Help needed. Rural homestead.
It’s perfect.
“Hello?” My voice wavers. “Brie speaking.”
“Brie! I’m sorry for the late call. I only just got home.” His voice is soft, slightly higher-pitched than expected, but self-assured. He’s already talking like we’re old friends. “My name is Bradley. From Pine Ridge.”
“Oh.” I pretend to struggle to remember. “Hi.”
“Is now a good time?”
“Sure.” I feel like I’m a teenager again, talking to a crush after school, trying to act casual, trying to hide my own profound desperation.
“Let me explain the position.”
As he talks, I lose focus. I haven’t slept in nearly two days. My back hurts. My legs hurt. Hell, mybrainhurts. Last night, I drove to a cheap motel an hour outside the city, a decision I regretted this morning when I tried to fill up at the gas station, and my card was declined. I’m guessing Neil saw the charge and cleared out all the money from our shared account.
I can’t really complain. It’s his money. But that left me twenty dollars cash to my name, which I spent on gas and breakfast. I’m just glad I left the motel before he found me.
“How does that sound?”
“Perfect,” I say, without thinking.
“I know it’s not very glamorous work. But you’ll have your own place and plenty of free time. It’s beautiful out in the woods. Are you a runner?”
I want to say yes, but this is a lie that will be easily discovered. “No. But I love to hike.”
“You’ll love it here.” He laughs, the generous laugh of a happy person. And why wouldn’t he be happy? I searched the property before applying, and it’s a massive house in the middle of the woods. This goes against everything my mother taught me, but in my experience, happy people are usually rich, even if rich people aren’t always happy. “But I suppose I should ask some interview questions. Tell me about yourself.”
He wants a nice young student to work on his property over the summer, so I do my best to pretend that’s who I am. I can’t tell him the truth. He’s not going to want the real Brie MacKenzie, the desperate twenty-nine-year-old fleeing an obsessive boyfriend, the grown woman who seems unable to make a single sensible decision about her life.
“I just graduated,” I say. “I want to get a summer job before settling down.”
“Where are you from?”
“Here. In the city.”
“A Northwest native. I love it. I’m from Iowa myself. I came here for college and never left. Either the place or the college.”
“You’re a professor?” I ask, anxious to keep the focus away from myself.
“Soon, I hope. I live out here with my wife. She’s a writer. I’m in the English Department at a small liberal arts college out in the sticks. Not too far from the property. I suppose it’s a cliché.”
“It sounds…” I begin, then pause, unsure of how to finish the sentence. I want to say it sounds like a dream, but it’s too embarrassing to admit.
“Insufferable?”
“No! It sounds magical.”
“I’m kidding.” He laughs again. It’s a strange conversation. I can’t remember meeting anyone with this much spontaneousjoy. “Not about being insufferable, of course. We’re very much that. Now, what about yourself? You don’t need to tell me anything, but just so you know, we’re not looking to host a couple. Cards on the table.”
“No couple,” I say. “It’s just me. I’m single.”
Single. Unattached. Is that what I am? For three years, I let Neil decide every part of my life. He decided where we lived, what we did, and who our friends were. He even weighed in on my education.
How could I really be single while he’s out there, refusing to let go?
“Good for you,” Bradley says. “I think I’m supposed to go through what we offer. Shall I do that?”
