Friends took turns inviting him for the holidays, which was awkward as hell. Usually, he said he had plans, and sometimes he did hang out with people, but even then, he felt…extraneous. In every space he occupied, while he might be welcome, he wasn’t necessary. Nobody needed him. If he made his excuses and stayed home, wallowing in solitude, no one followed up. He didn’t have the sort of friends who barged in with pizza and beer, determined to keep him company.
Hell, Eli didn’t even know if he wanted that anyway. He did know something was missing, though.
He focused on reaching his destination, turning down the narrow street. Gamma’s house sat on the right side of a cul-de-sac, a three-bedroom Cape Cod house with white siding where he’d spent his teen years. In this neighborhood, the houses were mostly homogenous, built around the same time with similar designs—Cape Cod, bungalow, and ranch. He pulled into the driveway, seeing the minute signs of neglect that had crept up.
The hedges had to be trimmed, and the yard was a bit tall and weedy, while the gutters needed to be cleaned, and he might need to get on the roof to have a closer look at that soggy patch. Those were issues prospective buyers would notice right away. As ever, the porch was welcoming with a profusion of potted plants and blooming flowers. Two Adirondack chairs painted forest green framed the front door with the single step leading inside. Gamma opened the screen door and popped her head out.
“Come in! I made your favorite.”
Eli smiled, wiping his feet on the mat. He took his shoes off on the uncarpeted tile just inside and padded across the improbably pink carpet, through the living room and into the kitchen. He breathed in deep, savoring the smell of barbecued chicken. There was also macaroni and cheese and garden salad with a bottle of ranch dressing on standby.
She put the platter of drumsticks on the table and hugged him, smelling faintly of Poison perfume. For as long as Eli could remember, she’d been using that brand. He’d been so proud of saving up to buy her some the year after he moved in.
“You didn’t have to go to any trouble,” he said, as his stomach growled.
Gamma waved dismissively. “It’s the least I can do. Besides, it was nothing. I used the air fryer for the drumsticks and finished them in the broiler with barbecue sauce. The macaroni and cheese is blue box, and the salad came from a bag.”
He grinned. “When you put it that way…”
“Let’s eat. After dinner, we can talk more about the projects you’ve volunteered for.”
“Why do I feel like you should’ve made me steak instead of chicken legs?”
She smirked right back. “It’s not my fault your taste buds are cheap.”
As Eli sat, he reflected that she was nothing like most other grandmothers. She didn’t own a set of pearls, preferring feather earrings, leopard print, and spandex. Honestly, he was a bit concerned about the havoc she’d wreak on the local populace when she moved.
“I won’t be a cliché, so I refuse to ask if you’re seeing anyone,” Gamma said.
“And I greatly appreciate your forbearance.”
“But at the same time, I worry. You were uprooted from your friends, and you never settled in here properly.”
“Oh no. You played the worry card. Seriously, I’m fine. I have friends. And you’ll be the first to know if I find someone special.”
“I’d better be!”
He pretended to be stern. “But I expect the same courtesy. You’re a catch, and you’re better at socializing. I’ll probably get a wedding invitation by Christmas.”
“That fast?” Gamma pretended to wipe sweat from her brow. “I can see I have my work cut out for me, but I suspect I’m up to the challenge.”
By the time they finished, it was getting dark. He helped her rinse the plates, put the food away, and load the dishwasher. “Thanks for dinner,” he said.
“You don’t need to thank me.” Gamma donned a determined look. “It’s too late to start today, but you should see what we’re working with. I apologize in advance for the state of my hidden assets.”
Assets? I’m sure she means junk.
Nevertheless, he followed her into the basement, which was piled ridiculously high with unmarked boxes. He stared. “What’s in here anyway?”
“I have no idea,” she said airily. “To be honest, some of this stuff was your father’s, and I didn’t have the heart to go through it. I still don’t. The rest has been in here since I moved, and that was…” She paused, apparently trying to count back the years.
“1988?” he suggested, based on the amount of dust on the cartons.
“Could be.”
“Is the attic like this?”
Gamma bit her lip. “Possibly, it’s worse. I haven’t been up there in forever. Those drop-down stairs are terrifying. I’m not turning into a cautionary tale for Life Alert. I’m not old. I refuse to be old.”
“You’re immortal,” Eli said, wishing that were true.
He had a lump in his throat when he imagined going through his father’s belongings, but it had been twelve years. It’s beyond time. Maybe I’ll find something that makes me feel closer to him. But the melancholy truth was, he’d lived longer without his dad. And that gap would only grow because that was how time worked. To reward himself for facing down these bad memories, he’d go for a long flight later.
“Watch your step, okay? I’ll get you a flashlight.”
“There’s one on my phone.”
She cocked her head. “Have you ever watched a horror movie? You’ll drop your phone after being startled by a cat. Or maybe a raccoon. Anyway, I’ll be right back.”
When she returned, he said, “Tell me you’re kidding. There are raccoons?”
Gamma put the sturdy flashlight in his hands, patted them, and made no promises. “Be careful. I’ll send help if you’re not back in an hour.”
CHAPTER TWO
Iris pulled into the driveway beside the ramshackle Victorian house she was set to inherit, if the correspondence from Digby, Davis, and Moore could be believed.
It was past one in the morning, and her body ached from the long drive. She’d paused once to fuel up, stretch her legs, and use the restroom. It was impossible not to think about her sisters in this situation. Any of them would have energy to burn, siphoning from humans they encountered along the way. That aptitude had given them an unfair advantage in pursuing higher education too.
Shrugging, she grabbed her backpack, locked the doors of her crappy Sentra, and headed toward the rickety front porch. Even in the faint glow of the streetlights, she could see the ravages of time, peeling paint and weedy front lawn. The plants were all dead, dry leaves spilling listlessly over the stone lip of the pot. She levered the one on the left up and found a rusty key.
Yes. Still here.
Thankfully, nobody had meddled with the property or Iris would be sleeping in the car. There was no money for a motel, barely enough for her gas tank. With a little coaxing, she got the door open and stepped inside. The first breath smelled of…loneliness—liniment that carried faint eddies of camphor and menthol—dusty books and stale air.