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I shake my head, “I can’t.”
I skulk downstairs and see my mother sitting on the velvet settee with a cup of tea.
“Lover’s quarrel?” My mother asks from her spot in the living room.
I jump.
“I didn’t see you there! I was busy.”
“Fighting with someone you love because she’s not matching up with your pristine worldview? I heard you two out on the porch. Joseph. I expected you to be kinder to your first babysitter. I thought you would have remembered him somehow.”
I sit beside my mother on the velvet sofa, feeling genuinely puzzled.
“What do you mean?”
“Joseph, do you know who stayed with me while your father was in that coma?”
“Aunt Doris, right?”
“No, it was winter. Aunt Doris was snowed in. She didn’t arrive until the end of the third day, hours before I had to pull the plug. But Dante never left my side. You see, we were supposed to do the ritual the next night, and then your father got in his crash. Dante drove me to the hospital. After your father died, he was the only one I trusted to watch you during the day while I was at work. I got a job at the library. Your father’s life insurance barely covered the hospital bills. I had to make ends meet somehow.”
“I had no idea. He didn’t say anything!” I can feel myself getting defensive.
“He probably didn’t want you to go into the reading with any expectations. What exactly did he say?”
“He told us to get out until we can perform the ritual.”
“Well, in that case, help me pack a bag! Someone has to keep Eleanor company, especially if you’re too hot-headed to do so.”
“But the contractors!” I protest.
“Joseph, if you want to stay here and keep an eye on your beloved contractors, be my guest. But I’m getting the hell out of here.”
On Monday, the house is eerily quiet. I try to convince myself that it’s peaceful. I wake early, ignoring how cold my bed is. I shower and brush my teeth before throwing on a pair of pants and a sweater. The contractors aren’t supposed to arrive until nine.
In the kitchen, I make myself a cup of coffee. While the coffee brews. I mess with the thermostat in the living room. The thermostat reads seventy degrees, but it’s so cold I can see my breath. I blame it on faulty wiring and make a note to ask the contractors to check it out.
The contractors arrive at nine on the dot. Everyone’s in a good mood now that the end of this project is on the horizon.
“I’ve gotta admit, I just might like this place,” the main contractor, Tom, says.
“Well, you can come back and visit any time,” I joke.
Tom doesn’t laugh as we yank the chain connected to the ladder one last time.
I can hear the contractors sanding the final floorboards as I set up my first meeting. I realize that if I hadn’t met Eleanor, I’d be preparing to leave Idylewylde.
I look around my home office. It doesn’t seem so makeshift anymore. I had a yellow rug dry-cleaned that I found in the attic. My desk chair is no longer stiff and uncomfortable. I tap the router with the heel of my hand to encourage it to move and plug my laptop into a nearby outlet. It’s freezing in my office. I contemplate getting a space heater while everyone logs on.
“Good morning! Today, I want to discuss what we can do to finish the year strong.” The bookshelf heaves forward as if by its own volition and topples. An atlas hits me in the back of my head. My laptop slides off the desk when an errant book snags the charger. My laptop skids, then another book lands squarely on the screen— an old-fashioned thesaurus. A piece of the shelf hits my desk at an odd angle, crushing it as one of the legs snaps. Another piece of the shelf snags the sleeve of my sweater. The shelf would have crushed me if I sat an inch to the left.
My heart is pounding rapidly. I open my laptop. The screen is reduced to shards—tiny pieces of glass dust the keyboard. I can feel a knob forming at the base of my neck where the book hit me.
My mother’s voice comes back to me, and I remember how she said that Beatrix only stopped after my father died.
I might no longer be Beatrix’s golden child. With Eleanor gone, I might be her next target.
My palms start to sweat. I get up slowly. My office is destroyed, but any attempt I make to tidy up is cut short by the jagged howl coming from the attic.
