Coming Home (4 page)

Her lungs released a pent-up breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. It seemed that breath had been held for twenty-three years. “I’ll take it.”

“Great. All I need is the first and last months’ rent. I’ll take a check. You can move in today if you’d like. I have the lease here.” He handed her a long, yellow slip of paper with a pink carbon copy on the back.

Paperwork.

Taking the paper, she glanced over it. It was a lot of printed writing. For the first time she missed Parker. He always helped her with this sort of thing. “Do you have a pen?”

He handed her a blue pen. “Guess there isn’t really a place to write, being there’s no furniture. Tell you what. Why don’t you just write out your name there at the top of the lease and sign? I already filled in the numbers. I’ll do the rest when I get back to my office.”

The literary gods must’ve been smiling on her that day. She carefully wrote her name, then signed the bottom, much like she’d signed her name at the bank. Finding her temporary checks, she pulled one out. She thought about what Lucian’s check had looked like.

“The check’s for how much?”

“Thirteen total. Then your next check will be due on the first of June. It’s a month-to-month lease, but it states you give me sixty days notice of intent to move. Electric’s already set up. The bill arrives on the fifteenth of the month. You can pick it up at the insurance office directly downstairs. Once I get the company a copy of the lease, your name will be added to the account. Cable and phone are your responsibility to set up.”

Leaning against the stove, Scout drew the numbers
1300.00
in the box on the check and signed her name. Tearing the check from the others, she handed it to him. He frowned. “You forgot the rest, dear.”

“Um . . .” She swallowed. “I . . .”

He tilted his head. “You special?”

She bristled. “No, I am
not
special. I . . . I hurt my hand yesterday. Would you mind filling out the rest?”
Dickhead.

“Oh, my apologies.”

She scowled at him as he filled in the rest of the check. He turned and held out his hand. “Well, it was a pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Keats. Oh, before I forget. Here’s your key.”

Her heart stuttered.
Her key.
She took the small piece of carved metal and squeezed it tight, its jagged edges a welcome pinch of reality in her palm. “Thank you.”

After tearing the carbon copy from the lease, Mr. Snyder, her new landlord, handed it to her. “My office address is at the top. I charge a late fee after the fifth, so you want to have your check in the mail well before then. You have any trouble, you call my office.”

After a few more instructions, like where to find the breaker box and thermostat, Mr. Snyder left and she stood alone in her apartment. It was surreal.

Scout turned slowly in a circle and took in the space that was now her home. Her cheeks pulled as a grin slowly split her face, and suddenly she was jogging in place doing a happy dance and squealing like a child.

She fell to the stiff carpet in a fit of giggles and held her stomach. “Home,” she whispered. “You have a home.”

Chapter 4

Indulgences

The euphoria Scout experienced at having
her own
place to call home was unexpected and definitely welcome. When she finally dragged herself off the floor, she dug out her bank book and carefully wrote:

Tucking the checkbook back in her bag, she looked at her watch. She had two hundred and four dollars and thirty-six cents left after the motel and breakfast. Gazing around her
home
she considered the necessities she needed.

She stood and opened the fridge. How incredible. The air that touched her hand was cold. She opened the freezer—also cold. Amazing! She ran to the bathroom and turned on the water. Beautiful, clear liquid flowed from the spigot. Cupping her hands, she drank a mouthful, laughing at the purity of the taste.
Running water!
In
her
bathroom!

She flushed the toilet and spun in place. Her fingers flipped the switch as she watched the simple bulb behind the glass flicker with each click. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off.

Her cheeks cramped as her smile refused to abate. Sighing, she turned and faced her living room slash bedroom. Decision made, she swept up her bag, dug out her key and nearly broke her neck as she rushed down the steps.

Calm down, Keats. You want to be around to enjoy it.

After locking the door, she exited the alley and headed toward Clemons. Her eyes snagged on the people in the insurance office below her apartment. Eventually she’d need to introduce herself to them.

Her job was the perfect distance from her
home.
Every time she thought the word she beamed. She had a home!

A few doors down from Clemons Market was a mattress store. She was getting herself a bed! As she approached the store, she took a deep breath. She’d never bought a big-ticket item, but this was definitely a dream worth pursuing.

Scout pressed the glass door open and stepped into a showroom full of various white mattresses.

“Can I help you find something?”

Scout jumped. Where the hell did that guy come from? He wore a brown suit with a yellow shirt and brown tie. He must work there. “I want to buy a bed.”

He smirked, as though they were old friends, which automatically made her uncomfortable. Oh, well. She was getting a bed and this was the only bed store she knew of.

“Well, you came to the right place. Name’s Sal. What kind of bed are you looking for?”

“Um, the kind you sleep on. Do you guys deliver?”

“Yes. Thursday’s one of our delivery days, so you’re in luck if you were hoping to get it today. Will you be shopping for a mattress and box spring as well?”

