Elizabeth was arranging orchids in the antique crystal vase on her dining room table when the doorbell chimed. She took a deep breath and opened the door with flourish, putting on her sales face.
“Hello,” she said to the old woman on the porch. “You must be here for the viewing.”
The old woman was smaller than Elizabeth, with salt and pepper hair braided down her back. Her eyes were cloudy heather grey and the crow’s-feet that lined the side of her face appeared like clay cracked under too much exposure to the sun. Her skin was milky white, almost translucent, and a sheen of sweat that formed along her upper lip.
The woman smiled. Her perfectly lined teeth seemed to be the only thing on the woman that hadn’t eroded over time.
“Hello, dear. You have such a lovely home.” Her voice was like sweet honey pouring over every syllable, covering the words with the richest Georgian accent Elizabeth had ever heard. The old woman spoke in a halting manner which reminded Elizabeth of her grandmother and the smell of her freshly baked bread, though she didn’t remember much of either, but had the haziest recollection of both.
The fog around her memories would have given her pause any other day, but she had a house to sell. Elizabeth ushered the old woman inside and closed the door. A small niggling sensation inched up the small of her back and her body involuntarily jerked in response.
She shook off the feeling and beamed at her houseguest. “Where would you like to start the tour?”
Daniel had put the house on the market before leaving. She should have gone too, but the thought of leaving the house behind to be sold away without her knowing what became of it was inconceivable. She had memories there, she thought. A history. She couldn’t abandon the place – not even if that meant being abandoned herself.
The old woman smiled. “Anywhere you want to start is just fine with me,” she said. A high, girlish laugh escaped her lips and she shook her head. “Where are my manners, dear?” She held out her right hand. “My name’s Eugenia Waters. You can call me Genie.”
Elizabeth glanced at the proffered hand and froze. Genie’s fingers were twisted like the branches on an old, rotting tree; the skin was taut and shriveled. Her middle finger was missing above the knuckle and below it stood a blackened stump.
“Are you all right?” Genie asked, stepping further into the foyer, a puzzled expression marring her already hard features.
Elizabeth released a nervous laugh and reached for Genie’s hand. She willed herself not to grimace.
“Yes, I’m sorry. I’m just a little flustered. You’re the first person to come view the house.”
Genie nodded and shook Elizabeth’s proffered hand. She wasn’t smiling anymore, but she wasn’t staring like Elizabeth had just spit on her either so that was a step in the right direction Elizabeth thought.
“Is it cold outside today?” Elizabeth asked, trying to make polite conversation.
Genie frowned. “No, it’s perfectly lovely weather out. Why do you ask?”
“You’re cold,” Elizabeth said. “Or, your hand is. I thought it might be chilly, that’s all.”
“Oh no, dear, in fact it’s a little on the mild side,” Genie said, examining the oil paintings on the foyer walls. “You’ll probably need to crack your windows later if it gets any warmer.”
Genie ran her nub along the dark chocolate wood of the entry console and lifted it to her nose.
“This is antique,” Genie said, turning to Elizabeth with a glint in her eye. “What kind of polish do you use?”
“I don’t use polish. I use vinegar.”
Genie’s broad smile returned. “I thought so. A woman who knows how to treat wood is rare these days. Modern women like to use those store bought polishes…completely strips it of its natural beauty. How’d you know about vinegar?”
Elizabeth pushed a lock of hair behind her ears and bit her lower lip. “I don’t know. I guess maybe my mother must have shown me once. Or my grandmother.”
Genie grinned and nodded. “Yes, I suppose they did. Now – how about that tour?”
Elizabeth led Genie into the living room, grateful for the reprieve. Something about the old woman made her uncomfortable. It wasn’t just her hand, though Elizabeth felt horribly guilty that this poor woman’s disfigurement was a cause for unease in the first place, but it was her demeanor. Or rather, her gaze. She seemed to be appraising Elizabeth’s every breath and the scrutiny made her self-conscious.
The living room was spacious with big French windows behind the cream couch. Everything was awash in golden hues from the afternoon sunshine. The wooden parquet floors gleamed and the glass coffee and end tables shimmered under the light.
