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I get dressed and make my way downstairs for some coffee. Nothing is getting done without multiple cups. The pillows Mom bought still rest on the outdated couch. Frames, covered in dust, sit along the mantel. Old yellow dinner plates are stacked on the kitchen counter, waiting to be cleaned. I shake my head, wishing away what’s in store for me. “Coffee first. Coffee will make this better.”
Nothing is going to make this better. Find the match. Go with plan B.
Tempting.
Thankful for the smell of brewing coffee masking some of the mustiness, I pour my kryptonite and groan into my steaming mug. “If there’s one thing that will never let me down.” I stare out the window. The backyard hasn’t been mowed in what looks like years. Real shocker. Peering to the left, my eyes catch on the boarded-up hole in the next-door neighbor’s fence. My grip tightens around my mug.
“Where you at, girl! You’re gonna get a beating when I catch you!” More glass explodes against the living room wall. My chest wheezes in and out, and my body trembles in fear. “Come out, come out, wherever the fuck you are!”
His heavy footsteps get closer. He’s going to find me. He’s going to hurt me again. I crawl from under the kitchen table and open the sliding glass door. I can’t see, it’s so dark, but I run to the edge of the backyard as fast as I can. Using my hands, I search for the loose board, wincing as a splinter wedges in my skin. Finding the slot, I push it aside and squeeze myself through the fence.
I shudder at the memory. That loose board was my saving grace more times than I could count. It led to a place he could never find me. He was too drunk to see far enough. The Ferguson kids were grown and moved away, but they never got rid of the playhouse in the yard. Over the years, it became my safe place until the sun would rise and I could sneak back into the house.
Two coffees and three failed calls to cleaning companies solidify plan B is easier and cheaper. “Looks like I’m adding ‘buy cleaning products’ to my dreadful to-do list,” I grumble and head out to my car, doing my best to ignore the forest of a front yard. Now, not only am I the realtor and cleaning service, I’m also the lawn guy.Mechanical fires happen all the time. Faulty wiring. Stove was accidentally left on.I’ve watched enoughLaw and Orderto knowsomepeople get away with it. . .
I grab my laptop bag from my car so I can YouTube how to sell a house. It can’t be that hard. People do it all the time.People who have nice homes.Who’s going to want to buy a rundown shithole?“I can go for a run and forget I left the candles lit. Simple mistake.”
Throwing my strap over my shoulder, I shut the door and turn, noticing a silhouette in the Ferguson’s bay window. They must know I’m home. I wonder if I should go say hello. The last time I saw her was when she found me shivering in the playhouse. My lip was cut, and I had scrapes on my elbows and knees from my father pushing me down the stairs.
“Oh heavens, child. Jerald!” Her loud voice startles me. I clutch my knees harder against my chest. “Oh honey, don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you. Are you okay?”
I’m afraid. He told me not to tell. Said he would hurt me worse. I tuck my head between my legs and chest.
“Jerald!” An older man runs up, kneeling beside her. “I told you he was hittin’ her. Look at this poor thing. We need to do something. Call the police.”
I shake my head. They can’t tell. He’ll hurt me.
Mr. Ferguson chose to speak to my father instead. Lies spewed from his mouth. Claimed I fell, then looked down at me for confirmation. In my mind, I screamed for someone to help me. Save me. Out loud, I told them what I was supposed to. That I tripped down the stairs. Scared myself and hid. My father forbade me to ever speak to them again, then fixed the broken fence, taking away my only salvation.
My phone rings in my pocket. I pull it out, staring at the unknown number. “I swear to God, if this is another hang-up—hello. . . ? I can hear you breathin—”
“Is this Ms. Fischer?”
“Sorry, this is. May I ask who this is?”
“Yes, my name is Mary Caldwell, from the elementary school. You uploaded your resume on our site for potential substitute positions.”
“I did,” I reply. I had no idea how long I would be in town for, but since spontaneously quitting my job wasn’t the smartest thing a newly divorced woman could have done, I uploaded my resume onto the district website and applied for substituting positions in hopes of some part-time hours while I was here.
“Perfect. Well, if you’re still interested, we just had a spot open up. Our kindergarten teacher went on sudden leave, and we’re in a bind. We’re looking to fill the spot immediately.”
Finally, something in my favor. I look around the dump of a house, mentally adding up the cost of cleaning supplies I’ll need to buy. “How soon?”
“Tomorrow.”
Chapter4
Ben
I walk into the firehouse,a scowl on my face. I slept like shit. The nightmares always return close to the anniversary. And they’re the same every time. I’m running into the burning building after my dad, and even with my training and years of experience, I can’t get him out of the fire alive. He’s always in the same place: a child’s bedroom. The blaze roars around him, and he stands there like he’s been expecting me. I call out to him. He doesn’t move. The flames surround him, and his heavy armor begins to melt. I scream as I’m forced to watch the fire suck him in, his skin bubbling, mouth open, the heat eating away his flesh and bone. His mouth is burned away, but I can still hear his voice. He tells me he loves me. And I wake up in a pool of sweat, gasping from how real it feels.
“What up, Ben? You on shift?”
I nod to Abel. “Yeah. You just gettin’ off?” Abel and I were in training together. Funny how we both ended up at the same firehouse.
“Yep. Thank God. Chief was just about to hand out some volunteer work. You may want to turn around before it’s too late. See ya.” He slaps me on the shoulder as he makes his way out.
Great. The last thing I’m in the mood for is philanthropy bullshit. Not after the most recent venture when I spent my day off washing dogs for charity and almost got my goods bitten off by a disgruntled pooch. I should turn around, call in sick from my car, and go sleep the day away. Maybe I should call Levi’s wife and demand to see the guestlist from their wedding.