Yes, mattress, that’s what she meant. “What’s a box spring?”

“Box spring’s the support piece under the mattress.” He pointed to the bed closest to them and lifted the plush mattress to show her the box spring. It looked like a mattress, but wasn’t cushioned.

“What does it do?”

Salesman Sal’s brow creased. “It lifts the mattress, offers more support. You don’t want to put a mattress on the frame.”

“Frame?”

“The metal support.” He pointed to the brown metal beams that raised the mattress and box spring off the ground.

“Oh, yes, I’d also like a box spring.” Her days of sleeping low to the ground were over.

“What size were you hoping for?”

“Um, square and a one-person.”

He frowned and laughed in a way that was insulting. “Well, they’re all square, dear. Let me show you our twins.”

“It’s just for one person,” she explained.

“Right. That’s a twin.”

Oh.

They walked to the far left of the showroom. Several narrow, one-person beds were lined up on the wall. “This is a good brand, one of our best sellers. Go ahead. Try it out.”

Eyeing him skeptically, she looked at the bed. Pockets of white curved up in firm diamond shaped clouds, neatly sectioned off with ivory stitching. Cautiously, she stepped closer and sat on the edge. It was firm.

“Go ahead. Lay down. Get comfortable.”

Her brow tightened and, with shifting movements, she scooted more on the bed. As she eased back, she was very aware of her breasts pressing into her shirt and Sal observing her. It was impossible to get comfortable with him hovering over her. She sat up. Anything was better than the floor.

“How much is it?” she asked.

He looked at the tag she hadn’t noticed tacked to the side. “This one’s four ninety-nine.”

“Four ninety-nine? As in four
hundred
and ninety-nine dollars?” She nearly spit.

“It’s a memory foam. You’re talking about one hundred and eighty degrees of spring and three hundred and sixty degrees of comfort.”

She stepped away from the bed. “I’m looking for something a little more affordable.”

Sal stepped to the right. “Well, this here’s a notable brand. It’s a traditional spring.”

She looked for the tag. It was two hundred and ninety-nine dollars. Her stomach sunk. Scowling, she marched down the line, flicking up each tag until she found one that was in her price range. She sat on the edge of the mattress and bounced. This one wasn’t cut in with white stuffed diamond shapes, but it had nice blue ticking. It was firm and squeaked as she bounced.

The salesman approached with a regretful expression. “I don’t think you want that one, sweetheart. You’ll be spending the difference on visits to the chiropractor. That there’s a backbreaker.”

Lips pursed, she met his gaze challengingly. “Do you make a commission?”

His mouth opened as he gathered his words. “Well, yes, but I’m more concerned with your comfort than making a sale.”

“I’m sure you are,” she mumbled, standing to examine the box spring. “How much is this?”

He sighed. “That box spring’s fifty five. Can I show you a better model? It’s only a little more. I’d hate to see you throw away your money on a mattress you aren’t happy with.”

Scout faced him. “Sal—it is Sal, isn’t it?” He nodded. “Well, Sal, I’m sure the mattress isn’t as bad as you say. A man like you wouldn’t have shoddy merchandise in his store.”

He blustered. “Well, now, I wouldn’t call it shoddy—”

“But you’d call it a backbreaker?”

“I only meant there are better—”

“Right. I know what you meant. This mattress will do just fine.”

His lips formed a thin line. “Our store has a non refundable policy—”

“That’s fine. When can I have it delivered?”

His eyes narrowed and he sighed. Lifting the clipboard he held, his pudgy fingers flipped a few pages. “Where’s it going?”

“Only a few blocks from here, South Knights Boulevard.”

“I have an opening for tonight between five and seven.”

She beamed. “Perfect! I’d like to pay now.”

She followed a very sulky Sal to the register. Her grand total for her mattress, box spring, and frame was one hundred ninety-four dollars and four cents with tax. She signed the order form carefully. She’d never written her name so much in one day.

“Slide your card,” Sal said, gesturing toward the fancy card device on the counter. Luckily, from clerking at Clemons, she was familiar with the device. She swiped her card, and words came up. Lots of words.
Shit.

“Type in your pin and hit Enter.”

Blowing out a calming breath, she typed in the address for Patras. 1-9-0-0.

“You have to hit Enter.”

Where was Enter? When she took longer than usual, Sal said, “The green button.”

Scout quickly hit the button. “Sorry. I forgot my glasses,” she lied.

“Hit Enter again if the amount’s okay.”

She looked at the screen. $194.04. That was correct. She pressed the green button again and more words appeared as a paper receipt spewed from the register. She’d been a bit concerned the funds wouldn’t clear, but it looked as though her money was available. Sal stapled it to her signed receipt and slid it across the counter.

“If you miss the delivery there’s a twenty-five-dollar service fee and our next delivery day isn’t until Saturday.” He certainly wasn’t as friendly since he learned he wouldn’t be making a living off of her.

