Instead of calling them back like they asked, I jogged across the street and into the office, assuming they got there early and wanted to chat. They were there, their face bright red and not with a cute little blush; no, red with anger and they were lighting into a person I hadn’t met before.
I quickly discovered that the other person was also a Realtor and that the house I was there to buy had been listed by a relative who did not have the rights to do it. I knew the former owners had passed away. What I didn’t know was that the will was being contested and that I was the one who was going to have their dreams ripped out from under them, thanks to their dishonesty.
This shouldn’t have happened. Every single ball had been dropped by every single professional involved, but that didn’t change the reality I was facing. I wasn’t getting my house. It was back to step one for me: looking.
For what I was going to get for that money with that house, it was going to be a long time before I found something comparable.
They apologized, promised I’d get my earnest money back when they could, and on and on. I didn’t even hear it all; my head was circling.
I walked out and was going to head back to the car when I saw the cashier from across the street waving to me. That’s what happens when people know you. I grabbed my two jars, paid for them, and did one of the least responsible things I’d ever done. When I parked my car at my apartment building, instead of going inside, I walked two blocks to the local dive bar.
I’d only ever been there once before when I first moved in. It was dark, dark, and stinky. On my single previous visit, it was quite loud, but before noon, I was the only one there. That should’ve been my sign to go home. Instead, I ordered a drink, my two jars sitting on the counter.
“You’re not paying with that, are you?” the bartender asked.
“No,” I said, putting my card on the bar. “Open a tab.”
In the movies, the bartenders always chatted the customers up, tried to figure out what was wrong, probably trying to get a bigger tip. But he just kept the drinks coming, one after another,until he finally decided I was done for the day. I tried to argue, but nearly falling off the stool, I realized he was right.
Jars in hand, I stumbled home and poured them out onto the kitchen table. Maybe there would be treasure in here, and I’d be able to afford one of the nice houses listed locally, the kind without people trying to steal them because they didn’t like what a dead person wrote in their will.
So much to sift through, and I found a coin I didn’t recognize, which wasn’t unusual. I was not a coin person. I took a picture of it to look it up online. The first hit was a place to sell unwanted coins. The second was odd. It was a real estate page.
“Stupid phone.” It overheard what I went through today and was feeding me listings. Great. Still, I tapped it open to find a peach orchard with a small farmhouse.
“I like peaches.”
I scrolled down for the price and refreshed it twice, sure I read it wrong. Nope. I read it correctly and it was the same amount of money I was just about to give for a down payment.
“I can get a whole orchard.” Drunk me wasn’t so good at thinking things through, a huge part of the reason drunk me was rare.
I clicked it to make sure it was at least in the same country I lived in, only to find out it was just five hours away.
“Perfect.”
I planned to call the agent when I was sober, but they had a button to click for offers. I’d never seen that before, but that didn’t stop me from putting in an offer, signing with my finger on the computer screen, and scanning my license in. Why not? I could afford this, and sure, maybe it needed some work, but…peaches!
Offer sent, I dug through the rest of the jar, found a few more of the coins, which I discovered were tokens from a long-gone arcade, some charms from the sixties, a cool clasp I’d never worked with before, and some odd and ends.
When I stood up to grab my jewelry cleaner, the room spun. I needed another drink or sleep. That was a lie. I very much did not need another drink and opted for sleep.
I crawled into bed, waking up hours later with a headache the size of my apartment building, my mouth dry and tasting awful, and the half memory of putting in an offer on a house I’d never seen, nowhere near my job.
“Crap.”
My first thought was to pull the offer. There had to be a law in place giving me at least twenty-four hours to change my mind, right? Only, when I opened my email, I learned my offer was already accepted.
Could I have fought it? Probably. But as I looked at the listing, I couldn’t bring myself to try. Maybe this was the best thing to do after all. Because living in one room in the hopes that someday I’d have a nice house wasn’t living. It was waiting to live, and it was about time I was done with that.
And besides—peaches.
Chapter Three
Corvus
I watched from my back porch as the sun slowly merged with the land, showing off her rust and magenta hues as she did.
Every day was the same now. Going through the same motions. No one to speak to. No one came to offer me things in exchange for a blessing on their fruit trees or grape vines. No harvest had me whisper over it any longer.
