Curled up in Elspeth’s old recliner in the corner. Her coat’s tossed over the ottoman, but she’s wrapped in one of the old quilts—patchwork and worn, the one with the frayed edge Elspeth mended every fall. The bed hasn’t been touched.
I swallow hard, back up slowly, and try to leave her be.
But my heel hits a creaky floorboard, and the sound splits the silence clean through.
Her eyes blink open, glassy with sleep. For a moment, she looks completely unguarded. Confused and soft, like she’s forgotten where she is. Then the haze lifts, and her expression sharpens.
She frowns. “Been watching me sleep, have you?”
I clear my throat. “And what a glorious sight it is. You’ve got a bit of drool on your chin,” I say, pointing with mock seriousness. “Just there. And is that a tea stain? Very classy.”
I don’t know why I say it. Why I bother needling her at all.
Maybe it’s easier than admitting I’m rattled. That now she’s actually here, part of me isn’t sure what to do with her.
And even if I won’t admit it to her—or barely to myself—I know Elspeth would’ve wanted this. She made it clear, in the most Elspeth way, that this house would belong to Elsie in the end.
It won’t happen today or tomorrow, but eventually, the paperwork will clear, the keys will change hands, and this place won’t be mine anymore.
Not really. Not permanently.
So, maybe I need to stay guarded. Maybe I need to give her a hard time. Pushing her away now will make it easier when I finally have to leave. Because no matter how long I’ve lived here, no matter how much I wish it were different, this place has never been mine to keep.
“You’re very rude, you know.”
I tap the doorframe with my thumb. “And you’re surprisingly chipper for someone who spent the night in an upright chair. Didn’t fancy something a little more comfortable?”
She scrunches her nose. “Didn’t feel right,” she says quietly. “I didn’t want to sleep in her bed.”
I nod. That, at least, I understand.
She sighs and rubs her temples like I’m the headache. “Also, the light switch isn’t working, the faucet in the bathroom hisses like it’s possessed, and I’m pretty sure a mouse ran across my foot at some point around four in the morning.”
“That’s Harold,” I say.
She blinks. “Excuse me?”
“The mouse.”
Her stare is flat. “You named him?”
“Well, he’s a tenant, too. Been here a lot longer than you have.”
She gives an exaggerated blink. “Maybe he can help me file the paperwork, then.”
“Wouldn’t count on it. He’s terrible with bureaucracy.” I flash a smirk. “You, on the other hand, seem like you were born with a clipboard in your hand.”
She narrows her eyes. “I’m astounded that a handyman could be so smug.”
“I’ve had practice,” I say, grinning now, because I’m absolutely doing it on purpose. “Still better than being a house thief.”
She groans. “I did not steal a house.”
I lift my hands, palms up. “Very convincing.”
“Well, when it sells, you can leave a Yelp review.”
The words knock something loose in my chest.
