“You wanna get that looked at,” Corinne says, pointing to the stain. “I had that same problem, and it turned out the toilet was leaking. The whole ceiling almost caved in.”
“Why on earth would I want to fix it? I need the place to fall down so I can get a new one.”
Ollie groans from behind me.
“I’m... not sure that’s how it works.”
“It is,” she says, bobbing her head. “My Ollie told me so.”
Corinne and I both look toward the aforementioned blockhead responsible for this misguided belief.
“You’re an idiot,” Corinne mutters.
“Excuse me, dear? I have trouble hearing.”
I turn back to Mrs.Craft. “You might want to speak to your insurance company. I’m not sure that’s accurate information. Nick could probably help you with that too.”
She sighs. “I know it’s a struggle for him to be around me. The man took Isla’s death as hard as I did. I don’t want to make things any more painful on him.”
I reach out and touch her shoulder.
All I’ve learned in the past few minutes has me reevaluating my relationship with Nick. There are so many reasons why he could’ve chosen to help me out, including a silent camaraderie I didn’t even realize existed. I’ve been a jerk to snub his gestures, but in my defense, I had no idea that he’d gone through something similar.
We’re more alike than I ever thought possible. Shared pain creates an invisible thread to others who carry the scars of heartbreak.
I set to work placing the dishes back on the glass shelves, whileCorinne complains about needing to get the last box. I’ve been trying to decide how best to bring up Ollie and start the process of sending him onward and hopefully upward, but nothing jumps out. Unsure what the right move is, I just spit out the first thing that comes to mind.
“Mrs.Craft, what happened to your son?”
Her face falls at the mention of Ollie, and for a moment I wish I could take the question back.
“He fell in with the wrong crowd, and it cost him his life. Drugs will do that.” She slumps into a chair that reminds me of the handcrafted Amish furniture my mother had back in the day.
“He overdosed?” I ask for clarification, realizing for the first time that I never thought to ask him.
Her green eyes darken. “He was poisoned. Ollie didn’t do drugs.” Her words lack conviction. Mrs.Craft knows what truly happened but refuses to accept it.
When my eyes meet Ollie’s, I see that truth and the regret he carries.
“It was all my fault,” Mrs.Craft continues. “He did it for me. To save this place,” she says, looking around at the rickety room.
Ollie moves toward his mother, trying and failing to make physical contact this time. “Why can’t I touch her?” His voice breaks, and my heart aches for him.
What happens next feels out of my control. My feet move forward, and I lower myself onto my knees so that I’m eye level with her. My mouth moves without thought.
“Mrs.Craft, Ollie’s here. He’s with you.”
“I know, dear. He’s always with me,” she says, brushing me off.
My head shakes. “No. I mean... he’s literally here. He showed up in my house and I need you to help me send him to the afterlife.”
Her brows pull inward, but only for a moment, before her entire face contorts. The apples of her cheeks turn a vivid shade ofred, and despite her brittle appearance, she manages to jump to her feet, nearly knocking me back on my rear. I quickly stand, preparing for her wrath. She waves a clenched fist in the air, right in front of my nose.
“How dare you come into my home and tell such lies.” She takes a step back, jutting her hand toward the front of the house. “Get out.”
Now I’ve gone and done it. This woman in front of me isn’t the Mrs.Craft from moments ago. The fragile woman is gone, and in her place is a mama bear, none too happy with me. Alive or dead, you don’t mess with her when it comes to her kid.
Suddenly, the house creaks and moans. I watch on in wonder as the copper chandelier hanging above the dining table begins to sway and the floor beneath our feet shakes.
