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CHAPTER
ONE
MAREN
The entirety of Happy Haven Trailer Park has been waiting on this day. I’ve had many neighbors stop by to tell me they’re jealous that I get a front row view of the upcoming spectacle. My name is shouted the second I step out on my porch.
“Maren!” Freda waves at me as she walks up the street, then pauses to retrieve her mail from the boxes on the corner. “Don’t you move! I have to talk to you!” Freda Whitt was born with one leg shorter than the other and wears a boot on one foot with a lifted sole. It makes her gait a bit unusual but doesn’t slow her down.
The thin sunlight isn’t doing much to keep me warm, and I wrap my arms around myself. “Well, come on! I have to go to work.”
“You’re going to go to work with my boot in your hind end,” she threatens, making her way up my small driveway. “Do you work all day?”
“No, I’ll be back in a couple of hours. What’s up?” I don’t want to be rude, but I really do need to get moving before the lunch rush hits.
“What’s up? You know that old prick is coming today!”
The old prick in question is the owner of our trailer park who has let it fall into disrepair for years. A lawyer helped us take him to court last year and the outcome couldn’t have been better. The owner, Cooper Addington, wasn’t only ordered to provide timely repairs. The judge had a particular disdain for slumlords and ordered him to live in trailer number eighteen until the repairs are complete. He has six months to get everything up to code or face jail time.
We were notified yesterday that he was arriving today, and to say the tenants here are excited over the idea would be an understatement.
Freda glances across the street and my gaze follows hers to the ratty yard littered with torn underpinning and other junk. The outside of trailer eighteen is rust streaked and covered in grime.
“I know. The judge couldn’t have picked a better trailer to make him stay in, could he?”
A slow smile spreads across her face. “I like to think he chose it from the pictures our lawyer provided of the living conditions. That old bastard is getting exactly what he deserves, and I want to be here to see it when he realizes where he’s staying.” Her eyebrows raise and she looks at me with expectation.
I’m not sure exactly what she’s asking me. “Well, you’re welcome to hang out at my place while I’m gone. Pops will be home.”
“Not just me, honey. Everybody deserves to see it. We started a group chat so I can message everyone when he shows up. That way he can see us all staring at him when he gets here, all the people he screwed over for years.”
Have I mentioned how much I love her? “Freda, that’s petty and I love it, but he might call the cops if he feels threatened, or even have security with him.” This is a multimillionaire after all.
“We aren’t going to threaten him! I’ve even put together a welcome basket.” Her smirk puts a smile on my face. Something tells me he shouldn’t eat anything she puts in that basket.
“Well, you’re welcome to watch for him at my place so you can send out the signal. Text me too if I’m not home yet.” I open my car door and sling my bag inside.
“Will do.” She steps back out of my driveway. “Go on before you’re late. I got this.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Laughing, she waves at me and starts toward my door to let Pops in on the plan. Knowing him, he’ll be as excited as she is.
Pops is my grandfather, and the man who raised me after my parents dumped me on him as a baby. He’s the best person I know. Even when he lost his house and retirement savings to cancer treatment costs, he never turned bitter or hateful. He moved in here with me and instantly became a part of the Happy Haven community. It’s not surprising how well he fits in since he’s always been full of shenanigans.
While my car warms up, I put some music on and open my food delivery app. This isn’t my main job—cleaning office buildings at night pays my rent and bills—but delivering food and groceries a few days a week gives me some spending money for my hobbies and helps me put away a bit in my savings account.
My phone lights up with orders as soon as I get near the area where most of our small town’s restaurants are located. The no tip orders get ignored. Good luck to them. We make pennies doing this so only the newbies or the very desperate are going to accept those.
The first order is ready quickly and after grabbing it, I tap the screen to send a quick voice-to-text message to the recipient to tell them I’m on my way. “Hi, my name is Maren and I’m your?—
A car pulls out in front of me, making me slam on the brakes and let fly a volley of curse words. A collision is narrowly avoided, but the driver doesn’t even give a wave before continuing like they didn’t just try to turn both of us into tonight’s local news story.
Asshole.
My heart is racing, and I almost peed myself but at least the bag of food and drinks didn’t spill. My phone beeps with an incoming message from the delivery app while I sit at the next red light.
Customer:
