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CHAPTERONE
Melody
“Are we there yet, Mommy?” Roman asks from the passenger seat of the moving truck. I glance over at him and smile. Despite being on the road for over eight hours, he hasn’t complained once.
We’re relocating to Armstrong from Kansas and left yesterday afternoon, stopping in a motel overnight in Kentucky to break up the journey. I’d been apprehensive about the fourteen-hour drive, but I didn’t need to be. Roman’s been so good. I think it probably has something to do with riding up front in the truck. He’s obsessed with anything with wheels and was so excited when I told him we were hiring a truck for the trip.
“Yes. Look. We’re almost there.” I point to a sign a little way up the interstate telling us we’re two miles from Armstrong. I send up a silent prayer of thanks that we’ve finally made it. It’s been a long-ass drive, and I’m so glad to finally be here.
It’s bittersweet to be back in Armstrong. My parents had brought me to the town a handful of times as a kid. My mom’s aunt lived here, and while she died a few years ago, I’d always loved the town, and it was the first place I’d thought about when my marriage ended over a year ago. It had taken until now for the divorce to be finalized, and although the past few months have been some of the hardest of my life, I was more than ready to put all of it behind me. No divorce is easy, and no one gets married thinking it won’t last. I certainly didn’t.
My ex-husband, Dexter, is a drill instructor in the US Marine Corps. His job meant we moved around a lot, rarely staying in one town for more than a few months. He’d train the new intake of Marines and then move on. Before Roman was born, I’d loved the variety and excitement moving around the country had given us, but everything changed for me when I fell pregnant. I wanted to put down roots and make a home for us. I thought Dexter understood, and for a while, things were good. We stayed in Florida for a couple of years, but when I suggested moving off the base and buying a house, Dexter refused. I knew he was getting restless in Florida, and when a position in Kansas came up, he convinced me it would be a good move and a good place to bring up kids. Six months later, he wanted to move again. I’d had enough and gave him an ultimatum. Us or the job. He chose the job, and we haven’t seen him since. My heart breaks for Roman that he doesn’t have a relationship with his father. He’s such a great kid. If only Dexter realized that.
“Where’s our house, Mommy?” Roman asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
I glance at the GPS and take the next right, putting us on a residential street. “It’s just down here,” I tell him. “Let’s see if we can spot it.”
He bounces excitedly in his seat and stares out of the window. When I decided I wanted Armstrong to be our new home, I searched online for somewhere to rent. It had taken a few weeks to find the perfect place, but as soon as I saw the images online of 1022 Crab Apple Lane, I knew it was where I wanted to live. I paid six months' rent up front to secure the place, giving myself the added security of not needing to rush and find a job as soon as we arrived. I had some money from the divorce to tide us over for a couple of months, and I wanted to get Roman settled in preschool before I started working.
I frown as I look out of the truck window at the passing houses. None of them look anything like the pictures I’d seen online.
“Is this even the right street?” I mumble to myself as I drive slowly up the road. My eyes flick to the GPS which tells me I’m on Crab Apple Lane and that we’ve reached our destination. Slowing the truck to a stop, I switch off the engine and turn to Roman.
“Let’s take a walk and see if we’re in the right place.”
“Yes. Yes. Yes,” he chants as I climb out of the truck and round the hood before opening the passenger door. I reach inside and unclip his harness, lifting him out of his car seat. We walk along the sidewalk, taking in the stunning houses to my left.
“There’s number 1021, so we must be close,” I tell him.
I turn around and look across the street, my eyes widening when I see the most run-down house in the row. When my eyes fall on the mailbox at the end of the driveway, my heart sinks seeing the number 1022 scrawled on the side of the beaten-up box. Despite the property not looking as polished as the images I’d seen online, there’s no doubting it’sthe same house. It has the same wraparound porch, the same blue front door, and the same porch swing sitting to the left of the door. Everything looks a little more worn than in the photos, though, not to mention the large piece of wood over the pane of glass in the front door. I’m kicking myself for not going through a rental agency. I guess this is what I get for answering an ad on Craigslist.
