be in their teens.
Derek crosses the living room and squints at the picture. He points to one teen and says, “This is me.” His finger moves to the other two. “This is my brother Neil, the one who disappeared, and this is my stepbrother George. He’s the sheriff now.” He glances at me conspiratorially. “My father remarried when my real mother died. She came with a son.”
I get the distinct feeling that Derek wasn’t a fan of addinganother brother to his family. “Did you all get along?” I ask as I head to the other pictures. Most are hunting photographs.
He laughs. “No. Well, George and Neil did, but I would have been better off as an only child.”
I grin at that. I have no siblings myself, but I never wanted any. I can see his point.
Above the hearth is a deer head with antlers for days. I head to it, frown, and poke the nose. This will be the first thing that goes, I decide immediately. I walked away from death when I left Chicago. I don’t need it here, too, even if it is just a trophy.
“Do you want to see the rest of the house?” Derek asks.
I swivel and nod. “Love to.”
He waves me on and heads down a hallway. “There are two bedrooms.”
“It must have been hell, sharing a bedroom with two brothers,” I observe as I follow him.
“You have no idea,” he grumbles as he opens one bedroom. “This is the master. You’ll be pleased to know that there’s an adjoining bathroom.”
I head inside and take in the space. Cobwebs hang throughout here too, but, like the living room, it’s fully furnished as promised. I hadn’t brought anything from my Chicago apartment. In fact, I sold it all for the money to move out here.
The bed is queen-sized and covered with a handmade quilt made out of old jeans. The bedding will be the first thing I wash. Who knows when the last time was that it had seen water and soap?
In the corner, beside the window, sits a cheval mirror layered in dust, and along the wall beside it is a large dresser. There’s no closet, but I don’t keep fancy clothes that need to be hung. I’m not that kind of girl.
Nothing hangs on the walls except one picture. From a quick glance, and from seeing the teenage version of him in the living room, I can deduce that it’s a picture of Derek’s missing brother. A little weird to have a random picture of yourself, but okay.
To the right of the dresser is another door, so I open it and peek into the bathroom, withholding a groan. Everything is pale pink: The tiled countertops, the sink, the toilet, the shower. “Wow,” is all I say.
“Yeah, it needs some work,” he murmurs from the hallway. “But everything works, I assure you.”
“The plumbing too?” I ask as I shut the door to the offending bathroom and turn back to face Derek.
“Cole has redone all the plumbing and fixed all the electrical already,” he says proudly.
I nod a little. “Is this house his only project?” Because honestly, if it isn’t, I know that I’ll be doing the majority of this work.
“Yes,” he divulges. He starts coughing into the crook of his arm.
I frown and head to him. “Is it the dust?”
He waves me off, his eyes watering. “No, not the dust. The doctors and I aren’t sure what it is. But it’s of no matter; we’ll figure it out. Anyway” – he waves me off again – “Cole doesn’t have any other jobs. No one will hire him.”
My eyebrows pull down severely. “Why?” I ask skeptically.
He does that lip-puckering again. Honestly, it’s like he’s sucking on a lemon. “His stint in prison made him undesirable as hired help. But he sure learned how to fix things up while he was in there.”
“An ex-con?” I ask in disbelief.
