We’ve gone through weeks of preliminary discovery. Getting Nanna’s medical records, witness statements from the handful of people who saw her with any regularity.
And today, there were more new words likefiling a stipulation to withdraw.
I’m under no illusion that my uncle has done this because he believes I’m in the right. In fact, he was clear to the executor that it’s purely financial. Lawyers cost money my uncle doesn’t have. Thankfully, the club’s old lawyer helped me for free as a favor for babysitting his grandkids so often.
It takes three attempts to get my car to start, but even that can’t put a damper on how excited I feel as I drive toward Nanna’s house. Jacking the radio, I shimmy along to George Michael singing about Faith.
Seems appropriate, seeing as this is the fresh start I’ve dreamt of.
I look up at the sky. “Thank you.”
Not sure who I’m thanking, but I’m also not sure I believe I deserve this and need to cover my bases. I haven’t been a good person. Some things I’m learning to accept. I slept with a clubhouse full of men. Often. Sometimes several on the same night. Sometimes more than one at a time. Some of the sex Ienjoyed, but I made a lot of dangerous choices that weren’t in my physical or emotional best interests. I participated in kinks I didn’t want to, because I didn’t want a biker to turn me down as a prospective old lady if I wasn’t into them. The fact some of it was non-consensual is wholly on me. Because they asked, and out of fear of being rejected, I said yes.
Not that I would ever admit that to them.
I projected the need I felt for one goddamn stable thing in my life onto a clubhouse of men. What I was looking for was someone to choose me and protect me. But when they showed interest elsewhere, I did some mean shit to the people they actually loved.
And now, in the quiet of night, some of those moments replay as the trauma they actually were instead of the moments I romanticized them to be. Moving forward, I need to reconcile those two things. The ugly things I did, and the trauma I realize I’m dealing with.
Which is why Nanna’s house is such a godsend.
A hail Mary pass.
There are exactly two houses on this dead-end rural road. Across the street, I see the For Sale sign that was there a week ago has come down and there appears to be a light switched on upstairs.
Damn it. I was hoping to have the area to myself, just for a little while. I just pray whoever it is is a good person.
I pull my car onto Nanna’s driveway which leads down the side of the house.
“Your driveway now,” I say.
The single-story house definitely isn’t much, but it has a roof and two bedrooms, both of which smell of the cheap perfume Nanna swore by. While the fixtures and fittings are old and dated, they’ll all work until I can find something better. I’ll keep the ugly pink carpet in the living room until I can afford thewooden flooring I want. And I’ll keep that bucket in the kitchen that catches the ceiling drips until I can get the roof patched up.
Because this house will be the fixing of me.
I’ve been doing a lot of reading about stored-up trauma. How I should do all these weird hip movements and mantras and journalling to release them. But standing here on ground I now own, that no one can take away from me, eases something in me. The first chakra that everything else stems from is all about having your basic needs covered. Food, a roof over your head, safety. But none of the work I’ve been doing has healed me like this moment. I have a job that will pay enough to cover my bills and fix this a little. After four weeks of sleeping on Karlie’s couch after my landlord kicked me out because he wanted to move his sister in, having this home is a blessing.
And the keys in my hand fit locks that will keep me safe.
I’m just about to take the steps up to the porch when a truck fishtails onto the road up to the two properties, but before the thought even registers that the truck belongs to my uncle, a shot fires into the air.
The truck screeches to a halt at the top of the driveway. Even if I could get back into my car and drive off, I don’t want to abandon my new home. So, I dive down by the side of the house and peer around the wall with one eye to avoid being a target.
“Figured it was time I did what I should have done when all this bullshit started,” Uncle Kevin says, although I wonder why I’m still thinking of him as my uncle. He’s wearing a navy-blue baseball cap on greasy dark hair. “Gimme the keys and get the fuck off this land.”
Jacob, my cousin, climbs out of the truck on the other side, also holding some kind of shotgun. He’s taller than his father but looks gaunt. “It’s not fair all this went to you,” he says.
My mouth is dry, my pulse thumping in my temple. I’ve been around the kind of men who brandish weapons easily, butthey’ve never been pointed straight in my direction. I pray my car gives me a little cover.
“You’ll get no peace as long as you stay here,” Kevin says. “I’m gonna make sure of it.”
This time, he shoots at the back of the car, hitting my rear light. Beneath the bone shaking fear is the reality it’s going to cost money to get my car repaired.
“What the hell are you doing?” It’s a third man, the voice sounding familiar, but hard to immediately place.
“Stay out of this, you?—”
“It’s family business,” Kevin says, cutting off his son.