“Is this our new house?” Roman asks from the side of me. I kneel in front of him and plaster a fake smile on my face.
“It is. Shall we take a look inside?”
“Yes!” he shouts excitedly, and I can’t help but give him a genuine smile back. His excitement is infectious, and while the house might not be exactly what I’d been expecting, it has to be better inside, right?
Once we’ve crossed the road, I let go of Roman’s hand and watch as he races up the porch steps. Taking a deep breath, I follow him, coming to a stop by the front door. There’s a cluster of cracked flower pots on the porch, and I gingerly lift each one, looking for the key the landlord said he would leave me. When I finally find the key, Roman is practically bouncing up and down beside me, desperate to get inside. After seeing the state of the outside, I’m a little less excited to see how the inside looks. Something tells me all of the images I’ve seen of the house haven’t been accurate, and I can’t help but feel apprehensive about what I’m walking into.
Unlocking the door, I push on it, hearing it squeak and groan as it opens. Roman runs on ahead and I follow, my heart sinking when I see how dirty and run down the place is. Wallpaper hangs off the wall in the entryway, and a thick layer of dust and dirt coats every surface. A staircase sits to the right of the doorway, and I groan as I see missing spindles up the stairs, making it hazardous for Roman. Walking farther into the entryway, the space opens up and an archway to the left leads into a living room. Other than some peeling paint and dirty floors, this room doesn’t look too bad. The open fireplace could do with a good clean, and there are no drapes hanging at the windows, but it’s workable—I think. The kitchen beyond the living room is another matter, though, and tears pool in my eyes as I take in the space. The cabinet doors are hanging off, and the countertops look like they need replacing. It’s nothing like the images I saw online. Roman and I can’t stay here. Whoever took my money and gave me a worthless contract is going to have to give me a refund so I can find somewhere else for us to live.
I sigh and reach for my phone, pulling up the number I have saved for my landlord. It goes straight to voicemail, and an uneasy feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. It seems we’re stuck here, at least until I can get a hold of him.
“Fuck,” I mutter as I cross the kitchen and turn on the tap over the sink. The pipes groan and rumble, and I hold my breath, waiting for the water to appear. When nothing happens, I sigh. I hope the tap in the bathroom is working. I leave the kitchen and head upstairs with Roman, making sure he doesn’t fall through the holes in the banister. Upstairs is just as run down and dirty, and the bathroom looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in years. There’s no way I can clean everywhere before it’s time for Roman to go to bed. It’s already falling dark. Dejected, I make my way downstairs.
“What’s wrong, Mommy?” Roman asks as I stand in the entryway, not having a clue what to do.
Pulling myself together, I turn to him. “Shall we have an adventure?” I ask him, forcing a smile.
His little eyes widen, and my heart bursts with love for him. These past few months have been tough on him too, and I’d really wanted this move to be a fresh start for the both of us. It seems I’m already failing him.
“What adventure, Mommy?” he asks, his voice full of excitement.
“What about a sleepover in the living room, just me and you? It’ll be like we’re camping! What do you say?”
“Yes!” he shouts.
I smile. “Okay, then. I just need to get the living room cleaned and then we can set everything up. Come and help me get some things from the truck.”
He races outside, and I follow, jogging to keep up with him. There is no way I want to move all of our stuff in here until I’ve spoken to the landlord. This place isnotwhat I signed up for, but we do need somewhere to sleep for tonight. If I can get downstairs cleaned, maybe we can manage for one night on my mattress on the living room floor. It’s not ideal, but I don’t want to waste what little money I have on a motel room, not when I don’t even have a job yet.
A couple of hours later, I’ve managed to clean the living room and the kitchen as best I can. Thankfully, the tap in the bathroom is working, so I’ve been able to get hot water. Once I’ve gotten Roman to sleep, I’ll have to tackle upstairs. The thought of showering or using the toilet in its current state makes my stomach roll. I still can’t quite believe I’ve paid six months' rent up front for this place. I hope to God I can get my money back.
