“Anyone?”she asks.
“Anyone,” I say.“This town likes to introduce itself when you’re not ready.”
“Maybe I like that,” she says, defiant.
“You don’t,” I say.“Not really.”
She doesn’t argue.That matters.She just nods once, files it away underThings to Decide Later, and disappears down the hallway, footsteps echoing on hollow floors.
I pull the door shut behind me.Feel it catch.Seal.Hold.
For a second, I stand there on the porch of the house that took one woman and spat her out a rumor, and I let myself picture it the way it will be when this one’s finished with it—boards straight, roof solid, interior lit warm in the evenings like a heartbeat behind ribs.
A place that looks like safety, though its history says otherwise.
Across the street, Mrs.Mather’s curtain twitches.She’s three phone calls deep, sending Marin’s arrival into the bloodstream that keeps this town alive.There will be talk.At the post office.Around town.Especially at Wednesday night service.They will say her name wrong.
They will get her story half-right.
They will tell her not to call me.
It won’t matter.
I step off the porch, feeling the give under the cracked board she hasn’t fallen through yet, and walk back to my truck.
She is here now.That is the only part that matters.
Houses I can fix.
People are harder.
But I’ve got time.
8
Marin
By the time I make it back to the door, he’s gone.
Good.
Across the road, I spot him again—hunched over, back to me, messing with the fence.
I crack a window to prove a point.But mostly because the air in here smells stale.Like the inside of a paper bag someone breathed into and left behind.I don’t know what I expected—Febreze and fresh paint?
And I don’t know whatheexpected, with that strange warning.
I didn’t exactly purchase a fortress.If someone wants in, the place is half falling down.The house isn’t going to stand in their way.
My shoes stick faintly to the tile in the entry.It takes all of my weight leaning on the door to lock the deadbolt.Still, I stand there out of breath, smiling, because this is exactly how fresh starts are supposed to feel.A little wrong at first.
I already took care of the hard part.I’m here.We’rehere.
Apparently, this move makes me impulsive.
Apparently, this makes me unrealistic.
Apparently, this makes me free.
