Jack was dead. Momma’s, too. And Big Momma and Grandpa Stanley, who I barely remember, are gone too. I take the letter from the messenger, Ortiz, with shaking hands. I smile up at huge, lovable, and furry Ortiz, my big brother Jack’s bestie. At six foot six with a mountain man beard and a luscious mop of wavy hair, Ortiz was my favorite play brother. I remember tagging along with my brother and his bruhs. Summers of popping wheelies and sneaking warm beers in the old apple orchards behind my grandparents’ house. That house, the thought of it made me shudder. I looked at my old friend’s worried eyes, big brown saucers of worry and fear. I gave him a big hug nearly drowning in his flannels and torn into the last letter from my brother.

Dear Harry,

You’d better not.

Love Jack

Born five years apart, Jack and I were always in sync, more like twins than big brother little sister. We didn’t need a lot of words. But we needed our grandparents’ house. When our folks divorced we lived there with mom until our grandparents died and mom remarried. When mom’s new husband turned into a complete shitheel Jack rented the house and took me in. After mommy died, Jack inherited and stayed there between girlfriends. With a wraparound porch, big kitchen, pretty cedar shakes, and spiral staircases the house could have been a hug, a welcomed refuge. It should have been so many wonderful memories. But it wasn’t. The house was mean. Mom used to say old houses creaked. But this house growled. We held thanksgiving dinners and threw neighborhood parties. But when you were alone the lights would turn off. Faucets turned on in the middle of the night. Enter the crawl space at your own risk. Footsteps from invisible feet would follow you. And there were the indescribable weight of feeling as if you were watched. I know the house left a mark on mommy and Jack. Maybe it was because I saw the house for what it or maybe it was my stint with the Marines or I was just plumb stubborn. I was sick of craptastic teeny tiny studio apartments. No one was going to take my family house from me even the house itself.

Over the edge of the letter I caught Ortiz’ eyes again. He was hopeful until he saw my smile. Ortiz shook his worried head.

“You know any good contractors.”

“ not again Harriet.”