“That door on the right leads to the main dining room.”
I nod.
She closes the door, and we continue.
A few steps further, another space opens on the left. A long table stretches across the room, surrounded by chairs that look rarely used.
On the right, there’s a second living area with its windows opening toward the garden and the cliffs beyond.
“Dining room and living room,” she says, pointing ahead.
I pause for a second. The sea stretches out beyond the windows. I close my eyes, letting the scent reach me. When I open them again, she is already two steps ahead, walking back.
I hurry after her, glancing through each window as the morning light grows stronger, spilling across the floors.
She stops beside the staircase. “Upstairs are the bedrooms. Two master rooms, two guest rooms,” she places her foot on the first step, then glances over her shoulder. “You coming?”
I walk behind her.
A wooden railing runs along the floor, smooth beneath my fingers as I pass. Plants sit beside each door, their leaves grazing the walls. To the right, furniture lies draped in white linens; the fabric stirring faintly as the wind moves through.
“The right side is off limits. That’s where the two master bedrooms are.” She pauses, her gaze lingering down the hallway, as if she is seeing something that only she can see. Then she turns to the left and gestures for me to go first.
There are two more rooms on the left; both doors open. She points to the one on the right. “This one is yours. It has a view of the garden. There’s a phone inside if you want to call your family or relatives.”
“It’s one line,” she adds, “connected to three phones. One in your room, one in the master bedroom, and one downstairs in the hallway.”
I nod.
She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a thick envelope. When she places it in my hand, the weight of it surprises me.
“There’s three thousand inside,” she says. “The owner is generous. Victor and I are going into town in an hour. You can come with us, pick up whatever groceries you need for the week. After we bring you back, you’ll be on your own.”
I look down at the envelope, running my thumb along the edge.
As she turns and walks toward the stairs, I part my lips.
“May I ask what happened in the house?”
She places her foot on the first step. “Victor knows the story better than I do, Miss Vale,” she says, her tone careful, like each word is being placed exactly where it should be. She glances back at me. “Coming?”
“Yes,” I say, and follow her down.
We step outside in silence, the door closing softly behind us. By the time we reach the front of the house, Victor is already there, leaning against the car, his black jeans worn at the knees and his beige jacket stained with dry dirt.
The woman slips into the front seat as Victor pushes himself off the hood and slides in behind the wheel.
I waited for a moment, looking at the key in the lock.
I turn back and lock the door. It clicks as I twist the key twice. When I pull it free, I keep it in my hand, pressed tight against the envelope of cash.
The car waits for me, a dark green Volvo 240, its color nearly swallowing the end of the house behind it.
I open the back door and slide in. The moment I sit down, Victor starts the engine, and we pull away.
“The key?” I ask, breaking the silence.
“It’s yours now,” the woman says. “And my apologies, I didn’t introduce myself.”
