“So, what are we doing today?” I ask, hiking up my work pants. I examine the chicken rescue. It’s my first day, but it’s hard to contain my excitement. Working part time at the grocery was never enough passion, or hours, to fill my days.
“I’d like to look at the house.” Eggward seems remiss to mention it. He’s still wearing that hood, even after everything else he’s told me. It could just be sun protection.
“Right. Of course.” I nod even as my stomach churns. I crinkle my nose. “It’s a mess. I did what I could, but I don’t have the money or the resources.”
He nods and lets me lead the way. Several chickens trail us through the thick weeds between his rescue and my dad’s old property. The little promenade follows me through the unkempt front yard and up the shaky steps to the front porch. I used to sit here, with my dad. Drinking tea. Watching thunderstorms. Looking at the stars. There’s an extra worn section of the porch floor, where our chairs sat, marking up the painted wood. Eggward waits patiently beside me, I realize I’m staring.
“Summer break was a refuge for me.” I tell him. “I’m not really smart.”
His head cocks to one side. “You can’t possibly mean that.”
“I always struggled at school.” I shrug and move toward the door. It’s been a while since I walked inside. There’s a staircase to my right leading up, but the main floor of the old farmhouse has a circular layout. Four simple square rooms, two in the front, two in the rear. The dining room leads into the kitchen, leads into the main bedroom, leads into the living room, which leads back to the dining room.
My heart twists. I should have come back and helped him more. But I didn’t realize how bad it’d gotten. In the years since I was last here the stairs leading to the second story have been blocked with trash. I don’t even know what’s up there. The stone fireplace in the kitchen is blackened with soot and full of ashes. The electricity and water were long ago turned off. Every window pane is broken; bugs and animals have been making their home here. Although the chickens are already making a serious dent in the spider population
Eggward picks his way carefully through the space, examining the ceiling and the walls, running his fingers over surfaces. I watch him disappear into the other room, while I try to calm my racing heart. Nostalgia, longing, and quiet uncomplicated love for a time long gone. That I can never be a part of again. I stopped visiting, or dad stopped inviting me? Maybe it was both. Standing in all these memories hurts.
“It doesn’t look that bad,” Eggward offers as he reappears around the corner. “I thought maybe I’d fix it up and use it as my new residence. I could use a bit more space.”
“Don’t you live alone?” I ask sheepishly. I thought he was single. “I mean, I never seen anyone else around.”
“I don’t plan to be alone forever.” He is still examining the door frame. “I have a bedroom in the office building, but it’s not an ideal situation, sleeping five feet from where you work.”
“I wouldn’t want to sleep there.” I admit and then fumble for words. “I mean, sleeping near my workspace. Not sleeping with you.”
He responds with silence. The air suddenly seems stifling; my skin feels too hot.
“I think I should step outside,” I mutter and stumble onto my old front porch.
“You wouldn’t mind?” Eggward follows me to the front door.
“Why—why would I mind where you sleep?”
“You are clearly still attached to this place. You don’t have to give it to me.”
I shake my head decisively. “It’s better this way. If you think you can fix it.”
His hand lands on the porch railing beside mine, and I practically leap from the porch to get away from the desire to touch him.
“There’s one big problem though.” I say, leading the way around the house.
He struts behind me silently.
“What do we do about this?” I ask, nudging the thick metal cellar door with my foot. I know the ancient boiler is down there. “I haven’t been able to get it open.”
“You don’t have a key?” Eggward asks.
“No. I’m sure we can cut through the lock or?—”
I’m interrupted by a chicken. One appears, clucking quite loudly at my foot. She settles down briefly, her butt barely touching the ground before she struts off.
“Open it,” Eggward nods toward the large white egg left behind.
“Me?” I almost laugh.
“Rosalie wanted you to have it. That’s why she put it in front of you.” He steps toward me, but doesn’t make any move toward the egg. His presence feels heavy while he watches me.
I bend over to pick it up, to avoid staring at him any longer. Same as the other eggs, it feels—wrong. It isn’t empty, or made of gold, but it isn’t the weight I expect a normal chicken egg to be. Something metal rattles when I shake it.
