The Spite House(20)
“Mr. Ross, please have a seat,” Eunice said.
Dana told him, “Good luck,” then left him alone with the rich woman who owned a strange house she believed to be haunted, and lived in a mansion that would make kings envious. His girls were elsewhere in this house, in the care of someone he’d just met. It occurred to him that all of this should have made him more anxious or suspicious, but the past year and a half had numbed him somewhat. The immensity of the manor was something else, something new, but the rest of it, the need to have some measure of faith in strangers if he had any chance of earning some money, finding some shelter, he’d grown accustomed to that.
Eunice’s gray eyes were closer to the color of steel than storms. She had them open wide, like she was looking for more of him than was there. “I hope you found us without any trouble.”
“I did,” he said.
“Good. Unfortunately, that’s all the small talk I have for you. It’s been quite the day, and I think I’ve used up about all the charm I can muster. I hope you understand.”
“That’s fine by me.”
“Good. Good. Then, to begin with, I must ask what’s brought you to where you are? Not the physical space you’re in, but the general condition of your life. My first impression of you, based on appearances, is that you don’t come across as a neglectful or irresponsible man. But here you are, living out of a motel and desperate for stable employment. That’s questionable enough on its own, but with one school-aged child and another who’s barely an adult … How on earth did you get here?”
Despite saying he was fine with skipping small talk, Eric had counted on using it to warm Eunice up to him. Make it evident that he was a decent, reliable person, regardless of his circumstances. Then, he figured, he’d have some leeway to be vague about what they had left behind and why. Now a small lie might be in order. He took a breath, not wanting to get started before his brain had enough of a head start to keep him from stammering.
“Back home, back in Philadelphia, there was a situation. Something to do with family. We had to get away. Nothing criminal, but, well, there were elements involved that didn’t have my kids’ best interest at heart. There were dangers involved in staying home. I wish I could tell you more—”
“You could.”
“I really can’t. You said I don’t look irresponsible. I can assure you it would be extremely irresponsible of me to say more than I’m saying. For the sake of my daughters.”
Eunice gave a perfunctory nod. “Well, look at it from my perspective, Mr. Ross. I’m going to be giving someone a place to stay and money to live there. I need to know they’re not some fugitive from justice. I need to know they won’t be bringing anything unsavory to my property. In short, I need to know this is someone I can rely on. If you can’t tell me anything of significance about where you’re from and why you’re apparently on the run, I can’t imagine what you could tell me to make me trust you.”
Before he could second-guess himself, Eric said, “I can tell you about something I haven’t shared with anyone else in years. And it’s relevant to the job, too. I never even told my wife—ex-wife—about this, or told my kids. If I trusted you with that, would it help you trust me a little?”
“Relevant to the job? Sounds like you’re going to tell me a ghost story, Mr. Ross.”
“I don’t know what to call it, exactly. But it’s a real thing that happened to me, I promise you that.”
Eunice sat back. She already looked unimpressed, and Eric felt fear fluttering in his chest, expecting her to cut the interview short and send him on his way, having wasted his chance, wasted a day he could have spent seeking real work. Instead she raised a hand that invited him to speak.
“My grandparents had a house in Odessa, Texas,” he said. “I visited a lot when I was a kid, over holidays and a few summers. I loved that house, and I’m actually hoping to buy it back someday if I can get my money right. Not just for nostalgia’s sake. There’s something there, maybe, that can give me some answers I’m looking for. At least, I hope. I’m sorry, let me just get to it.
“I’d heard at first, growing up, that my grandfather built that house. That wasn’t the whole truth. His parents had bought it and moved in when he was still a teenager. He rebuilt it after it burned down when he was maybe about twenty or so, and still living there, along with his new wife, my grandmother, Nelle. This would’ve been in the early fifties, and uh, you know, there were incidents back then. Not that there aren’t anymore, but you know.”
“I do. Unfortunately, I do,” Eunice said.
“So, they lived south of the tracks, the black side of town, but that didn’t make them safe there. I never got the full story behind how the house burned. I never knew about the fire at all until I was twelve years old, visiting them one summer. I used to sleep in the back-corner room, and I started having these episodes where I’d wake up in the dead of night and I’d smell smoke, and I’d hear flames eating up the wood. The first time it happened I tried to tell myself it was a dream, but I was never one of those people who could tell they were dreaming, so the fact that I was even thinking of that let me know I was awake. And I knew I needed to get up and get everybody else up outside because the house was on fire. But I didn’t want to move because it felt like there was somebody else in the room with me.”