Page 2 of The Intruder

Rudy grunts impatiently. “There’s more?”

I shoot him a look. On a scale of one to ten, Rudy gets a two on the landlord scale. Not only does he never answer my messages, but he refuses to believe there’s a problem with anything. When the refrigerator randomly stopped working a few months ago, his response was, Well, it was working when you moved in.

“I’m worried about that tree,” I tell him.

Rudy cocks his head in the direction I’m pointing, at the tree on the edge of my property. I don’t know what kind of tree it is, but the trunk is wider than three of me, and it towers over the cabin.

“And why are you worried about the tree?” he asks me in a patronizing voice.

I stomp over to the culprit in my waterproof boots and press my palm against its bark. In response to the pressure, the tree groans threateningly and shifts over about two inches.

Rudy frowns. “So?”

“So trees aren’t supposed to move like that.”

“Sometimes they do.”

“No, Rudy. They are inanimate.”

He takes a long drag from his cigarette, then blows out a giant cloud of smoke. “Fine. I’ll call a landscaper. Happy?”

No. I’ll be happy when the tree is gone. I’ve been worried about it for the last month, and now that a storm is coming, I’m really worried.

I look up at the roof of my house. It will probably hold. And the tree probably won’t fall down. I probably won’t die tonight.

And if I do, the good news is that nobody will miss me.

2

Rudy thinks we’re done here.

He’s come, reassured me about my roof, and apparently, that’s the end of his obligation. I want to kick him in the shin, but that won’t fix anything. I should have just done it myself when I realized he likely wasn’t coming, but roof repair isn’t easy. There might be YouTube videos out there with instructions, but without the internet, I’m lost.

I’m not sure if it’s the concerned expression on my face or my clenched fists, but Rudy adds, “The cabin will be fine. I would never put you in any danger, Casey.”

I flash him a skeptical look.

“I wouldn’t,” he insists. “You know what kind of lawsuit I’d be facing if you got killed by a caved-in roof?”

“Gee, I’m flattered.”

Little does he know there wouldn’t be anyone to sue him if that happened.

“I promise,” he says, “this roof will survive a rainstorm. And that big old tree isn’t going anywhere.”

“I’m glad you’re confident.”

Unfortunately, it’s far too late for a major repair at this point. The storm is coming tonight. I thought that he could patch it just enough to hold through the high winds expected, but the strong gust of air that rips through my coat lets me know the time for any roof work has come and gone.

“Tell you what, sweetheart.” Rudy blows a ring of smoke in my face. “How about if you and me go out and get a drink next week, and then after, I’ll see what I can do about the roof?”

I don’t know where to begin telling him what’s wrong with all that. First of all, what kind of idiot gets a few drinks before climbing up on the roof? Also, I’m not going out with Rudy—he’s nearly old enough to be my father, and I feel sick at the idea of his hand sliding up my thigh under the table at some seedy bar.

How did this become my life?

“How about,” I say, “you just fix my damn roof like my lease says you’re supposed to?”

He smiles at me with his yellow teeth. Well, most of them are yellow—one of his incisors is black. “My idea is more fun.”