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ChapterOne
ESSA
Stopping on the cracked asphalt driveway with a squeal of my brakes, I checked the note in the passenger seat one more time to make sure the address was correct. An overgrown shrub hid most of the house numbers next to the faded red front door. The little blue Cape Cod looked as if it could be quaint, with twenty gallons of paint and new shutters. And a new door. And possibly a new roof.
Spotting a white Lexus pulling in behind me, my old Ford Taurus hissed, then shuddered when I shut off its engine. One of those perfectly prim women stepped out of the car with a sleek bob, pinstriped suit, and wedge heels. After smoothing her pencil skirt, she grabbed an oversized leather tote bag from her car. Placing a smile on her neatly made-up face, she came at me with an extended hand.
“Inessa Minsky?”
“Yes. Hello. I go by Essa.” Her hand felt like a floppy fish in mine.
“I’m Cora, the estate agent. I was the one who called. It’s good to meet you in person.” With a wave of her thin arm, she showcased the property. “Congratulations on your new house!” Her brow quickly furrowed as her mouth opened. “Oh… Under the circumstances, it would be difficult, however, um. Of course. Sorry for your loss?”
By this point, I was used to people offering false condolences. “Thanks. It was a long time ago, apparently, but thank you.”
She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a set of keys bound to a rubber house-shaped keychain that advertised her estate company. “Do you need a tour?”
After she dropped the keys into my open palm, an older woman with puffy hair, so white it was almost blue, crept behind one of the overgrown hedges near the side yard. She appeared lost or confused, considering she wore a bright floral shirt with green checked pants.
“Um, no. I think I should be able to figure things out. I mean, I’ve never owned a house before, but there are always books and YouTube videos for help, right?” That’s how I had learned to fare for most of my life so far. A summer breeze blew my long blonde hair into my face, so I gathered it into one hand in a low ponytail. Where were my hair ties?
“Given your age, I would be shocked if you’d owned anything before. Trust me; I remember being that young and not—”
“Bringing the youth back into the neighborhood, I see!” The elderly lady had sneaked behind Cora, who jumped at the interruption. “So, sorry. I’m Glenda. Glenda Wright. I live two houses down and over in eight-sixteen. I am so excited to see this house finally have someone move in; it’s sat empty too long. The hedges need to be trimmed, and the siding needs painting. Are you going to take care of that soon?”
“Uh, yes, I suppose.” Looking around with Glenda, I considered all the landscaping work that needed tending. I could do that. Small apartments were always home before now, but I was sure it couldn’t be terribly difficult. Painting seemed easy enough. Not sure how I would afford the paint, though.
“If you don’t need me, I’ll… Congratulations again. Take care.” Cora hurried to her car, relieved to be away from the colorful woman now invading my personal space. Placing a polite smile on my face, I took a step back. Glenda was already becoming a lot for me to handle in the three minutes I’d known her.
“I appreciate the welcome. I’m going to explore my new house now.”
Glenda took a step closer to whisper, “It’s such a shame about Leticia. Overdose, they said. Did you know her? I heard a rumor that this was your father’s house, but I didn’t even know he had a daughter. But, of course, he was not the fatherly kind of man, if you know what I mean.”
It was strange to hear about the man who donated his sperm so that I could live and especially odd to hear about the woman he’d made a life with without me and Mom. Scrunching my brow, I said, “Um, no. I didn’t know her. Who was she?”
“Leticia, darling. Leticia Lake. She was Pete’s girlfriend for several years. Died in February. Ugh, moving in the summer. How miserable! I didn’t catch your name. Were you a Monti, too?” The realtor’s office often asked the same question. It was tiring going over it again.
“Oh, sorry. I’m Essa. No, I’m Essa Minsky. My father was born a Minsky, but I think he told people his last name was Monti. I never knew him. It sounds like you knew them well. I’ll just be going…”
Glenda’s shoulders stiffened at a shuffling sound over my left shoulder. Turning my head, I spied a shirtless man with a beer gut and a hairy chest dragging a set of trash cans down our adjoining driveways. He was probably in his fifties with a bad gray comb-over. The man stared at my behind so overtly that he tilted his head as if he were looking under my jean shorts where the cheeks met my legs. My skin crawled.
“Eddie. He’s your neighbor.” Glenda raised her eyebrows and nodded in his direction. “Seems like he’s eyeing Leticia’s replacement.”
“Oh, I’m not….” Ew. No. Nausea made my throat clench up at the thought.
“Take care, darling. If you need anything, just come on down!” She scurried away as Eddie trudged to the end of the drive where we were standing. It seemed neither of us wanted to be around him.
Snatching a few bags and boxes from the car, I hustled to the front door to avoid meeting Eddie. I’d get the rest of the stuff later, hopefully, when my new neighbor had disappeared. Quickly, I unlocked the door to get inside my father’s house.
A father I never knew.
Using every inch of my short stature, I managed to leverage the heavy door open as it dragged across the brown shag carpet. The musty odor of stale cigarettes and cat urine made my stomach turn, but thinking about it and spotting all the stained furniture and rugs, a pile of vomit would be easy to miss.
Abandoning my bags on the only clean spot on the floor, I brushed back a pile of dead flies and cobwebs that collected in the window seat to find the crank handle. Opening the window, I sneezed as the breeze blew up dust from all the knick-knacks found on every surface. At least the nicotine-stained curtains covered up the creepy guy wandering around his front yard.
Immediately in front of the door stood a narrow staircase leading to a second story. When I flipped the switch, there was no overhead light, but lamps with fabric shades lit the room with yellowed light. Every niche and corner held a shelf, painting, or lamp.
The entire estate had been willed to me, odds and ends and all. Too young to inherit when my father passed away seven years ago, I was granted the estate now at age eighteen. It was overwhelming, standing in something I owned, something to care for.
