I look up at Nan. “I know it’s kind of last minute, but do you know where I can find a place to stay in town? I never replied back to them about lodging.”
“The film crew took up all our rentals and the few bed and breakfasts we have in town.” She pauses, but she must register my disappointment. “I thought that might be an issue and have already made some calls. I have a friend who was nice enough to let you stay in his house. He has a small apartment over his garage that he’s going to stay in while you film.”
“Oh no,” I say, waving my hands. “I can’t do that, Nan. I can stay in the garage apartment since I’m the one who messed this up. And maybe tomorrow when I meet the team at the house, they can squeeze me in somewhere with them.”
She shrugs. “I’ll tell him, but I think he’s going to insist.”
I force a smile, but a quiet, familiar shame curls in my gut. The kind that whispers I should’ve planned better. I should have responded to the email immediately. I should admit now that I can’t handle things on my own.
“I just don’t want to put anyone out. Please.”
She nods. “I’ll talk to him. Let me take you there to get settled.”
We walk back toward my car, still parked in the road. Thank god it’s not a busy road, otherwise I would have made a solid first impression as the girl who just leaves her car in the middle of the road.
I turn around one more time, taking in the home where my grandmother used to live, and smile to myself. “I’m going to make it shine for you, Millie,” I whisper to the wind and get back in the driver’s seat.
Thankfully, the place I’ll be staying is only one turn away on a street right off Redwood Ave., so it was a much less erratic drive with Nan and her terrible delivery of directions from the passenger seat.
“Here,” Nan says, pointing to a house on the right tucked away into the trees.
This time, I pull into the driveway leading to the house. The gravel is cracked and moss-dotted, like no one’s paid attention to it in years. I scan the open space and see the driveway is wide, with one side leading to the home, and the other to the detached garage with the apartment over the top, half hidden by trees.
I refuse to let the owner of this home uproot his life for me.
Iwill bestaying in this apartment.
Once I get out of the car, I look around. It’s a cozy place—tucked away off the road. The main home isn’t flashy, but you can tell it’s well built. It’s a small craftsman-style home with weathered wood siding and a low, inviting porch. The porch is swept clean, but the rocking chair, withered flowers, and muddy boots by the door show he doesn’t care about appearances.
Nan holds out her hand. “Here are the keys to the garage apartment or loft, whatever you kids call it these days. I can’t make promises about him kickin’ you out of there to stay in the house. He’s persistent and a gentleman like that.”
I take the keys from her. Looking down, I roll them around in my hand, feeling the cold metal in my palm.
“You should know…he worksa lotand he’s gone most of the day. If you need anything, you can call me.”
She hands me what appears to be a business card. I take it, narrowing my eyes when I notice it’s nothing but her name, phone number, and a note that saysI don’t know how to email.
“Thank you. I really appreciate all of this.”
“Anytime.” She nods, placing a hand on my shoulder. “One more thing you should know about this town is that we look out for each other.”
I smile, acknowledging her words.
But deep down, they sting.
Due to my commitment to making everything work out on social media, and the fact that I’m swamped, I don’t have friends who look out for me, and vice versa. I’ve always kept to myself because the few I’ve made along the way have been surface level and only needed me when they needed something. I have no idea what it’s like to have people outside of my immediate family look out for me, and even then, I sometimes wonder if my mom has my best interest at heart.
Just as I’m headed toward the stairs that lead to the apartment, I turn around again. “Hey, do you need a ride somewhere? I just realized I drove you here.”
She waves me off, keeping her back to me. “Walking’s good for ya. Don’t you worry about me, Scottie.”
I laugh as she walks away, looking down at the keys in my hand again, and then make my way up the stairs. The staircase groans under my sneakers, each step telling me this is definitely not the chic loft I was envisioning. When I get to the door and turn the lock, I attempt to push it open, but it’s stuck. With a few shoves using my full body weight, it finally swings open. The apartment is dark and smells faintly of old pine and stale air. Flicking the light on, the sky lights buzzed like it was the start of a scene in any horror film.
“It’s functional,” I say to an empty room.
This place completely lacks any personality that I thrive on. This feels like I’m being shoved into a sad beige shoebox.
I scratch my forehead, exhaling.
