Chapter 3
Riva felt her head spinning as she watched Windy’s little orange bug back out of her driveway.
From Kenzie’s visit to the grief group to the strange hippie woman wanting to rent the attic, this had been a dizzying day!
And really? Had she just told that woman she’d think about it?
Seriously, what was there to think about?
Riva’s mind was made up. She didn’t want to rent rooms—to anyone.
Even if Windy was the finest French chef who’d cook all the meals and also a master gardener, Riva was not interested.
She liked living alone . . . didn’t she?
She’d never felt truly lonely in her old house.
The memories made it like living with family.
But what if she lost her beloved home? What then?
Riva’s phone chimed, interrupting her scattered thoughts.
She checked the screen to see it was Laurel.
Maybe this was her fault. “Hello,” she growled, answering the call.
“Are you okay?” Laurel asked.
“Yeah, just great.” She knew her tone was sarcastic, but she couldn’t seem to help it as she moved to the library.
“It’s been an, uh, an interesting day.” She stared up at the book spines that normally brought her comfort but suddenly felt overwhelming.
Like maybe her daughter was right. Maybe they were running her life, imprisoning her.
“So how did it go?” Laurel asked.
“What?” Riva sank into a chair.
“The grief group.”
“Oh, that.” She sighed. “It was okay, I guess.”
“Then why do you sound so bummed?”
“It’s your friend Windy.”
“Windy?” Laurel sounded shocked. “What could Windy have possibly done to make you so grumpy? She’s about the sweetest, kindest person I know. No offense, but she’s even nicer than you.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“Sorry. So tell me, what did Windy do?”
“She wants to rent my attic.”
“What?”
Riva explained the impromptu visit and house tour and Windy’s suggestion to take in boarders. “And she wants to be the first.”
There was a pause. “That’s an absolutely brilliant idea.”
“Brilliant?”
“Well, I know you’ve been worried about finances, Riva.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Why not rent to Windy? She’s a good person. Is she really serious about your attic?”
“She sounded serious. Which is suspicious. I mean, it’s so ugly up there. Awful paint, horrible old carpet. But she’s certain she can make it livable. She even offered to help with the yard and cooking.”
“She loves plants, and she’s a fabulous cook.”
“Even so.”
“I don’t see why you’re being so resistant, Riva. This could be the answer to your prayers—and to your financial woes.”
“Right, just like winning the lottery.”
“Well, sure, go buy yourself a ticket. What are the odds now? One in a bazillion trillion. Look, you’ve said more than once that you might have to let your house go.
And what will you do then? Live in some awful apartment like Windy and me?
Seriously, renting out your rooms is genius.
And Windy knows real estate. She probably quoted you some very realistic rental rates.
You’d be a fool not to consider this. What if house-sharing allowed you to stay in your home? ”
Riva wasn’t focusing too well. Instead, she was imagining herself living in a dingy little apartment like Laurel’s. It wasn’t a pretty picture. “So you would really recommend Windy as a renter? She doesn’t have a dozen cats? What about smoking? Drinking or drugs? Is she a party girl?”
“No, no, and no. She’s a solid citizen.”
“Yeah, okay, and excuse me for sounding judgmental, but she looks, well, kind of . . . you know, kind of bohemian.”
“She wasn’t always like that. I knew Windy before her husband died, and she was totally different then.
Believe me, she played a very traditional role.
The perfect wife and mom. She worked part-time in her husband’s agency.
But Bill’s death threw her into a tailspin.
Her kids were already launched when she lost her home. That’s when she returned to her roots.”
“Her roots?”
“Her upbringing. In a hippie commune.”
“Oh, yeah, she mentioned that to me.”
“She started dressing differently, for starters. She said it made her feel happy and free. And she started taking art classes at the community center. She’s a really good potter.
Anyway, I’ll vouch for her. Windy is a thoroughly good person.
I’d absolutely recommend her as a renter.
In fact, now I’m starting to get jealous.
If you’re going to rent to Windy, what about me? ”
“You? You’d want to live in a room instead of a whole apartment?”
“If I could afford a really nice apartment or condo unit, of course I’d prefer that, but my options are pretty limited.”
“You really think you’d be happy renting one of my bedrooms?” Riva felt skeptical.
“In your beautiful house? You bet I would.”
“What about Fred?
“Fred’s getting so old that he’s an easy keeper. With a sunny window to sleep by, his favorite kitty food, and a clean litterbox, he’s content.”
“What about your furnishings?”
“I can store things. I really should just get rid of all of it.”
Riva considered this. She and Laurel had always gotten along pretty well, but under the same roof? “I don’t know, Laurel. I’ve gotten pretty independent since losing Paul.”
“Don’t forget that I’ve been on my own a lot longer than you, sweetie. I’m fiercely independent myself.”
“I know, but what if sharing a house ruins our friendship?”
“Oh, I don’t think that could happen. After all, we’re mature women. It’s your home, and I’d respect that. And we could figure out how to give each other space.”
“I don’t know . . .” Riva told her the rent Windy had suggested, including the more expensive ensuite. “You might not want to pay that much for just a room.”
“Are you kidding? In fact, I want to put dibs on the ensuite. That’s a beautiful room, Riva. I always admired it.”
“Seriously?”
“As serious as a heart attack—just don’t have one.” Laurel laughed. “Okay, darling, I’m not going to pressure you further. Give it some thought. And pray about it too. Let God lead you in this. It’s a big decision. After all, it’s possible that you need to just sell and get out.”
“But you honestly think it’s a good idea to rent out rooms?”
“I think it makes perfect sense, but you need to feel at peace about it, sweetie.”
“Right . . . yeah . . . I agree.”
