“Nola . . .” Melanie began again, then stopped. She met my gaze, her eyes warming with understanding. She’d inherited an old house in Charleston despite a lifelong dislike of them. It wasn’t the houses so much as the restless spirits of past residents who hadn’t left and insisted on communicating with her—a gift she tried to deny for most of her life but seemed to have finally come to terms with. In the intervening years, as the “goiter on her neck”—as she’d once referred to the architectural relic she’d inherited—had become less of a burden and more of the warm and welcoming home where she lived with her husband, children, and multiple dogs, she’d earned a grudging admiration for old houses. I’d even heard her describe one to a client as “a piece of history you can hold in your hands.”
Now, looking at me with dawning perception, I knew she was seeing this house as I saw it. As a chance to move on with my life, much as the inheritance of her own house had pushed her forward. Kicking and screaming, for sure, but still in a forward and positive trajectory. The light flickered in her eyes, and I hoped she wasn’t hearing the sound of a cash register ringing in the back of her practical mind.
“Well, then,” she said, carefully stepping up on the bottom porch step. “Let’s have a look inside.”
Relief unclenched my chest and allowed me to take a deep breath as I reached for the key inside the rusted metal mailbox nailed to one of the square columns holding up the porch.
“Is that really a good idea?” Melanie asked. “I mean, anybody could just walk in and steal everything.”
“Uh, yeah. That. Luckily, there’s nothing left to steal. Anything of value has been long since stolen or otherwise removed. Anyway, Alison said it would be a good idea for us to have access.”
“Who’s Alison? What happened to what’s-his-name?”
“Frank? He resigned as my agent. Something about how he wouldn’t show me another house if you were going to be there. I’m sure it’s because he recognized that you’re an accomplished real estate agent and that I didn’t need both of you.” I spared Melanie the adjectives Frank had used to describe her—pushy, overbearing, officious, and anal retentive. The rest of his descriptions weren’t repeatable in polite company.
“Good. His presence was completely redundant. I’m glad he was gracious enough to admit it.”
I hid my smile as I stuck the old-fashioned iron key into the lock and jiggled it the way Alison had instructed me over the phone. “He said the owner would stop by to answer any questions. Apparently, he must be made of stronger stuff and can’t be cowed by a labeling gun.” I bit my lip as I continued to jiggle the key, hoping Melanie hadn’t noticed my slip.
“Excuse me? Did you look inside his briefcase? It was a disaster. He should be thankful that I organized it for him.”
I was spared from responding by the door opening on its own, despite the fact that I hadn’t felt the turn of the key or any release from the lock. I felt Melanie’s gaze on me. “That was easier than I thought it would be,” I said brightly. “Alison said the lock should be the first thing I replace because it took her forever to get it open. Guess I just have the right touch.”
I stepped across the threshold, hearing the delicate tap of Melanie’s heels following me inside, her gaze boring holes in the back of my head. I shut the door then turned to face her. “Remember our agreement. If you hear or see anything while we are touring this house, please keep it to yourself. I’m not the one who can talk to dead people. Except for that one time in Charleston, they don’t have a reason to bother me and I remain blissfully oblivious if they’re around. If I feel a connection to a house, I won’t care if there is an army of wandering souls in its hallways—I won’t hear or see them, so it won’t keep me up at night. Besides, there are no old houses in New Orleans without at least one lingering spirit. It’s a given.”
Melanie smiled tightly. “Of course.”
We turned our attention to the interior of the house, neither of us speaking. Either the pictures Alison had e-mailed me had been taken a decade or two earlier, or someone was very skilled with Photoshop. Without furniture to hide behind, the scarred cypress floors glared up at us like an unbandaged wound. Splotches of colorful and unidentifiable stains of varying sizes dotted the old wood, and I promised myself that I wouldn’t look too closely or try to identify the sources. Especially the ones that were definitely not water-or pet-related.
Like a woman in the throes of labor trying to imagine the happy outcome despite the agony, I said, “It could be worse.”
“How?” Melanie walked toward the remains of a fireplace. The millwork had been removed with what must have been an ax, judging by the scars in the surrounding plaster that were deep enough to show the wood studs underneath. “Nothing that a match and some lighter fluid couldn’t fix.”
“Oh, come on. I know you don’t really believe that. Not anymore, anyway. Just think of our house on Tradd Street. And your mother’s house on Legare. You helped saved them both from the brink. Even you have to admit that in the end it was all worth it.”
“I might. But they were only on the brink. This one has been completely pushed over it. And then trampled on. I think it would appreciate being put out of its misery.”
“Look,” I said, sticking my fingers through one of the holes in the plaster. “Imagine how beautiful these walls might be if we removed all the plaster and drywall to expose the beautiful wood beneath. And refinished the floors and fixed the millwork around the windows and doors. Just look at these high ceilings! Imagine the history in these walls.”
As I spoke, her gaze traveled behind me toward the stairs with the missing balustrade, her eyes following something. Or someone. I didn’t turn around. She forced her attention back to me and gave me another tight smile. “Are all the bedrooms upstairs?”
“Yes. Just three, but because they have to fit under the pitch of the steeply gabled roof, they’re tiny according to the floor plan. I noticed two dormer windows which should at least let in a lot of light. I might have to knock out a wall to enlarge both bedrooms, as well as make the one full bath bigger. And more functional.”