get paid for that?” he scoffs as he shakes his head. “Shoot, you need to come up with something that their mommas didn’t teach them a long time ago. No offense.”
“Uh-huh.” I raise my fingers once more. “Brush your teeth,” I count off. “Squirrel is not a protein choice. Don’t date your sister.”
He raises a brow. “Or marry your first cousin.”
He got me on that one. I laugh and raise a fourth finger. “Never swim in your own gene pool.”
“I’ll let the guys know your expert tips.” He points to the room across the hall and changes the subject. “The furniture is ready to go downstairs. Do y’all want to paint the room before we set it up?”
“Mom says no.” I don’t feel like an expert on anything anymore. Least of all on dating. “She wants to keep everything the same as she remembers.”
“I should have guessed.” He chuckles. “Y’all Suttons cling to your clutter. At the end of the day, you can’t take your hoarded treasures with you to the grave.”
“I don’t really know my family.” The room is filled with oversize furniture, but I wouldn’t call it cluttered. Not like the back staircase. “But they don’t seem to be hoarders.”
“Have you been in the attic?”
“Never.” As a child, I was scared shitless just looking at the closed door. Coming back as a savvy, well-traveled, educated adult, I still find it spooky as hell. I don’t believe in spooky stuff, but after last night, I’m not a nonbeliever either. “Is it bad?”
“I wouldn’t recommend going up there without a pith helmet and camp shovel.”
I look up at the ceiling, and I think I can safely predict that I won’t be climbing the stairs at the end of the hall anytime soon.
“Jasper had a running catalog in his head of every last thing crammed up there. That fireplace screen Ms. Patricia’s asked about is probably hidden in a chest or hanging from the rafters.”
“Maybe she’ll forget,” I say, even though I know Mom will forget what she had for breakfast before she forgets about that screen.
“Some folks say the Suttons are short on common sense but have long memories. That was true with Jasper.”
“What folks?” Did I just say “folks”? I never say “folks.” It sounds so… folksy. Then again, I never thought I’d say the f-word either. Welcome to my new life.
“The old families still living in the parish. The Guidrys.” His boots stir up dust as he moves to the windows and looks out. “The Browns at Roselea. My folks are still in the big house at Sugar Hill.” He looks off in the distance and places his hand on the window casing. “Ms. Patricia probably remembers my maman, Mazie Landers. They’re about the same age and Maman remembers every one and ’em.”
I lean a hip into the footboard and cross my arms beneath my breasts. “Mom has Alzheimer’s. Her long-term memory is better than her short-term, so she might remember.”
He drops his hand and slowly turns toward me. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“That’s why we’re here.” I unfold one arm long enough to point in the cemetery’s general direction. “She wants to be buried next to Grandmother.”
“Of course,” he says, as if I’d told him water is wet and money is green.
“I hope that isn’t for a while, but no one knows. She could live for five more years or pass away in six months.” I drop my hands to my sides and shake my head. “This house will fall down around our ears if we last more than five years.”
“Nah. The wood rot isn’t that bad.”
“Tell me you’re pulling my leg again.”
“You’re in bayou country. Can’t get away from wood rot.” He points toward the hall with his chin. “It’s just about empty over there. Do you want some of this furniture moved into that room?”
My brain is still on wood rot, and I mentally shake my head. I hadn’t thought about moving things around up here, but the windows are better in Great-grandmother’s room, and the view’s better too. I like throwing open the double doors and walking out onto the veranda. Especially now that I know it’s not going to collapse.
We stand side by side, his shoulder on the same level as my ear, and stare up at the half tester. One of the men could get an eye poked out, and I don’t even know if I have homeowner’s insurance. “It’s heavy.”
“Several hundred pounds, for sure.”
“Do you want to move it?”
“Do you want