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She peppers us with guesses until we turn onto Orchard. Evie quiets, curious about why we’re here. We’ve walked Coal, Lisa’s poodle, down this street many times, waving and smiling at the older people sitting on their porches.
Halfway down, I stop in front of the cottage. “Evie, we’re going to get our own house.”
Evie’s eyes widen and she looks around, craning her neck at all the lovely homes lining the sidewalks. “Which one?”
I point straight in front of us. “This one.”
She stares at it, puzzled. “We’re getting the haunted house?”
I settle my hands on her shoulders and drop a kiss on her hair. “Would I buy us a haunted house?”
“Prolly not on purpose,” she concedes.
Bill chokes on a laugh.
“Trust me, E. When we get through with it, it’s going to be the prettiest house in Creekville, no ghosts.”
Lisa sighs. “At least it’s a Cape Cod and not a Victorian. Those are hard to restore.”
A sedate blue Camry turns into the driveway next to us, crunching over the leaves that have blown over from my yard. Soon-to-be my yard, anyway. Mr. Brown is behind the wheel. He frowns at our group and drives around to the back of his house.
“Friendly,” I say. “I met him this morning, and he had pretty much the same look.”
“That’s the Ellis house,” Lisa says. “Their grandson inherited it a couple of years ago. Wonder if that’s him.”
“Miss Lily will know,” Bill says. “Ask her next time she comes into the store.”
It’s true. Lily Greene will know. She’s not a gossip, but somehow, all news and information finds its way to her. She often chooses not to share, but if it’s something that can be told without doing anyone an unkindness, she’ll tell.
“Right now, I want to worry aboutourhouse.” I crouch beside Evie. “We need to use our imaginations, kiddo. Picture this place after we fix it up. New yellow paint, pale green shutters, window boxes with flowers. No ghost will want to live in a house that cheerful.”
“Wefix it up?” she says. “I can help?”
“Of course.”
“Okay. I like it.”
And just like that, she’s into it. There will be future drama when she realizes it means moving away from her Dubs, but we’ll deal with that when we get there. Right now, all I can see is the potential of this place, and I don’t want any more metaphorical rain on it.
“All right, then,” Lisa says. “Let’s put your offer together. You’ve got a home to make.”
Chapter Three
Henry
Istifleagroanwhen I turn into my driveway. A small knot of people stands in front of the house next door, and the snappish woman from earlier is right in the middle of them.
I’ll have to call Arshneel. He said he’d let me know when there’s an offer on the property so I can submit a bid. I’d been hoping it would stay empty forever. I can’t afford it, exactly. I inherited my grandparents’ place with a clear title, but the utility bill is the size of a mortgage payment every month, and associate professor salaries only go so far.
The woman waves at me with a sarcastic smile, and I frown. She’s young. Probably her parents buying a place for her and her kid. The best thing about Orchard Street is that it doesn’t draw families with children. They want to be in the suburbs with other young families.
I have old, quiet neighbors. I’m bad with kids. I’m an only child, and I wasn’t good at being a kid then. The few times I tried never went well.
I have even less idea what to do with children now. Mostly they remind me of dogs: noise covered in dirt. Both sense my fear, and both take advantage of it.
I park beneath the carport behind the house and enter through the kitchen, set my satchel on the counter and head straight for the fridge and a beer. I’ve been saving a Belgian ale from a Roanoke craft brewery for a couple of weeks, but if ever there was a day when I deserved to drown my sorrows in hops, today is it.
I crack it open and collapse onto the living room sofa. Despite my grandparents' house looking fancy outside, inside it’s cozy, filled with all the same furniture it had held when I visited as a kid. The couch is comfortable, the day has already been long, and I need a cold one before I tackle the new problem of buying a house I don’t want.
