But she would.
In about twelve minutes.
A man wearing unfortunately tight khaki shorts and a green polo the shade of limeade was crouching low on the cracked sidewalk in front of Tilly's apartment complex, snapping pictures with a camera. She frowned, that feeling of foreboding pulsing.
"Uh, excuse me," she called politely. Always politely.
He startled and turned, almost losing his balance. She didn't recognize him, but his awkward smile made her uneasy.
"Oh, hi there. I'm guessing you live here?"
"Good guess," she replied, keeping a few yards of distance between them. When he took a step toward her, she took one back and felt her smile wobble on one side while trying to keep it intact.
He recognized the gesture and stopped, holding up the hand that wasn't holding his expensive camera. "I'm just here taking pictures," he said in a placating voice.
"I could have guessed that," she replied with nervous laughter.
"Right," he said. "I was hired by your landlord. He asked me to take pictures of the place because he's putting it up for sale."
Her heart stopped. "What?"
"Uh, well, yeah. I don't know more than that," he got out, the words awkward and spinning, and then he turned, cutting off the conversation.
She let out a breath and made her way inside her apartment. He was selling? Didn't he have to give residents advanced notice? She went to the drawer where she kept her lease agreement. A few loose items, a rubber band, scissors, a flashlight, black bobby pins, and a few batteries rolled around as she opened it. And a perfectly folded lease agreement that she hadn't touched since the day she moved in. She sat down heavily on her kitchen chair and read through it quickly.
Thirty days. That's all he needed to give them per this contract.
She sighed, closing her eyes.
Her breathing was uneven.
Her phone dinged, and she pulled it out to see a text from her boss asking her to come in early today. Another feeling of dread filled her stomach. She rarely talked to her boss. She couldn't remember the last time she had talked with the sport-jacket-wearing tycoon who cut planned meetings in half and rarely gave any feedback to his employees. His brother owned the radio station, and this was where her boss could tell a few people what to do with what little power he had from a local radio station focusing on local news.
Thirty minutes later, she was walking into the station. The air felt sticky, like the air conditioning was on its last breath, and she was glad for her thick hair being up and off her neck.
A hot flash had taken hold of her as she got ready for the office. Her mind was racing, and she was overheated and overwhelmed.
Exactly eight minutes later, she was carrying a white cardboard box of the few things she had at her desk out of the station. Her shoulders were held up in a tension that had been building since she woke up that morning.
She looked around the quiet street. It was early afternoon, and most people were at work or tending their early summer gardens. Ursula's sweet box truck, painted a sage green with the words Lost Souls Botanical scripted in white with flowers and lights, was parked across the street. One of the teenagers working the truck for her during the summer was leaning on the open window ledge, reading a book, waiting for the next customer.
She could go home, but she thought of the dingy apartment holding nothing of comfort for her. She thought about heading to The Lost Souls House, but Ursula would be at the flower farm, and Eloise was most likely at the coffee shop.
Her heart was racing.
"Yo, hottie!"
She turned her head at the call and smiled. She hoped she smiled. She couldn't discern if her muscles followed the weak command her brain made. Jen was standing at the door of The Black Cat dressed in a crisp red pantsuit, her hair long and straight today, swinging by her waist. She nodded toward the coffee shop in question, and a look of concern. Tilly felt a familiar lift of her spirit as she made her way toward her dearest friend.
"I say this with love," Jen started as she handed her a lavender honey latte with two extra shots, just the way she liked it. She'd pulled out a chair for Tilly, shooting her worried glances as she ordered at the counter.
"Hit me," Tilly said, wrapping her hands around the large black mug. She had taken the five minutes alone at the table to regulate herself.
She hadn't had a panic attack in years, and while she knew the signs, her mind fought against the reality. Until she caught Jen watching her carefully.
Light taps on her thigh under the table with eyes closed, thankful that she wasn't facing the counter where Jen stood, steady breaths had calmed her racing heart and quieted her racing thoughts.
But now she was tired.
