He opened his mouth but seemed unsure of what to say. I nodded my head, encouraging him to keep going with the ruse. He cleared his throat. “Fawn removal can be tricky. I charge eight hundred and twenty dollars for expert fawn removal.”
Feeling the hit to my pocketbook, and a corresponding light-headedness, I opened the envelope and began counting. So much for grocery shopping. “Food is overrated, Harvey.” I tried to hand him his money. I did. I tried. He ended up having to pry it from my fingers.
As he walked down the steps, he said over his shoulder, “If you have any more problems, just let me know.”
“What?” I glanced warily in the house. “I thought you said you dealt with my fawn infestation.”
He turned, face stricken. “I just meant if any more fawns wander in, you could call me for help. I left the invoice on your dining table—oh, but it might be best if you didn’t look too closely at that. My phone number is at the bottom.” He started to walk back toward the house. “I can just fold up that invoice, so you only see my name and number. How would that be?”
I wanted to tell him not to worry about it, but what came out instead was, “That’d be great!”
He jogged in and came back out a moment later. “All fixed. You have a nice evening, miss.”
Waving, I called, “Thank you, kindly fawn wrangler.”
He drove away and silence settled around us. Chaucer and I walked cautiously through the front door. I stilled, waiting for the telltale scratching, the almost subaudible squeaks. Nothing. I let out the breath I was holding. “It’s really ours now.”
After feeding Chaucer, I decided I should mop the floors and wash down the walls again. I’d been at it for three sweaty hours when Chaucer ran downstairs, barking. I followed and found Mr. Cavanaugh at the front door. Quickly closing the door behind me so as to block his view of the empty living room, I stepped out onto the porch.
“Good evening. How are you?” Chaucer wandered over to sniff at him.
He clenched his hands, a look of disgust on his face. “I’m mad is how I am.”
“Oh, I see.” I glanced around, confused. “Did I forget to do something with the garden? I’m?—”
“You threw out all of Nellie’s belongings!” Eyes sparking, face turning red, he looked like he wanted to punch me.
“What? No. I’d never do that.” Chaucer stood in front of me, blocking the scary man from getting too close. My fingers shook as I sank them into his fur.
“Then let’s just go in there and see. Open up that door!”
He lunged for the door handle, but I stood my ground. Consequently, I got knocked sideways and bounced off the doorframe. Chaucer’s deep growl caused Mr. Cavanaugh to reassess the situation.
Rage turned to resentment. “I didn’t mean to push you.” His focus shifted to Chaucer, whose low growl hadn’t abated. Judging by the worried look on Mr. Cavanaugh’s face, Chaucer may have thrown in some bared teeth to bring his point home.
I thought about all those sleepless nights in my car, afraid to enter the house, the scratching, the scurrying... I should have thrown open the door when he’d first arrived and shown him what happened when windows were left open for a couple of months, but I didn’t—couldn’t.
“I know you didn’t mean to push me, Mr. Cavanaugh. I also know you’re a good man who wouldn’t willingly hurt a woman. Gran wouldn’t have loved you if you had that in you.”
All his anger drained away. He stood slumped and sad before me. Somehow, that was worse than his anger.
I screwed up my courage, pulling Chaucer closer to me, and lied. “It was ugly.”
He looked up, confused. “What?”
“The furniture and stuff. This is my home now. I don’t want it to look like an old lady’s house. I mean, come on.”
Shame ignited back into rage.
“Fresh start for me.” I shrugged. “If you wanted her old stuff, you should have taken it.”
“She left it for you! So you’d have a warm, safe, comfortable place to live, not that you deserve anything like that!” Righteous anger looked better on him than grief. “What kind of a heartless, self-centered woman are you?”
Was that a trick question? “The heartless and self-centered type?”
He took a step forward, ignoring Chaucer’s louder growl. “That’s what you do, isn’t it? Make jokes. You break your grandmother’s heart, and you joke. You leave your husband and make jokes.” He turned, gesturing to the battered BMW. “You destroy an expensive car and joke about it. Let your grandmother die without you. Don’t go to the funeral and laugh it up. Now here you are, throwing out belongings she collected and cared for most of her life as though they were—she was—garbage. And you joke.” Revulsion lined his face.
“Aiden was right about you, Katie. You’re nothing but a cruel, shallow bit of nothing. When your husband comes to sell this house out from under you, I’ll do a jig.” He stormed off while I stood frozen.
