That somehow it’ll lead my ex right to me, even though I’m mostly convinced he has no idea I’m gone yet.
But those are the thoughts of a woman far more paranoid than I. In reality, Andrew’s still in California living his high-class life with his fancy rich friends, and the slumming he did when he married his maid is just an interesting anecdote.
Yeah. That’s way better.
“Lovely to meet you, Sam. Would you like a library card?”
I do. Absolutely. But I don’t know what kind of system she’ll put my name into, and for now, I want to keep my footprint small. I just need time to think everything through, and I’ve been so focused on leaving LA that I didn’t spend nearly as much thinking aboutarrivinghere and all that would entail. I’m rapidly realizing what a mistake that was.
I make a show of glancing down at my phone. “I’d love one, but I have an appointment to see an apartment right now. I’ll come back soon, okay?”
We say our goodbyes—quietly, of course—and I leave smiling. I’m not in danger of being late, but I don’t want to risk getting lost, so I find my car where I parked it on the edge of the square and head out. The drive to the one apartment building with a vacancy that also allows cats and doesn’t require firstandlast month’s rent I found is through the cute little neighborhoods fanning out toward the east. My heart flutters a little as I pass one or two streets with adorable houses and I let myself dream of a time when maybe I can afford a place closer in town.
I hoped to be walking distance from wherever I find a job, though it might be presumptuous to think I’d be in town, but I just love the idea of the simplicity. And of maybe not needing to buy a new tire for my car for a while.
I keep going, farther from the town center, and farther, until my phone tells me I’ve arrived. But… this can’t be it, can it?
I swallow hard and park on the street, wary of the sign that screams in all capsPARKING FOR RESIDENTS ONLY NO TRESPASSING.
Not the most welcoming start, but it makes sense to protect the parking spaces for residents so maybe that’s a good sign.
I don’t have the luxury to turn and run at the uh-oh feeling I’m getting, though, because I can’t sustain living in the motel for more than about a week, and so far, I’m hitting dead ends on rentals who would accept cats even if I do sign away my firstborn child. Not that I would. But it’s a thing, even here in the mountains. Silly me thought mountain-type folks would be more generous with their pet policies.
The stairwells are outside, which isn’t ideal, but that’s fine. I’ve lived in places like this. There are long-dead weeds sprouting from the cracks of the sidewalk and some graffiti in the stairwell along with an array of trash. That’s just life sometimes, though.
On the second floor, I find a man hunched over mumbling at his phone and smoking a cigarette so aggressively, I wonder how it wronged him. He’s standing in front of a door right at the top of the stairs.
“You Ellis?”
“Yes. Sam. Nice to meet you.”
I hold out a hand, but he ignores it completely, turning to jangle the key in the lock. Inside, I try not to breathe through my nose… or my mouth. So basically, I’m holding my breath and wondering how quickly I can leave without pissing this guy off completely. I can’t live here.
There’s ahugestain in the middle of the linoleum and while I feel like he’d have to disclose it, I am fairly certain someone died here and is undoubtedly going to revenge haunt the next resident. Or maybe more than one person did, and the subsequent tenantsalldied here.
Maybe this is one of those places that inspired various horror movies.Neat.
“It’s four hundred up front, four hundred monthly, no late rent.” His eyes hold mine for a second, then drop blatantly to the front of my jacket as though he has x-ray vision to my chest and stay there. “But if it happens, we’ll see what we can do.”
“Thanks so much for your time.”
I’m gone. A puff of smoke becauseno thank you we willnotsee what we can do.I’ve lived in the agony of not knowing what comes next and I will not be comfortable living here knowing the landlord is like that. Nope!
I will live in a tent in the woods before I occupy space with that man—or that smell—ever again.
I’m down the stairs before he exits the apartment, nearly to my car before he hollers out, “I guess that’s a no?” and mutters something foul I’m glad I can’t hear.
My tires don’t screech when I leave, but I imagine they’re close. I don’t want anything to do with this situation, and I probably should’ve realized it wasn’t going to be the nicest setup with the monthly rental fee so low, no background check required, and availability when no one else seemed to have any, but…
I dared to hope it might be that easy. How silly.
As if I needed to be taught this lesson again, and yet here I am. Not that I expected the very first place I saw to be right, but my foolish little heart just won’t stoptrying.
The adrenaline drains away as I pull into the market parking lot. I need food and as much as I would love to indulge in one of the adorable restaurants in town, I can’t afford to be spendy right now.
With every ounce of determination I have, I refuse the tears threatening to start. I don’t have time for them, nor do I want to be the new girl in town who’s clearly a basket case. I’ll cry when I get back to the motel. One last fortifying breath gives me the determination I need to leave the safety of my raggedy old car and go inside.
Inevitably, it’s completely charming. It almost makes me mad, it’s so cute. It’s illogical, but on the heels of the gross apartment and its landlord, I’m trying to see through the pretty appeal of the store and get to the heart of things.
