Bailey
Helen and Robert’s house has always been bright and homey. It smells like roses as I step inside, breathing deeply. Helen’s wallpapered formal living room glistens–spotless and freshly dusted. The kitchen is on the other side of the foyer, as well as a dining room and small washroom.
The layout is similar to the old Gregory house. All of the old houses were built like this–every room contained, connected by archways and built around a grand foyer with a sweeping staircase.
But comparatively, Helen and Robert’s house is much smaller and cozier, as is their heavily wooded property.
Helen pours glasses of sweet tea. “He’s upstairs in bed,” she sighs, sipping from her glass. “He’s still coming off the drugs. I was told he’d be woozy for a day or two.”
“Is he on any pain medicati
