“No, thanks though,” I say, holding up one hand. “I’ve already hired movers from Sydney. They should be here in two hours.”
“Are you sure you want to pay for that when you could get it for free?”
“Yes, I am. Nothing’s free in this world.”
He gives me a conciliatory nod. “No, you’re probably right. We’d have charged you a round of beers the next time we’d see you at the pub.”
“As tempting as that is, I have a few old, expensive pieces of furniture that need to be treated quite delicately.”
“Oh, well, in that case, it’s best to leave it to the professionals,” he says, extending the ladder and setting it against the house.
I stand, fiddling with Isaac’s ring while Liam disappears over the peak. I tell myself everything will be okay. It seems like it won’t be, but what’s the worst that could happen? I sink every penny into it and end up broke. Oh yeah, that.
A few minutes later, he comes back into view, standing casually on the steep slope with one hand on his hip. My heart jumps to my throat at the thought of him falling, but it appears to be the furthest thing from his mind.
“What do you do for a living, Abby?”
“I’m a writer. Mainly novels.”
“Well, you better get writing. You need a new roof.”
My heart drops from my throat to my knees at his words, and tears prick my eyes but I force them back in.
He climbs down and surveys the yard. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he says as he rubs his chin. “Great spot here. Shame the McMasters kids let it get all overgrown after their ma went into the home. She was a real meticulous gardener. Will you want help to get the yard cleaned up?”
Yes, but there’s no way I can afford it. “I need to do as much as possible myself. We may be about to stretch my budget so far it’ll snap.” I try to sound casual, but those damn tears appear again. I clear my throat and turn toward the house to hide my fear. But the sight of the paint peeling off the window boxes brings with it a sense of doom.
“Listen, Abby, I imagine this is probably overwhelming for you. It would be for me, if I were in your shoes.”
“No, I can handle it,” I say with a scoff. “Believe me.”
“Sure, you’re a tough New Yorker and all that. I know you can handle it, but it’s okay to admit if you’re upset.”
“I’m not upset,” I say, taking on a business-like tone. “I’m just…surprised at how many things need to be replaced, and I’m wondering if I stupidly bought a total money pit that will suck every dollar out of my bank account until I’m forced to sell it and move back home with my parents like some thirty-nine-year-old loser. Because I really can’t have that, Liam.” My voice goes up by two octaves and my face screws up in what is about to become an ugly cry. “I already lost my husband; I can’t end up back in Portland where all my relatives will stare at me and shake their heads at how I couldn’t make it in the world without a man. I can’t do that. I simply can’t.”
“But you’re not upset,” Liam says lightly, making me laugh while he digs a tissue out of his pocket. He unfolds it and hands it to me.
“Not at all,” I answer, managing a grin while I wipe my tears. “Sort of terrified maybe, but otherwise fine.”
When I finally make eye contact with him, he doesn’t seem at all put off by my show of emotion. He nods and says, “Tell you what? Let’s make this a lot less terrifying. How about I teach you how to do anything you can do yourself? You can save a lot of money, so long as you’re not afraid of some hard work.”
“I’m not.”
“Well, then you and this house will get along just fine.”
Chapter Eight
If you don’t learn how to be scared, you'll never really learn how to be brave.
~Simon Holt, The Devouring
Liam was wrong. This house and I are not going to get along just fine. Somehow the kitchen that looked so small tripled in size the second I started scrubbing out the cupboards. Suddenly, a windowless bachelor suite next to the subway tracks is extremely appealing to me. If I hadn’t made such a fuss about getting out of the B&B as soon as possible, I'd be heading back there right now to have a long bath and hide under the covers instead of preparing for my first night in this hellhole. I still have at least another hour's work in the kitchen before I can move on, and my body is already going into shock. I finish the last drawer in the fridge, then open a warm can of Coke and take a long swig. Leaning against the counter, I give the oven a good hard glare, dreading the thought of tackling whatever's in there. Maybe I could just not open it. Ever. That would save me a lot of work.
Yes, I'll ignore the oven, at least for this week. I have another overwhelming and more pressing task ahead of me in the form of a U-Haul that has to be unpacked and returned to the depot in Sydney. Checking my watch, I see that the movers should be here in a few minutes.
At exactly three o’clock, there’s a loud knock on the door. I wipe my hands on the sides of my jeans while I hurry to answer it. When I swing the door open, I’m met by Liam and another man, both wearing green golf shirts and matching baseball caps.
Liam gives me a broad grin. “Hello, ma’am. I understand you booked a couple of movers for this afternoon,” he says in a very formal voice. “I’m Liam Wright, and this here is James Campbell. We’re here to professionally move all your delicate and expensive pieces of furniture.”
