The stairs leading up to the stilted mansion next door looked like a death trap.Halfof the planks were missing, making it more like hopscotch than a walkway.Theshutters were hanging haphazardly, and the exterior needed to be power-washed.
The oldWhitlockplace had sat abandoned for years afterJuniperWhitlockdied.Rumorhad it that the property had gone to her next of kin, butIhad never seen anyone come to stay in the property or care for it.Therewas no telling what it looked like inside.
Even thoughIhad grown up onCedarIsland,Ihad never been inside.Bythe timeImoved into my little cottage, the mansion next door had been locked and shuttered.
I should have taken a buddy-swimming approach to scaling the steps, just in caseIfell through, butIwas driven by curiosity and exhaustion.Igripped the rails with both hands asIstepped over the gaping holes to get up to the second-story front door.Theboard beneath me creaked and groaned asIsettled my weight on it, but it held.
I took the next step, then quickly went back to the other board when it splintered, sending up a puff of dust.
MaybeDrewwas right.Rustynails and tetanus seemed like an unpleasant end to a hellish shift.
I eased up on my toes, trying to get a peek in the salt-sprayed windows.Thewindows on the oceanfront side were shuttered, butIcould still get a peek from the street side.
The house looked like it had been filled with the ghosts of lives past.Whitesheets were draped over furniture.Cobwebshung from nearly every corner.Thedoor had been locked years ago, but from the way it was hanging, it looked like the wind had cracked it open.
I wasn’t risking life and limb today.Iwanted a nap more thanIwanted an hour drive to the nearest hospital after falling through the deck and breaking my legs.
I eased back down the steps, careful to only step on the planksIknew were sturdy.MaybeI’dcome back over and replace the boards after a long nap and hot food.Iwas sick of protein shakes and power bars, but they were fast and portable whenIwas on duty.
I gave the dilapidated house one last look, shaking my head asIstuffed my hands in the pockets of my uniform shorts, and walked next door.
Everything was just asIhad left it.Neatand organized.Itoed off my shoes on the doormat, dropped my station bag in the laundry room, stripped down, and dumped my uniform straight into the washing machine.
I grabbed a container of leftover meatloaf from the fridge on my way through the kitchen.Theblackout curtains were wide open, flooding the house with morning sun.Itook a bite asIstood in front of the glass and stared at the beach.
The waves were cresting in neat lines, steady and true.Iturned and rested against the windowsill on the side of the house and studied the part of theWhitlockplace that faced my bedroom.Maybeit was on my mind becauseIhad just been over there.Awindow on the second floor looked straight into mine, but heavy drapes prevented me from seeing what was inside.
I took another bite before carrying the meatloaf into the shower soIcould eat whileIrinsed off the shift, then get some shuteye.
2
AURORA
WELCOME TO ROCK BOTTOM
Trees lined the road asIzipped around marshy wetlands.Thechange of scenery after twenty-nine hours ofMidwesternhighways was more than welcome.Mycar was running on air and prayers, and so wasI.ThecoffeeIhad gotten during a gas station stop four hours ago had been reduced to droplets.
Frankly,Iwas surprised my clunker had survived the drive fromColoradoSprings.Buttwo days of driving, sleeping in aMcDonald’sparking lot, and surviving on honey buns and beef jerky were preferable to another moment of being smothered.
There was rock bottom, and then there was moving back in with your mother at thirty-two.
I turned the hand crank and rolled down the window, letting the sea breeze wash the beef jerky smell out of my car.Iquickly regretted it when it felt likeIwas drowning inNorthCarolinaswamp soup.Theair conditioning sputtered to keep up, straining under the humidity.
That was going to be a bitch to deal with all summer.
Shadows cloaked the road asIdrove through another thicket of trees.Thethought of driving to an island for the summer had been exciting untilIrealized it was all in the name and not in the land.Apeninsula on theNorthCarolinacoast wasn’t the tropical, palm tree-laden visionIhad been holding on to.
It seemed likeIhad been driving along the coast for ages and had yet to see the beach.Justmore stupid trees.
TheGPSon my phone chirped, signaling thatIneeded to take a left.BeforeIcould see what the street name was, the screen changed with an incoming call.
“Hi,Mom,"Isaid asIput it on speaker.
“Hey.I’mjust checking in.Whereare you at?”
“Um . . .”Itook the left and looked around. “IthinkI’mgetting close to the house.”
“Oh good.I’vebeen worried sick about you making that drive all by yourself.Youknow,Ioffered to buy you a plane ticket.Iknow that things are?—”
