Page 26 of The Treasure House

“He didn’t sound too pleased about us moving in,” Flo said.

“I think that’s just how he sounds.”

Flo waved at him as we pulled out. Jake was standing by the front door of the hardware store, hands in the pockets of his cut-offs, looking like someone had just run over his dog. But dejection looked good on him. He was the kind of handsome that could carry anything off, even cheap plastic sunglasses and a hangdog expression.

After we left the house on Tinker Street, we drove up the coast, passing through Rockport to Camden. I felt euphoric as we cruised the coastal road, each little town so charming it hurt. Camden itself was stupidly pretty, a fairytale town with thickly wooded hills and a fishhook harbor where yachts bobbed like champagne corks. By comparison, Oxeye looked like a ramshackle afterthought. The only thing Oxeye and Camden had in common was the cobalt bay.

Flo and I found a quaint red shingled diner by the water, and I quieted her with a burger and fries and told her to amuse herself watching the tourists while I called the agent and then the bank.

It turned out buying a house could be shockingly easy and shockingly fast.

When the calls had been made, I dropped my phone on the table, feeling weak. “Flo? I think we just bought a house.”

“Good.” Flo jabbed a salty fry in my direction. “I was worried Jake was going to put in a bid while you were blathering away. Didn’t you notice how he kept trying to talk you out of buying it? It was sus.”

But I could barely hear what she was saying. I was having an out-of-body sensation. Just like I had when Tina got arrested. It was like I was watching myself from a great distance.

I’d bought a house.

A house. In a state I’d never been to before. In a town I’d only visited today. And I was about to quit my job…

Oh my God. I was insane. How could I quit my job now that I’d taken on a house and a loan? What if I couldn’t get another one? What if nobody was hiring? My heart was thundering. What if Flo and I ended up homeless because of my recklessness?

I never did crazy things. I was responsible. Boring. And yet here I was, leaping into the unknown of a new life. A junk heap of a new life…

“We should celebrate with a sundae!” Flo insisted. “How often do we buy a house?”

And because I was shaky from spending a truly scary amount of money, I gave in. She took full advantage of the situation and got a double banana split with chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and peanuts. A glistening, fat maraschino cherry sat right on top. Flo immediately handed me the cherry. She hated them—she said they tasted like cough syrup.

“I think you’ve had more sugar today than you’ve had in your whole life,” I said weakly, taking the cherry.

She pulled the sundae closer, suspicious I’d take it away. “Can we turn one attic room into a spare room? Then we can have people come stay. Like Candy. Or Suni and Wayne.”

Suni and Wayne. I should call to tell them the news, I thought numbly. But telling people would make it real…

I nibbled on the sticky glazed cherry as I sat with the weight of my decision, vacantly watching Flo plow through the ice cream sundae. I’d just bought a house full of junk in a place I knew next to nothing about. We hadn’t even driven by the schools. I hadn’t checked out anything except the house and the hardware store.

“Flo-bug,” I said abruptly, “I don’t think I’m up for driving home tonight.”

“Cool. Let’s go stay in our house. We can find out if it’s haunted or not.”

The memories of bare bulbs and plastic bags and torn screens flashed before me.

“We can’t,” I told her, unable to hide my relief. “Not until closing. We don’t technically own it yet.”

“What’s closing?”

“When the money changes hands.”

“Oh. Okay. Let’s stay here then. This town’s cute.” She spooned up a huge glop of melting ice cream. “Can we stay on one of those boats? That would be cool.” She pointed to the yachts in the harbor.

“I doubt it.” What on earth would it cost to stay on a yacht? “We can’t afford anything around here,” I warned Flo as I hunted for a motel. “Oh. How about this?” I asked, showing her the photos of the Oxeye campground with its little log cabins. The photos had been taken in fall when the woods were brassy with color. The cabins sat sleepily in drifts of red and gold leaves.

“Back home in Oxeye,” Flo drawled, trying it on for size. “That sounds weird, doesn’t it?” She pulled a face. “What happens if we hate the house once we’re living there?”

I had a squirmy cold feeling in my stomach at the thought. “We can always sell it, I guess.” I was reassuring myself as much as I was her. “And move back to Pittsburgh. But then we’ll have to move out of Squirrel Hill and into a studio.”

“What’s a studio?”