“There is nothing wrong with Lulu. I liked her. I still do.” Katie’s voice went soft. “He wasn’t very nice to you.”
“He just didn’t know I existed.” There was a difference. “If he’s going to be in Confluence, I’ll avoid him.” She didn’t need a reminder of the person she used to be. The person everyone made fun of.
“Or maybe he’ll get the plague or something awful. I can hope,” Katie replied cheerfully.
Gravel crackled against the car’s undercarriage when Lucy turned into the drive. “I’m here. Oh my God, Katie. What have you done?”
“Just give the place a chance.” The line went dead.
A dilapidated sign, white with yellowed edging, announced the neighborhood as Camelot. Theoandtwere slightly crooked so at first glance it simply readCamel. Instead of a neighborhood, Camelot Estates was series of squat, one-story buildings that had likely been an extended-stay motel, last remodeled in 1963.
No, no, no.Lucy parked the car and climbed out, squinting into the setting sun.
Perhaps being dependent on her parents wasn’t such a bad idea after all? If she’d known this was all she could afford then she might’ve reconsidered handling her living arrangements on her own.
But…no. She could handle this.
An elderly woman emerged from the yellow unit at the end. The woman’s personality and clothing bloomed as colorful as the plastic blue, pink, and purple flowers in the window boxes attached next to each doorway. She reminded Lucy of an exotic bird that had flown too close to a lightning storm. Once beautiful, that was clear. Now she had that look of someone who went through hell and lived to tell about it. Singed around the edges with a few fried circuits.
“You’ll be Lucy, Katie’s friend?” she asked in a sweet-tea Southern accent. Her smile revealed yellowed teeth to match the Camelot sign. “I’m Dixie, your landlady.”
The idea of living in a motel triggered a burst of anxiety. “Is this the house you’re renting me?”
Lucy waved a hand toward the door where Dixie had emerged.
“Oh, golly, no,” Dixie assured her.
Lucy let out a breath.
“This is mine. That ’uns yours.” Dixie gestured to the unit next door.
Crap on a croissant.
“Um, Dixie?”She smoothed her skirt with sweaty hands. “This can’t be right. Katie told me the house is, well, ahouse.”
Dixie’s sweet tea manners soured. “That’s a house if I ever saw one. And the lease is signed, so no backin’ out now. Here’s your key.” Dixie produced a glittering rhinestone Elvis keychain from her worn cardigan.
Lucy swallowed hard and pasted a grin on her face. She struggled for words. “Thank you,” she said finally.
She squeezed the King in her hand as Dixie padded along in front of her.
The thin metal door opened to a room with dark wood paneling, lime green shag carpet, and an orange floral couch. A bouquet of bleach and industrial-strength Mr. Clean pierced the air inside.
Double crap on a croissant.If she clicked her heels together three times, maybe a tornado would whisk her away.
Dixie buzzed about the room, flicking on lights and opening thick, polyester curtains. “We all share the washer and dryer up at the community room. You’ll find the Coke machine there, too.”
Lucy quietly tapped her sling-back heels together.Click. Click. Click.
Nothing.
“Wow, there’s a bit more space in here than I expected,” Lucy said, grasping for something, anything, to compliment. “And it’s…clean.”
Dixie frowned. “Katie didn’t give us any problems. I expect the same from you.”
“No, of course not.”
Dixie moved through the room, fluffing the pillows on the couch. “That’ll be the kitchen, and over there’s your room. Bathroom is on the other side. Now, you’ll have to remember the air conditioner is a bit iffy sometimes. Call me. I’ll send my Jeff over to fix it.”
