Chapter 1
Natalie
If my bra accumulates another drop of boob sweat, I could probably fill a pool. The August heat is relentless, and it’s not doing me any favors on this manic job hunt. My hair is sticking to my face, my thighs are chafed and raw, and my ass is in a deep state of swamp. I’d much prefer to email the local businesses from home, with the air conditioner blowing directly onto my skin, but this town is the size of a thimble, and the business owners around here don’t seem even slightly tech-savvy. There are few modern-looking websites or social media pages among them.
I have no choice but to drop off my resumes by car and on foot.
Not that it’ll make a difference. I’ve been handing my resume to every business in western Vermont since Mr. Colson taped an eviction notice to my door last week, and I’ve yet to get a call back, even just to tell me they’re not interested. There aren’t a lot of businesses who need someone with a few nursing school credits, experience as a dental office receptionist (for thirteen months), hair salon assistant (nine months), bowling alley employee (nine months), and chain restaurant server (sixteenmonths), apparently. You’d think my time spent scratching the surface of various industries would make me seem interesting and maybe a little mysterious, but nope. It likely makes me look like a flake.
I pull into the parking lot of my apartment building and spot Mr. Colson outside the utility shed, sanding down…something. It looks like a giant log, but smooth. I can’t tell what it is, or what it’ll end up being once he’s done.
He puts down his tools and steps away from his workbench the moment he sees me. “How’s the job search coming?” he shouts before letting out a barking cough.
Mr. Colson was a math professor at Dartmouth for over twenty years and has now taken up woodworking in his retirement. He has a wispy tuft of white hair floating wildly on his head, a matching white mustache, and is often wearing clothes that look at least one size too big. I used to find his scratchy voice and smoker’s cough comforting, mostly because they belonged to a man who left casseroles on our doorstep when the chemo was wreaking havoc on Mom’s system. Since the eviction notice, however, his presence fills me with anxiety.
“Same as yesterday,” I reply, wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. “No leads.”
He nods. “I’m sure you’ll find something.”
I take a tentative step toward him. “Listen, Mr. Colson, I know I owe a lot in rent–”
“Five thousand six hundred fifty dollars,” he cuts in, his tone sharp.
“Yes,” I continue through gritted teeth.
Manners go a long way.That’s what Mom would say right now, if she were still here.
I take a breath and offer a warm smile as I continue. “I would pay you every dime of that amount if I had it, sir. It’s just…the chemo treatments and hospital stays completely wiped out themoney Mom had saved, and you know we couldn’t afford a full-time caretaker. There was no way I could be by her side and work a full-time job. Now that I have the time, I’m trying to find something. Anything. You know I am.”
His gaze drops to the dirt as he scratches his chin. “I know, kiddo.”
I bristle at the nickname. It’s not the first time I’ve heard it, but that was then. That wasbefore. Before Mom died and before he decided to evict me. What right does he have to act like nothing has changed when my entire universe is upside down?
As painful as it is to remain in the place where Mom died, it’s home. It’s the place we shared for the last six years. It’s hard to believe it’s been two weeks since she passed. Time no longer feels real, and I wonder if it ever will again. Somehow, the moment she died feels like it was a year ago, and an hour ago, simultaneously.
I moved in with her after I broke up with my ex, Kyle, and about a year before she got sick for the first time. She would go into remission twice more before the cancer came back for good. During that time, I held many jobs for short periods, and I’d inevitably have to quit once Mom needed help with transportation to her appointments, and closer monitoring during rounds of chemo. Then I’d find another job, low-paying but close by, and the cycle would repeat.
Despite the darkness her cancer journey carried, I’m glad I was able to be here, to spend this time with her. There are memories covering every inch of this apartment that I don’t want to forget. “If you could just give me a little more time–”
“Tell you what,” he says, clearing his throat. “If you can pay one month of overdue rent by this Friday, I’ll stop the eviction process.”
“That’s almost two grand,” I say with a scoff. I spent the last few bucks I had to buy bread, jelly, and peanut butter so I canfeed myself for the week. “Without a job, how am I supposed to come up with that kind of money?”
“Look, Rita was a lovely woman, and you’ve both been reliable tenants––until recently, that is––but you’ve reached the end of my patience.” He turns back toward his workbench, then stops. “Do you know how many Dartmouth students come by here asking about upcoming vacancies? The unit you’re in is the biggest one. I have bills to pay, too, Natalie. You’re not the only one with problems.”
He’s right. I wish I could whip out some Saul Goodman-esque charm and legalese to intimidate Mr. Colson into letting me stay, but I’m drawing a blank. I’m also not the type that could intimidate anyone, since I have the bravado of a mouse. “Understood,” I say with a meek sigh as I head toward my apartment.
Once inside, I yank off my soggy clothes and throw on a loose t-shirt before padding to the fridge and chugging the last of my orange juice.
I hear my phone buzzing in my purse, and my muscles automatically clench. Is it the credit card company reminding me that the payment I sent is less than the minimum? Is it another spam loan offer? Or is it the electric company threatening to turn off service? Most news seems to be bad news as of late.
Thankfully, it’s none of those. My old college roommate, Lindsay, is in town until tomorrow and wants to get an early dinner at the brewery we used to frequent every Friday night while we were in school. We weren’t smart enough to get into Dartmouth, but Riverview University is only two towns away, so my commute to dinner will be quick. I haven’t seen her in years and have never needed the company more than I do right now.
There’s one credit card in my wallet that’s about a hundred dollars under its credit limit, and it may not be wise to use itfor eating out, but my loneliness is stronger than my financial resolve, so fuck it. I’m going to spend it anyway. I’ll deal with the consequences later.
I show up at Wish You Were Beer ten minutes early, but of course, Lindsay beats me. No matter how early I arrive anywhere to meet her, she’s there first. It’s always been like this with us, and it’s infuriating.
She’s sitting in our favorite booth toward the back, and when she sees me, she starts waving ecstatically with both hands. Her long, effortlessly straight black hair is pulled off her angular face in a high, tight ponytail that reaches the middle of her back.
