He took the keys and selected the right one to open the lock before glancing at Lydia. “Do you want the old cylinders reinstalled?” he asked.
“I do,” Lydia confirmed as Miller set down his toolbox. I climbed the porch steps slowly while my pulse hammered in my ears.
Victoria stood off to the side and breathed through her nose with her eyes bright with hatred. Up close I could smell her expensive perfume, but underneath it I caught the faint scent of the house itself.
It was the smell of old wood and sea salt and lemon oil mixed with the dust warmed by the morning sun. I stepped across the threshold and almost stumbled because the entry rug was gone.
In its place lay a pale sisal runner that looked like it had been selected from a catalog for women who do not actually like the coast. The hallway table where my mother kept a bowl full of shells was gone too.
There was a narrow mirrored console instead, topped with coral shaped candlesticks and a framed photo of Victoria and my father. They were both smiling into a life that had cost someone else everything they owned.