Despite my misgivings, I can’t resist the urge to investigate, even if it has me coming face to face with a container crammed from floor to ceiling with catnip and kitty litter.
I have to traverse the width of the property twice before I spy a track through the vegetation. Thankfully, there’s enough of a gap that I won’t need to visit the local hardware store to buy a machete.
On making it through the greenery, I soon see that rather than being a container under the large dark green covers, there’s what looks to be an Airstream. The stainless skin and rounded lines of the legendary travel trailer are a dead giveaway.
It’s only after I’ve walked around to the other side, I see someone has peeled the corner of one tarp back, revealing a door. At first glance, the trailer appears to be in better shape than the house. It’s definitely newer.
Despite it being mostly covered like this, what if there’s someone living here? Is this even on my property? There’d been nothing in the literature about this. I knock tentatively on the door before stepping back. I wait a few seconds before stepping forward and knocking again, harder this time.
When there’s still no response, I risk peeling the corner of the tarp back a little more and peering through the nearest window. With no sign of life, be it human or feline, I try the door handle, expecting it to be locked, but it isn’t.
Even more surprising is that inside, despite being gloomy thanks to the tarps, it’s pristine, if a little dated. There’s a distinct hint of old lady to the décor, although this might be down to the trailer being vintage. Could it be the previous owner lived out here, giving the house over to her feline charges?
It’s the only thing that makes sense, because no-one could live in that house without risking asphyxiation, or a fur ball. A quick sniff of the air confirms the Airstream is also clean and dry.
But could that be because they covered the travel trailer with tarps? Remove them and it will leak like the proverbial sieve. I then shake my head. No, if there was a leak, even a historic one, the place would smell musty, wouldn’t it?
As it is, all I can smell is the faintest hint of lavender.
It’s only after my eyes have fully adjusted to the lack of light that I spot one of the realtor’s business cards on the kitchenette counter. There’s no missing the woman’s overbite in the photo that dominates the glossy card.
It’s a sure sign that the trailer is indeed part of the property, and for the first time in a couple of months, I’m struck by optimism.
It looks as if I’ll have somewhere to stay while I undertake the flip after all. Certainly, it’ll be a step up from my room at the motel down the road. It’ll definitely be quieter.
On folding a beige vinyl concertina door carefully to one side, I discover there’s even a bathroom, albeit a tiny one. Offsetting the tight confines of the little room is that it appears as spotless as the rest of the small home.
It definitely smells clean.
This could work, and I can even take the travel trailer with me when I move onto my next flip. It isn’t until I’ve thought this that I realize I’m going for it on the flipping front. I don’t care what a challenge it is; I owe it to nanna to invest my inheritance.
It’s with a spring in my step that I head back to the main house. It’s time I had a proper look at just how much of a bargain this place really is. Even better is that with the place now aired out somewhat, I can take my time, no longer having to hold my breath.
It’s all going well until I’m back in the hallway heading for the front door that had slammed shut, presumably because of the wind. I’m reaching for the door handle when my world falls away.
I’m too surprised to scream, only able to manage a pathetic yelp. With nothing substantial to grab hold of, I soon find myself thigh-deep in the hallway floorboards.
It’s at this point I thank the universe that the house doesn’t have a basement as I’d wished for. If it had, I’d be lying down there in a heap by now. It’ll still be no easy feat freeing myself.
I’m working through potential solutions, when something scurries across the top of my sandal-clad feet, and it was no cat. This time I manage a lot more than a yelp, my screams a combination of horror at what’s down there and hopes of sending the rat and any family members running for the hills.
I’m still in full voice when the front door opens a sliver and my screams jam in my throat. The man is enormous, in more ways than one, with my current elevation having my eyes at junk level. He’s also covered in tattoos and got more hair on his head and chin than Mitchell would allow on his entire body.
I’m not used to rough-and-ready men like this, having only dated urbane city types, with my ex a prime example of that. There’s nothing polished about this guy, his clothing showing signs of hard work. The fit of his jeans does nothing to hide leg muscles that must surely result from hours in the gym.
The other thing that’s interesting is that I don’t recognize him from school days. With only one college in the area, if he’d gone there, I’d know him, if only by sight, and he wasn’t a sight you’d forget in a hurry.
It’s then I notice the logo on his black, fitted t-shirt. Lucky Break Construction? Isn’t that the company Alice at the Rose Haven Retirement Home had mentioned?
Actually, mentioned is a misnomer, with her praising the team through the roof, which was ironic given they’d apparently been called in to fix the ceiling in her room. But I hadn’t gotten around to finding their number, let alone phoning them. In which case, why then is he here?
“Let me help you.” He opens the door as wide as he can without hitting me. After first testing the strength of the boards just inside the door, he reaches down, apparently to help free me.
Now all I want to happen is for the floor to finish swallowing me up. There isn’t a chance he’ll be able to help me, at least not without hurting his back. I’m struggling to find the words to tell him I’ll be okay when he shoves his hands in my armpits and I squeak. I haven’t had a man this close to me in months, with my breasts tingling in response to the nearness of those huge mitts.
A moment later I’m being lifted free of the floorboards as though I’m not the curvy girl that I am. Rather than let me go, he wraps his arms tight around me, my body now tingling all over in response to being mashed up against a wall of muscle.
Then, as if suddenly realizing how tight he’s holding me, he drops me like I’m hot. This has me staggering back and coming very close to visiting with the rat family in the crawl space.
