Chapter 10 - The House That Love Built
One year to the day after the aborted housewarming party, I decided to throw another gathering.
No grand neighborhood invitations. No sprawling guest lists filled with distant acquaintances or opportunistic relatives. Just a small, tight circle of people who mattered: my cousins, Marcus, Thomas, a few close neighbors who had brought casseroles during the dark weeks of the investigation, and Billy, who was now eight years old and had officially declared himself the master of backyard marshmallow roasting.
The evening air was warm, smelling of cedar smoke from the fire pit I had built with my own hands in the backyard.
I stood in the kitchen—my kitchen, scrubbed clean, smelling of fresh lemons and new paint—prepping a tray of sliders. On the counter beside the platter sat a crystal pitcher of iced tea with fresh mint leaves and lemon slices. No pink mocktails. No paper umbrellas. Just simple, honest refreshments.
Marcus walked into the kitchen, holding a pair of grilling tongs in one hand and a bottle of soda in the other. He leaned against the counter, watching me slice a tomato with steady, practiced strokes.
“You know, Leo,” Marcus said, looking around the bright, sunlit room, “most guys would have sold this house after what happened. Too many ghosts. Too many bad memories attached to these walls.”
I set the knife down, wiped my hands on a clean dish towel, and looked out the window.
In the backyard, Billy was laughing, tossing a tennis ball to the dog while the golden retriever leaped into the air with joyful abandon. The Edison strings lights flickered overhead, catching the golden light of the setting sun.
“Ghosts only live in a house if you let them rent space, Marcus,” I said, turning back with a quiet, genuine smile. “This place wasn't cursed by what happened here. It was proven.”
Marcus grinned, clinked his bottle against my glass of iced tea, and walked back out to the grill.
May you like
I picked up the tray of sliders and carried them out to the patio, stepping lightly over the pantry floorboard where every strip of oak sat perfectly, beautifully flush.
The party was just beginning. And this time, there was nothing standing in our way.