“Sleep on it. Pray on it. Let me know how you feel about it as soon as you decide. I’ve already given notice on my apartment and need to be out by June first. Did Windy tell you about our latest rent increase?
I’m so fed up. Even if I can’t find a new place, I’d rather camp at the houseless shelter than stay on here. ”
“Oh, Laurel, you wouldn’t really do that.”
“Hey, I’m a volunteer there. I’m certainly not too good to stay there. Although, come to think of it, they don’t offer housing except in wintertime.”
“Well, that’s just one of the many things I love about you, Laurel. You’ve never been too full of yourself.”
“So keep me on your short list for housemates. We’ll be like the Golden Girls of the new millennium.” She laughed.
Riva promised to pray and think about it.
As they said goodbye, she tried to imagine Laurel sharing her home.
It was true that she’d always admired her friend for her humble and straightforward can-do personality.
She’d probably make a wonderful tenant. But was Riva really in the market for boarders?
Instead of stewing over what felt like too big of a decision, she took Laurel’s advice and prayed, asking God for his direction and the peace that she knew would follow.
And now, realizing she’d skipped lunch, she decided on an early dinner.
Okay, it wasn’t really a dinner per se. Probably nothing like what Windy would make if given the opportunity in this kitchen.
But it was sustenance. So without really tasting the cold cereal drenched in skim milk, she perched on a kitchen stool and finished her pathetic meal in silence.
Just like she often did at night. Was this really living?
Probably not. But it was the best she could manage at the moment.
Distracted by her strange day, Riva hadn’t paid any attention to the local news or weather like she usually did.
So when rain started coming down in sheets, thunder boomed, and lightning struck the sky—not to mention the high winds that beat the side of the house—she started to get concerned.
This was quite a storm! Was it on its way out or getting worse?
She was just turning on her TV to check the forecast when the electricity went out.
Stumbling through her now pitch-black living room, she went to the front window to see .
. . nothing. The entire town was wrapped in darkness.
Hopefully it wouldn’t be for long. She fumbled around, using furniture to guide her until she got to the hutch where she usually kept a few candles for the occasional candlelit dinners she used to make for her and Paul.
She felt around in the drawers until she felt the waxy smoothness of two tapers. But . . . no matches.
Where did Paul stash flashlights? Probably on the laundry room shelves, which held a bit of everything.
That was too far away in the darkness. Maybe there were matches in the kitchen.
She bumbled along through the house, nearly tumbling over an ottoman and stubbing her toe on a dining room chair, until she was in the kitchen.
She felt her way along the counters, searching several drawers, hoping to unearth the box of matches she felt certain were there in case of an emergency.
Wasn’t this an emergency? More than ever since losing Paul, she missed him!
This was the kind of thing he would’ve laughed about and made light of, probably using his phone’s flashlight.
Did her phone even have one? Where was her phone?
Hopefully in her bathroom where it had been charging.
Touching what felt like a matchbook in her junk drawer, she eagerly pulled it out and managed, after several tries, to properly strike a match.
She lit both candles and then set out to find candleholders for them.
Having light, albeit meager, made a big difference.
She stopped in her bathroom to look for her phone, but it wasn’t there like she’d hoped.
It was probably nearly dead by now anyway.
She eventually got the candles in their holders and set them on the coffee table, then sat down on the sofa and considered her situation.
They’d replaced the old oil furnace with a heat pump several years ago.
And the fireplace that once graced this room had long since been closed up and was no longer functional.
Not that it was particularly cold, although she was feeling chilled. And where was her phone?
She thought back to the last time she used it, remembering she’d been in the kitchen.
Carrying a candlestick with her, she returned to find her phone on the kitchen island.
Totally dead. Almost more than light and electricity, she was suddenly craving the sound of a human voice.
She knew that Laurel would be very understanding and practical and was perhaps even trying to call her right now. Not that it mattered.
Outside, the storm raged on, and everything was still blanketed in darkness.
Somewhere in town, sirens were wailing. Hopefully not for anything too serious.
But it did make her wonder what she would do if she had an emergency right now.
Run to the neighbors for help? A clap of thunder tailed by a lightning bolt lit up the kitchen and made her jump.
She wondered what time it was . . . too early to go to bed and hope to wake up to a bright sunny morning?
According to the kitchen wall clock, it wasn’t even nine.
What would Paul do right now? Get more candles, locate a flashlight and spare batteries.
But where exactly? In the laundry room, she pawed through the storage shelves until she found a promising carton.
Just as she opened it, her candle fell to the floor.
Worried about fire, she stomped it out and was in total darkness again.
Eager to escape the pitch-black laundry room, she felt her way out, following the faint glowing through the doorway, but soon she stumbled over the same chair she’d stubbed her toe on before.
As it tipped over, she landed on top, hitting her shins and rib cage.
And now she just sat down on the floor and cried.
“Why is this so hard?” she said aloud. “What am I doing wrong?” She continued to cry, rubbing her bruised shins and hoping her ribs weren’t cracked.
She wasn’t sure how long she sat there feeling sorry for herself, but the floor was getting harder by the minute.
So she got up, grabbed the final candle, and slowly made her way to the master bedroom and to her bed.
She set the candle down, then tumbled into bed fully dressed, pulled the comforter over herself, and continued to cry.
Sure, she was having a pity party for one, but why not?
No one was around to be bothered or hear her or care.
And wasn’t that what she wanted? She sat up in bed and considered this.
Maybe that wasn’t how she wanted things—maybe she was tired of being alone.
Maybe it was time to rent rooms to other lonely women like herself.
Windy and Laurel, for starters. She decided then and there that as soon as her phone could get charged, she would call both women and offer them a room each.
And suddenly, despite the howling storm and claps of thunder, she felt an unexpected but very welcome peace.