Taking the paperwork, she gave him a nice smile. “Thank you very much.”

He grumbled a
have a nice day
and she left. Tonight she’d be sleeping on her own bed!

***

Scout was huffing and puffing by the time she made it up the narrow steps of her apartment with her bags. The living space was swamped with other bags and assorted items. She needed to get things put away before her bed arrived.

She was nearing a crash. Her legs ached. Over the past two hours, she hustled her ass off trying to get everything she’d need to make her place a home. She’d visited the general store and found sheets, a pillow, blankets, towels, her very first one-cup coffeepot. Every purchase validated her arrival into the real world.

As her bank account chipped away, she suffered little remorse for her purchases. She still had a ton of money in her account, and these were all items she needed. Although she asked Lucian to loan her thirty-five thousand, her actual plan would cost less. She was smart to ask for a bit more, knowing she needed a home. Well, maybe not
needed
. She’d certainly gone without such luxuries before, but it was time to join the ranks of normal adults.

She’d bought enough from the market to make it through the night. It was more sensible to bring a couple of bags home from work each day. For now, she had enough to keep her busy.

Hoisting her butt off the top step, where she collapsed with an arm full of purchases—she really needed furniture—she began emptying out her loot. The coffeepot was an easy setup, and she used the box as a trash can for now. Stacking all her linens in the corner with her pillow, she carried her toiletries to the bathroom.

As the apartment dimmed, the sun retreating for the day, she dug out her box of light bulbs and searched for an outlet. She’d found a lamp at a secondhand store for four dollars. She frowned once it was plugged in, realizing she had nowhere to put it. Using a large bag, she dumped in the trash from the coffeepot box and, instead, used the box as a makeshift end table.

“That’ll have to do for now,” she mumbled, admiring her handiwork.

The knock at the door startled her. Carefully walking down the steep, narrow steps, she opened the door a crack. A man in a blue jumpsuit stood with a clipboard. “Evelyn Keats?”

“Yes.”
These must be the bed people!

“I have a delivery for you.”

She peeked out the door. The alley was dark. There was another man standing behind her mattress, which was now wrapped in plastic. “Come on in.”

She waited anxiously at the top of the stairs as the men maneuvered the mattress up the steps. Good thing she’d opted for the smaller variety. A bigger bed never would’ve fit.

“Where would you like it?”

She pivoted and considered the space. The bathroom and closet door took up one wall, while the kitchen took up another. The partition from the stairs made up the third, leaving only one choice. “Right there by the window will be fine.”

They perched the mattress against the wall and left to get the box spring and frame. In a matter of ten minutes, she was signing for the delivery and saying thank you. Anxiously, she shut the door, locked it tight, and rushed back up the steps. Her feet didn’t stop until she propelled herself into the air and crashed on her bed. It smelled new and she liked it.

Smiling, she sighed and rolled off. Making the bed up was a quick task, having much experience with such chores from keeping house at Patras. With considerable pride, she placed the pillow at the top. Beautiful.

The blanket was soft pink in the fuzziest material she’d ever felt. Despite all the luxuries she’d experienced while living with Lucian, her own things, purchased with her own money and by her own hands, meant so much more.

It complicated things, seeing Lucian yesterday, but it also felt better stipulating a loan on her conditions. By doing so she’d altered their relationship to a business one. The two hundred thousand he’d left in an account for her was tainted and tied to their intimate past, which was why her pride refused her to touch it.

Breathing out a pleased sigh, she gazed at the roof over her head. It amazed her that she’d already accomplished part one of her plan. Part two would require a bit more research, but she’d talked to some people at the library and they explained a great deal to her as well as given her some phone numbers they had on hand.

It felt wonderful to take responsibility for herself again. Lucian wasn’t opposed to her independence, but as a man who had always been in control, he’d never truly understand what it meant for her to stand on her own two feet.

It wasn’t about proving something to him. He was in her past. This was about proving something to herself, creating her own future.

***

Glancing at her watch, she noted it was only a little after six. After straightening up some of the mess, she bagged up her trash and walked it to the cans she’d noticed in the alley. Her belly grumbled.

For dinner, she made a can of chicken soup. The pot was a dollar find at the thrift shop. She washed her dishes and tucked everything away neatly in its proper place.

She bathed in her little tub and brushed out her hair. Using the sink, Scout rewashed her uniform by hand and hung her clothes from hangers on the doors. And it was time for bed.

Her feet slipped beneath the soft covers, and she pulled the sheets to her chest. Reaching out, she shut off the light and stared at the ceiling. Home. This was home.

It was a very intangible moment. She was satisfied, yet something was missing. Her mind knew what it was, of course, but had done a wonderful job of not thinking beyond her independence that day. And at night, when the world slept, that was the easiest time to get wrapped up in regrets and swept away by depressing thoughts.