Page 2 of The Sound of Harmony

Luke gripped the edge of her truck bed. “You weren’t supposed to put stuff away. You were supposed to get stuff out. How am I supposed to sell this place if all their junk is still in it?”

Emma gasped. Sell? The Zelinskis never said they were moving. If Emma had known that, she would have organized differently. Less life-changing magic, more the final Swedish method.

“This house isn’t safe for my parents,” Luke continued. “You’re enabling a lifestyle they can’t sustain. Sooner or later, they’re going to have to sell. Although I can’t imagine who would buy this place.” Luke sniffed and looked up and down Cricket Lane. “Nobody wants houses like this anymore.”

Emma just blinked at him. These late Victorian houses were always in demand. People loved the high ceilings, the built-in bookshelves, and the elaborate tilework around the fireplaces. Not to mention the huge porches and the adorable sitting rooms in the corner turrets.

Of the six Queen Anne houses on the street, only one stood empty, and even that one was lovingly cared for, with short grass and thriving rosebushes. People did want these houses. And maybe the Zelinskis did too. If she could only talk to them, find out what was going on. But Luke was between her and the front porch, and she wasn’t going to chance it.

Luke was lean like his father and didn’t look particularly strong. His hands—still gripping the edge of her truck bed—were empty of weapons. She could walk past him, press the doorbell, and he couldn’t stop her. His parents were expecting her.

She stayed rooted to the spot, her stomach knotting. Just go, she told herself. Don’t be such a coward. She wanted to be the kind of badass woman who would flip him the bird and charge the door. But she’d learned some harsh lessons about what she was and wasn’t capable of. She wasn’t capable of taking on Luke Zelinski.

“How much was the deposit?” Luke asked. “How much did they pay you so far?”

Emma didn’t answer. If his parents hadn’t told him that information, they didn’t want him to know.

“Whatever it is, we’ll consider that payment in full.” Luke dusted his hands, completely done with this problem, as if she were a servant he could dismiss on a whim. The houses on Cricket Lane were owned by people with true wealth—the kind that was passed down through generations. But people got weird about paying for services like cleaning and organizing. There was usually a lot of guilt involved, since this was something that everyone thought they should be handling on their own.

But Luke’s anger seemed to have nothing to do with guilt and everything to do with him being a jerk. Emma couldn’t understand it. Maude and Murray were so nice. How could they have raised a man like this?

The front door opened and Maude stood on the porch. “There you are, dear,” she called. Her shoulder-length white hair was brushed away from her face and she wore black yoga pants with a loose top and a colorful scarf knotted at her neck. Her voice was like a tray of cookies fresh from the oven. Warm, homey, comforting. “I see you’ve met Luke. We’ve told him all about you. Come in, Emma. Come in.”

Emma started toward the house but Luke blocked her way. “Mom, we talked about this.”

“Nonsense.” Maude indicated the office supplies in Emma’s hand. “What did you bring us today?”

“Mother. Things are supposed to go out. Not in.”

Maude ignored him and beckoned to Emma. “Come in, dear.”

Emma scooted around Luke and up to the house, listening for his footsteps behind her. She stood close to Maude.

“Is that Emma?” Murray came from the kitchen in the back of the house, his cane thumping on the hardwood floor in front of him. Where his wife was heavy, he was thin, and his shorts and t-shirt hung on his frame.

They all stood awkwardly in the tiny entryway, which dead-ended in a coat closet and was not meant for four people.

Luke picked his way around the freshly packed boxes in the front parlor and Murray headed in the opposite direction, toward the dining room. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” he asked.

“You give her coffee?” Luke’s voice screeched up an octave on the last syllable.

Actually, Murray didn’t give her coffee. He always offered and Emma always declined. She focused on Maude. “Your son says he’s going to finish organizing your house for you.”

“Is he, now?”

“I’ve already made arrangements,” Luke said. “The dumpster is coming on Monday.”

“Dumpster?” Emma’s voice cracked. How could Luke bring in a dumpster? You didn’t swoop in from out of town and start throwing away your parents’ stuff. You had to be patient, to listen to their stories, to find out what they loved and wanted to keep, and what they were ready to release.

“That won’t be necessary,” Maude said.

“Look at this place.” Luke swept out a forceful hand. “It’s like hoarders live here. It’s like something out of that TV show. We’re going to find a dead rat behind some of these boxes.”

Emma opened her mouth to respond, but Murray got there first. “Those boxes have been there one day, Luke. One day. We just finished packing them for removal.”

“What about the rest?” Luke raised his voice. “You let a stranger into your house and you’re sitting around sipping coffee with her while—”

“You haven’t even seen the rest of the house,” Maude interrupted. “You wouldn’t believe what Emma has accomplished in the kitchen. I haven’t had such an easy time cooking in years.”