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“Do you know your asking price yet? For the house?” The questions roll out without a second thought, and hope grows in me like a daffodil bulb pushing through the cold earth.
Anne lists a number. It’s a decent price considering the age of the house and the amount of renovations required. I would remove the dated wallpaper and paint the walls a light beige. And remove the wall between the kitchen and living room to open up the space. Make downstairs feel airy and light and warm…
“I would like to buy it,” I say before I can change my mind. “I have the money. So I can pay you in cash.”
Anne’s expression tumbles through a series of emotions—surprise, disbelief, relief, uncertainty, happiness—all in a matter of seconds.
“My grandmother willed me her house,” I hastily add. “I sold it a few years ago.” When I thought I’d be spending the next twenty-five or so years in prison with no chance of parole.
“Are you sure you want to buy it?” Anne’s expression settles somewhere between relieved and hopeful.
I nod, maybe a little too eagerly. “It will be the perfect new start for me. I recently got out of a bad relationship.” Might as well keep somewhat to the truth. “A new town. A new home. It’s the perfect new start.”
“Most women just get their hair cut after something like that.”
I smile, despite how close she came to the truth. “Sometimes you need more than a haircut”—or hair color—“for a new start.”
The voice of reason—or possibly self-doubt—begins an argument in my head. Questioning the wisdom of my plan.
But I only allow the self-doubt a voice for a second. Then I arm myself with the reasons I’m doing the right thing. Because yes. Yes, it is a good idea. A scary idea with a number of potential roadblocks, but it’s still a good idea.
My husband stole five years of my life. His killer stole another five. I’ve lost so much of who I was because of the mistakes I’ve made over the past eleven years, beginning from the moment I met my future husband. I don’t know who I am anymore. But I can’t fix what he broke, can’t find myself again, if I’m always running.
“I’m positive I want to buy it,” I say. “I mean, unless you think it will fall apart as soon as I sign the deed.”
Anne laughs a heartfelt chuckle. “No, I think you’re okay there. The house is a fixer-upper, but as long as you realize that, and you’re willing to renovate the place, you should be fine. Will you be able to renovate it enough to make the neighbors happy?” Her eyebrows lift in question.
I nod even though I’m not sure if I can, but I want to try. I won’t abandon the house the way my mother abandoned me when I was little. The way my father walked out of my life when he found out my mother was pregnant with me.
I’ll be like my grandparents, who showered me with the love and compassion my parents failed to provide. I’ll love this house—my house—if Anne lets me buy it.
“Okay, in that case, I don’t see a reason not to sell it to you.” She glances around the living room. “Gosh, I never thought I’d get to the point where I was ready to part with this house. But it feels right, this, selling it to you.” She smiles at me, an almost embarrassed tilt to her mouth. “It feels like Auntie Iris is finally giving me her blessing to sell the place. That probably sounds weird to you.”
“Not at all. I completely understand.” And I do.
“Alright, then. I’ll contact a lawyer, and we’ll get the process started. There are a few pieces of furniture I want to keep. But everything else is up for negotiation.”
“What about your great-aunt’s bike?” Right now, it’s my only mode of transportation.
“You can keep that, too, if you’d like. Or you can get rid of it. It’s up to you. You can also keep the tools in the garage. Dan already took what he wanted. Consider them part of the house.” Anne glances around the room once more, a mix of emotions on her face. Sadness? Relief?
“Thank you so much.” The tools will come in handy when it comes to gardening and renovating the place.
I come up with a mental list of things I’ll need to do, like checking my finances to make sure I have enough to renovate the house. I might not be able to do it all right away, but I can swing the top-priority tasks.
Finding a job will also be vital since I won’t be able to live off the money I’ve saved. Not if I’m buying and renovating the house. Plus, I’ll have to let Florence know what I’m doing so my ID can be updated with my permanent address.
Permanent address.Myaddress. A wave of dizziness washes through me. Everything’s changing so quickly. My feet are planted on the ground, but at any moment the undertow could yank them out from under me.
Am I making a mistake?
No, this is what I want. I’m making the choice, for better or for worse. Me—and only me. Until a week ago, all my choices had been taken from me. Taken from me for the past ten years.
I grin, despite feeling a little overwhelmed by everything. Choices. I have choices. I can paint this house any color I want, and it will be my choice. No one else’s.
“If you want,” Anne says, “I can give you a list of contractors in the county who do renovations. I’ve heard great things about Troy Carson. His brother, Garrett Carson, is aNew York Timesbestselling thriller author. Dan loves his books.”
“Thank you. A list would be great.” Not that I’m planning to hire a contractor. I’m going to do this myself. It’s something my husband wouldn’t have considered me capable of doing. In his mind, I wasn’t capable of anything.
