The yellowish plastic of the receiver feels rough in my hand.
I press the numbers, matching them to the ad.
Each beep sounds agonizing as I keep my gaze fixed ahead on the faded yellow wallpaper, as the jukebox plays“Tears in Heaven”behind me.
My breath catches.
The ringing starts. I stand frozen. My gaze shifts to the framed pictures on the wall. There are small towns, lined up side by side. Some of them I recognize. On the left there is Eureka Springs, Boston is in the middle, and on the right, Salem.
Others feel unfamiliar. One frame pulls me in. A small plaque beneath it reads: La Maddalena, Italy.
The song fades somewhere in the background. Or maybe it’s still playing. I can’t tell. The ringing takes over.
In the glass of the frame, I catch reflections. People moving behind me, waitresses passing, and a man lifting his cup. But I stay still.
Then a voice cuts through.
“Rosewood Residence, how may I help you?”
“Hi,” I say, my voice growing quiet. “My name is Aurelia Vale, and I’m calling to check if the housesitting position is open.”
“Yes, it is,” she says.
Relief flickers.
“Okay,” I clear my throat, adjusting my grip on the receiver. “How do I apply?”
“You would need to come to the location for an interview,” she says.
My fingers shift against the cord, twisting it slightly.
“And when do I need to be there?”
“We are conducting interviews tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” My hand tightens around the phone. “That’s a little short notice.”
“The owner is…” she hesitates, just for a second, “away.”
Something in her voice makes my stomach dip.
“What time?”
“Seven in the morning?” she says, though it sounds more like she’s asking me.
I glance toward the clock on the wall. It’s already past ten.
If I want to make it on time, I would have to take a bus to California this afternoon.
“That’s… early,” I say.
Silence settles on the other end of the line. “It is the only time available.”
“Okay… I’ll be there,” I say softly.
“The address is listed in the ad,” she says. A pause. “And Miss Vale?”
“Yes?”
