Page 14 of The Sound of Harmony

“Oh no,” Kendrick said. “We’re not a couple.”

“But that was a very smooth and classy way of asking,” Ben said, still using that damned fake accent. It was spot-on, very convincing, and so stupid. “We’re straight, bien sûr. Single, too.”

“Not that it matters,” Kendrick said firmly.

Ben put his hand on his chest. “It matters very much to me. Are you single, Emma?”

“Let’s go inside,” Kendrick said.

Emma’s eyes darted back and forth between them. “I’ll be right there. I need something from my truck.”

Kendrick marched across the lawn to the house. He expected Ben to be at his heels, but when he turned, Ben was still lingering behind Emma, staring at her ass as she bent over the front seat.

“You coming?” he called to Ben.

Ben finally dragged his eyes away from Emma and followed Kendrick to the door.

Kendrick was prepared for dust and neglect, but the wide front porch had been swept recently and the windows were clean. Mitch had been taking care of the place.

The roses in front of the house crept upward, twining into the porch railings. He didn’t know if Mitch fed them, or pruned them, or whatever you did with rosebushes. But they’d been there as long as he remembered, so they probably had strong roots.

Memories flooded over him as soon as he opened the door. He hadn’t spent much time here, just a few visits a year, but he remembered Christmases and Thanksgivings and summer picnics. He could almost smell sugar cookies and roast turkey and grilled hot dogs.

Now, standing in the entryway, he remembered jostling for space in the tiny coat closet. As a child, he’d been fascinated by the light fixtures made from squares of colored glass, the decorative spindles holding the stair banister, and the freestanding tub in the bathroom. It was so different from the basic, boxy apartments his family had rented as they moved from place to place.

His grandmother had greeted everyone—even children—with handshakes instead of hugs. She always set out place cards at dinner, telling each family member where to sit. Once, when he was about eight, Kendrick had cozied up to her on the sofa and farted, just to see her reaction. Sadly, her reaction was silence, and such a withering look that he’d never tried it again. And he never got to use his wonderful joke about beans.

She loved him. He knew that. Even if she didn’t show it the way other grandmas did. Looking back, he realized she simply didn’t know what to do with this little devil of a grandson who was more European than American. She bought him a baseball bat and glove, took him to services at the Methodist church, and tried to teach him to eat with his fork in his right hand.

She wouldn’t care that he was living in this house. She wasn’t sentimental like that. She probably assumed he’d sell it the moment it came into his possession. Anyone with sense would.

Sense was overrated.

“Tu fais quoi?” Ben asked from behind him.

Kendrick pinned him with a glare, trying to channel his grandmother’s daunting presence. “You’re really milking that.”

“I cannot lose my accent now,” Ben said. “She will find me…how do you say…deceptive. Shh. Here she comes.”

Emma stood on the porch, holding a clipboard with a legal pad clamped to it. Her phone was in her other hand, her thumb hovering over the call button.

Ben held the door open for her with a miniature bow. “Come in, come in. Nice place my friend has here.”

Emma stood in the doorway, half in and half out. She didn’t take the conversational opening. The silence stretched to an uncomfortable length.

Kendrick toyed with the end of the tape measure. “Well, you’re here to see the house, so you should get started. We’ll follow your lead.”

Emma looked out the door and then back at them. “Please, go ahead.”

Kendrick led the way and they inventoried the formal parlor and dining room in the front of the house, the kitchen, library, and living room in the back. Kendrick’s dad and uncle had taken care of all of his grandmother’s personal effects, but the impersonal ones—furniture, books, rugs—remained. The air was still and almost thick, but at least it was dry, with no mold or signs of any water damage. That alone was a minor miracle in a house this old.

They trooped upstairs and took in the three bedrooms. It used to have four, but a wall had been knocked down somewhere along the way and an upstairs bathroom added on. They took a cursory look into the attic and unfinished basement, and ended up back in the front parlor, standing next to the oversized fireplace.

Ben hovered around Emma while she made notes on her clipboard. Kendrick offered her a chair in the dining room, but she remained standing. They discussed schedules, timing, and budget.

“I’ll be getting the antiques appraised before we have the estate sale,” she said. “You’ll have to tag anything you want to keep.”

“None of it,” Kendrick said.