"What made it feel right?"
Good question. What did make Blackwater Falls feel different?
"The people, I think. The sense that everyone genuinely cares about their neighbors. That community actually means something here." I glance at her. "I know it probably seems strange, having everyone so interested in your business. Small towns can be like that. But it comes from a good place."
"Or a nosy place," Claire murmurs, but there's no real heat in it.
"Sometimes both," I admit.
The drive takes us out of town and into the residential area where the houses spread out, each one sitting on a decent amount of land. Mine is at the end of a quiet street, a small ranch-style with faded blue siding and white trim that could use a fresh coat of paint.
"It's not much," I say, pulling into the driveway. "But it's home."
Claire is already scanning the area: the neighboring houses, the tree line at the back of the property, the road leading in. Looking for threats, for escape routes, for anything that might be dangerous.
"The Johnsons live next door," I say, pointing to the house on the right. "Retired couple, keep to themselves but friendlyenough. The house on the left is empty right now. Family moved out last month, hasn't sold yet. Quiet neighborhood. Most people are at work during the day."
I can see her processing this information, cataloging it. Will the neighbors notice if something happens? Will they hear if she calls for help?
She shouldn't have to think like this. No one should have to live this way.
We get out of the truck, Jackson stumbling a bit from tiredness. Claire catches his hand, keeping him close as we walk to the front door.
My hands shake slightly as I unlock it. When was the last time I had guests? Real guests, not just Murphy dropping by to watch a game or a deputy picking up files?
The door swings open, and we step inside.
The living room is small but clean—couch, armchair, TV, bookshelf full of old thrillers. My record player sits on a stand near the window, a stack of jazz albums beside it. The kitchen is visible through an open doorway, nothing fancy but functional. Everything is neat, organized, exactly as I left it this morning.
It looks like what it is, the home of a man who lives alone and doesn't have anyone to impress.
"Guest rooms are down the hall," I say, leading the way. "Bathroom's here on the right. This room has a double bed—" I push open the first door, showing a simple room with a bed, dresser, and window overlooking the backyard. "And this one has a twin." The second room is smaller, clearly set up for a single person.
Claire moves through the space, checking the windows, looking at the doors, noting the layout. I watch her, trying to see myhome through her eyes. Is it safe enough? Clean enough? Will she feel comfortable here?
Jackson has perked up, wandering into the larger guest room and bouncing on the bed. "This is bouncy!"
"Jackson, don't—" Claire starts, but I wave her off.
"It's fine. Beds are meant to be bounced on."
She gives me a look that suggests she disagrees with this philosophy but doesn't argue. Instead, she walks to the window, testing the lock, looking out at the yard.
"There's a fence around the backyard," I say. "Not terribly high, but enough to keep Jackson contained if he's playing outside. The tree I mentioned is that oak in the corner. It has sturdy branches, good for climbing."
"Mommy, can we stay?" Jackson asks, flopping backwards onto the bed. "This bed is so much better than the motel!"
Claire's expression softens as she looks at her son.
"The doors all have good locks," I add. "And I'll leave you my schedule, so you know exactly when I'll be here and when I won't. You can lock the bedroom door at night if it makes you feel safer. Whatever you need."
"Why are you being so nice to us?" Her voice breaks on the last word, “I just don’t understand.”
"Because someone should be," I say simply. "Because you deserve kindness. Both of you."
Tears well in her eyes, and she blinks them back furiously. "I don't… I'm not used to—"
"I know." And somehow, I do know. I don't know the details, don't know the full story, but I know enough. Someone taughther that kindness has a price. That help comes with strings. That trusting people gets you hurt.