Elizabeth watched Genie silently admiring the room with a feeling of relief. Genie was in love with the place. She’d probably buy it. Her eyes and hands traveled over everything in the room, her mouth frequently forming into a small O whenever she came upon a new delight.
“This is magnificent,” Genie said, almost breathless with wonder. “It’s better than I imagined.”
“If you love the furniture, you’ll be pleased to know it comes in the asking price.”
“Yes,” Genie said absently. She turned to Elizabeth with eager eyes. “May I see the upstairs?”
“Sure,” Elizabeth said. She followed Genie as the woman made her way to the hallway. “I was going to show you the kitchen and dining rooms first, but we can see them on the way back down.”
“That would be nice.” Genie made her way up the wide staircase that was visible from the foyer. Elizabeth watched as the old woman’s left hand seemed to caress the black banister on the way up and was heartened the woman seemed to have all five fingers on that hand.
At the top of the second floor landing, Elizabeth took the lead. She showed Genie the hall closet where she and Daniel kept the extra towels, washcloths, blankets, and bed linens. Next, they viewed the two guest bedrooms with adjoining bath, the small study where Daniel used to work on his novels, and the master bedroom. Elizabeth was about to take Genie back down to the kitchen when she felt the old woman’s arm grip her wrist.
She flinched and turned around slowly. The dead, scaly hand had touched her skin.
Genie smiled, her eyes boring into Elizabeth as if she knew exactly what the young woman was thinking. “Aren’t you gonna show me the other room?”
Elizabeth’s pulse quickened. Her palms grew moist. She hadn’t wanted to go into the room; in fact, she’d hoped that Genie was nearsighted and couldn’t see the closed door at the end of the hall. But she had and now there was nothing for Elizabeth to do but to show her the room.
“Apologies,” Elizabeth said, forcing a lighthearted chuckle. “I was in such a rush to show you the remodeled kitchen that I almost forgot the room was there.”
She walked cautiously down the hall with Genie trailing behind her. As they got farther away from the landing, the hall seemed to get smaller; the walls appeared to cave in and the air around them thickened.
Turning the brass knob, she pushed open the room’s door. It was empty save for some white curtains over a small window. Genie pushed around her and entered uninvited. Elizabeth held onto the knob and tried to steady her breathing. She hadn’t been in there since they lost the baby. Daniel had taken down the crib and put away the clothes – she hadn’t had the strength for it.
Genie pulled back the curtains and stared out the window. She didn’t say anything for a long while, but then she finally spoke, not turning to meet Elizabeth’s gaze, her voice wistful and far away.
“This is almost exactly like how I remember it,” she said, sighing. “That tree in the back yard looked bigger then.”
Elizabeth’s hand dropped from the knob. “You’ve been here before?”
Genie turned and nodded. “I grew up in this house, honey. Didn’t I say that downstairs?”
“No, you didn’t.”
Genie peered back out the window. “I thought I had. The mind changes so much over the years. It
’s amazing the things you remember —”the women made eye contact in the window’s reflection, “and the things you forget.”
“We were never told about living tenants when we moved in.”
Genie flicked a wisp of hair off her forehead with her good hand. A grin tugged on her thin, cracking lips. “No. I guess you wouldn’t be.”
A soft breeze blew through the room from the hall. Elizabeth caught a whiff of the jasmine potpourri Daniel left in a bowl by the linen closet, but underneath was another smell that lingered behind; a pungent dankness, musky and unappealing, like shoes that had been worn in the rain, then locked into a cupboard to dry for years.
Genie didn’t seem to notice as she circled around the room inspecting the carpet. “Your husband - will he be joining us?”
“Daniel…he’s…he’s not going to be here, I’m afraid. He’s gone.”
“Gone? Did he pass?”
“No, he’s alive.”
Genie’s head slowly started to nod. She fixed Elizabeth with a sympathetic gaze that the younger woman immediately resented. “He left you. Will you get a divorce?”
Elizabeth’s cheeks burned. Her smile stretched tight. “I’m not sure.”
“It’s such a shame, the lack of commitment these days.” Genie pulled the gauzy curtains closed. “Me and my Harold were together for going on thirty-six years before his heart gave out. Poor dear. He never did take good enough care of himself, probably because he had me around to do it for him.”
“Ma’am, would you