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“You had me there. The way you kissed me. . . melted around me. . . the way you hiked up that pretty dress and slid against me, getting a taste of what you could have had before youhandcuffed me to the bed and left.”
A knock on my front door snaps me out of my haze. My hand jolts, and I spill wine down my blouse. “Shit.” I place the glass on the table and get up, eyeing my watch for the time. Who could be here?Hannah is the only person who knows I’m home. . . unless you count the guy at the bank or the funeral director.Maybe it’s the city handing me a citation for the jungle taking over the yard.
I grab a rag and wipe at the wine stain as I head to the door. I peek through the side window, spotting a young woman on my front porch. Way too cute and definitely not jaded by union life. I open the door. “Can I help—?”
Before I get my full question out, the woman jumps at me, wrapping her arms around me. “Oh my God! Someone who’s not eighty.”
I almost tumble backward. “Uh, yeah. . . last I checked,” I say, confused.
She giggles and lets me go. “I know. Sorry. That was probably a bit much. But, seriously, I was worried I made a mistake moving here. Everyone on this block is older than dirt. I was about to join a Bunko group to make friends. Thankfully, I saw you come home and had to introduce myself.” She sticks her hand out. “Hi. Jenny.”
“Makayla.”
“Loveyour name. I’m house-sitting for the people next door.”
My brows rise. Leaning forward, I take a look at the Ferguson’s house. “Oh, did they go somewhere?”
“Yeah. Not sure about the details. Just that they were going away for an extended amount of time and needed a house-sitter. I couldn’t beat the money, so I jumped on it.” She shrugs. “Anywho, I see you’re drinking wine. Want some company?”
I look back at the glass I abandoned, which she takes as her invitation to walk in. “Uh. . . yeah, sure.” She plops down on the couch while I head to the kitchen for another glass.
“Interesting place you have,” she says, looking around the house.
I suddenly become more aware of how my father left the place. Embarrassment settles in. “Sorry. I haven’t had much time to do anything with it. My father died. I’m trying to get it cleaned up enough to sell.”
“Oh my God! I’m so sorry—”
“No need to be. We were estranged.”
Her lips curl into a pity smile. I take a sip of wine. Then another one. “Totally no judgment here. You should see the house next door. Old people are so gross.”
The Fergusons were well into their sixties when I left. A frail couple who kept to themselves. They loved gardening and feeding the birds and may have had more bird feeders in their backyard than a sanctuary. I spent more nights in their playhouse than my own bed. Even on the nights my father wasn’t bad, I would still find myself sneaking through that broken board. I wonder how long they knew I had been finding refuge in their backyard before finally approaching me. The fresh blankets and snacks couldn’t have been a coincidence.
Mrs. Ferguson never questioned me. Never asked tough questions I’d be too afraid to answer. Not until she saw the bruises. It was the last time I would find safety. After that night, I was forbidden from speaking to them. My father made himself very clear. Enough that I was too scared to look at their house, let alone attempt a simple hello.
“Hmmm, I was there a few times when I was young. She used to always make the best cookies. I guess I never really paid attention to the inside.” Just the cookies. How warm they were. How they might have been the first thing I’d eaten in a day. “They were good people.”
Jenny playfully slaps her forehead. “Ugh, I didn’t mean to offend. You just met me, and I’m already messing this up. How about I start over? Hi, looks great in here. Sorry to hear about your dad.”
I offer her a weak smile and shrug, taking a big, big sip. “Again. Don’t be. He wasn’t a good man. I’m surprised his liver didn’t give out sooner.”
We’re both quiet for a beat, then Jenny thankfully changes topics. “Since you’re from here, give me the scoop. I’ve only been here a couple weeks. I’m super jobless and on the hunt for any place hiring. I’m almost willing to hold up signs outside fast food restaurants.” I stifle a laugh. “Don’t laugh! I’m not even kidding! I haven’t been very successful at making new friends either, and, well, the dating scene has been kind of blah—and by blah, I mean my vibrator and I are in a serious relationship.”
I choke, almost spitting out my wine. “Sorry, too much information for just meeting me? Figured honesty is the best policy. I’m trying to get over a bad breakup and in major need of some sexy time. You know what they say, the best way to get over a guy is to get under another!”
“Oh yeah?” I clear my throat.
“Totally. Please tell me you know where all the hot men hide out. I’m starting to get desperate. I’m not religious, so meeting a nice guy at church is out. I did run into a group of hot firefighters at the grocery store. Not opposed to calling in a fake fire in hopes a sexy firefighter rescues me and we run off into the sunset together.”
My smile falls.
“Uh-oh. Did I say something wrong? Are you religious? I’m sorry. I don’t have anything against—”
“No, it’s not that.”
“Then what—?”
“The firefighter comment. It’s nothing, though.”
