“Temporaryhome,” I say, feeling compelled to make the subtle but very necessary distinction.
“At least we have a place to live,” Dad says, though the defeat in his tone is unmistakable. He gets out, and we have no choice but to follow.
Our phones are on airplane mode, but we’re still able to use the flashlight. The four of us walk with our luggage in one hand and our phones in the other, stepping only in the lit area in front of us. So far there’s nothing surprising other than an overgrown lawn of grass and weeds that seems to go on forever. When we finally reach the screen door, it creaks as we open it and follow Rick in.
Rick gives us a tour, which is a gross exaggeration of the word, since he doesn’t have to leave the main room to do it. The kitchen is attached to the living room we’re standing in, with three bedroomson one side of the hall, the bathroom on the other, and brown shag carpet as far as the eye can see, which I’m sure is hiding stains of dubious natures. Desperately, I try to find a silver lining somewhere, anywhere. But the more I look, the worse it gets. The vinyl countertops are peeling along the edges. The walls have mysterious burn marks in various places. And don’t get me started on the smell. Every square inch of this place is covered in minor assaults on my dignity.
“There are a lot of quirks here. This will tell you everything there is to know,” Rick says, handing Dad a thick binder. “It’s basically a handbook of the town.”
“Thanks,” Dad says, relieved to receive it from Rick, though I don’t know why. If a town needs a handbook to explain itself, I’d say our worries are far from over.
After Rick leaves, we inspect the place, opening the doors like each room is a crime scene, which is not far from the truth. The third bedroom is a closet with a consistent drip of brown water coming from the ceiling, leaving two bedrooms for the four of us to share. And I could have sworn I misheard Rick, since in the short time I’ve known him he’s not been one to articulate his words, but when he saidbathroom—singular, not plural—he indeed meant it.
“So, how is that supposed to work?” I point a finger to the dingy bathroom.
Dad walks in and looks around. “It’s got two sinks. One for me and your mom, and the other for—”
“Dad, I beg you. Please don’t finish that sentence.” But it’s too late. He’s already said the dreaded words.
“—you and Gavin.”
My head falls, along with my last shred of dignity. It’s bad enough I have to share a room with Gavin in this hellhole, but the bathroom? Is nothing sacred?
Excerpt
“Always strive for first place. Because coming in second is nothing more than being a first-place loser.”
The American Dream Achieved: The Story of Dale Ok, Founder of It’s Ok!
Transcript
60 MinutesInterview with Gloria Ok
Gloria:There’s absolutely no truth to the rumor. I’ve advised Dale against going into pursuing any business ventures with George Bronstein. When someone’s offer seems too good to be true, it usually is.
Interviewer:Earlier you mentioned that Dale is the one who manages the company. But it sounds like you play a significant role in the business affairs as well.
Gloria:Me? No. That is, of course we discuss business, but he’s the one who attends the meetings and makes the decisions. Besides, Dale knows from experience that there is no get-rich-quick scheme. It takes years of long—and often hard—work.
Interviewer:Is that because of his farming background?
Gloria:[hesitates] His what?
Interviewer:[flips through her papers] I don’t have a note that says that his life before the business is off the record. Is it?
Gloria:No, it’s not. I’m sorry, I’m just having trouble seeing the connection. What does Dale’s farming background have to do with the business?
Chapter 5
After the shock wears off, reality sets in. For the next two weeks,thisis our new home.
I start to unpack, only to realize there’s nowhere to put my clothes. Even the closet consists of a lone bar without any hangers. It seems like a delayed response, but I’m just now realizing there’s no usable furniture here. Bedframes without mattresses, a kitchen table with no chairs, lamps without light bulbs. The list goes on…
“What exactly did you have in mind when you bought this place for retirement?” Gavin asks the question that’s been on my mind since we arrived.
“We weren’t going to live inthishouse, obviously,” Dad says, taking inventory of the place. “We were going to tear it down and build a small but nice house, while the rest of the property would be farmed.”
