“You ready for this?” I ask whomever is paying attention.
“Been ready my whole life,” Corinne grumbles, making her way out of the car and slamming the door shut a little too forcefully.
There’s no need to ask what her problem is; I just know. Her sour grapes stem from the fact that she’s wished for these abilities her whole life, and here I am complaining about them at every turn.
I follow closely behind her, taking it all in. The closer I get to the house, the more concerned I become. When I step onto the porch, I find that the place really is crumbling beneath my feet. The concrete steps are cracked, and pieces fall away from the edges with every step I take. This is very unsafe for Mrs.Craft to walk on.
“What a sh—”
My hand darts out, covering Corinne’s mouth to stop that thought. Ollie doesn’t need to hear her less-than-tactful opinion and get worked into a rage. I already felt the tremors he’s capable of producing back at my house. If he pulled that stunt here, we’d likely be crushed under a collapsing roof.
I lift my free hand and knock with my fist twice.
“She won’t hear that,” Ollie says from beside me. “You gotta really pound at it. She’s hard of hearing.”
I do as he suggests, and before long, a throaty voice belonging to Mrs.Craft calls out on the other side, “Coming.”
When the door swings open, Mrs.Craft’s fragile frame has my chest tightening. She’s hunched over a walker, wearing a long pink nightgown that looks like it hasn’t been washed in some time. Mind you, it’s the middle of the afternoon.
“Can I help you?” she asks, head bouncing between Corinne and me.
“Mrs.Craft, I’m Alyssa Mann. I’m not sure if you remember me, but we met years ago.”
Recognition dawns as her eyes widen and a smile spreads across her face.
Nick practically jogs up behind her. “Gloria, I told you to sit. Do you ever take my advice?”
“No. I’m perfectly capable of opening a door, Nicholas. Run along and continue your business.”
He closes his eyes momentarily. “Could you at least humor me and head on back to your chair? I’ll show Alyssa and her friend into the living room.”
She huffs. “You always coddle me.”
“Because you’re my favorite, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
She slowly backs up, turning her walker slowly and moving away, mumbling something under her breath, but I don’t miss the fondness shining in her eyes as she smirks up at Nick.
So many questions.
“Why is he here?” Ollie bites. “If he allowed this place to fall apart, I’ll kill him.”
I ignore Ollie’s grumbling, not wanting to consider whether he’d make good on that promise.
“Come in,” Nick says, motioning for us to walk past him.
We follow him toward the back, entering a large room with a sofa, recliner, and television that you can just barely see over the chaos of everything else.
My eyes scan the cluttered area. Mrs.Hampson wasn’t exaggerating when she said Mrs.Craft was a hoarder. There are paths wide enough for two people to walk side by side, but every remaining square inch is covered in junk. It’s not trash—thank god—but thousands of various trinkets and collectibles that others have likely been thrilled to be rid of.
“Do you like my collections? I’ve spent my lifetime finding each of these pieces. They’re my pride and joy now that I’m a lonely old spinster.” She chuckles.
“I’m feeling claustrophobic,” Corinne whispers into my ear. “This place is a junkyard for unwanted goods.”
“Shh,” I hiss, bringing my focus back to Mrs.Craft.
“That’s... why I’m here.”
I turn to Nick, and he offers a small smile, giving me the courage to admit that I have one of her favorite collections.
