Chapter 5
Carrie
I stared up at the house nestled on a corner of the street on top of a slight hill. The carport and secondary driveway were on the side of the house, and there was a walkway with stairs that led right up to the front porch.
Sarah came to stand beside me as I stood, utterly awestruck by the structure.
This was Blue Beauty.
It was a simple, small two-story home painted two different shades of blue, one light and one dark, matching the sky and Colombia river behind it. The front door was painted bright red, the porch railing painted a crisp white with red tulips planted in front. It was the single most cutest house I’d ever seen.
My eyes drifted over to the for-sale sign sitting in the yard. “You and Michael are selling it?” I questioned.
Sarah hummed. “When we first got married, we bought this house—believe me, it was nothing like you see now. It was a mustard yellow and needed a full remodel on the inside,” she explained, “but we got it done, slowly, but surely. It took about a year and a half. By the time it was finished, I’d gotten pregnant.”
My gut twisted.
“We were ready to start our lives here,” she said with a smile, looking up at the house, memories coming to her. “Everything changed when we found out I was pregnant with twins.”
My brows went up. “Oh?”
She laughed. “Exactly. In the end, there wasn’t enough space for four of us and we put it up for sale. Now, three years later, the house is still empty.” She turned to me. “It’s yours if you want it.”
My mouth dropped open. “You—you barely know me and you want me to buy your house?”
“My husband is very good at reading people, Carrie, and frankly, so am I. You came here to start over, and we want to help you do that.”
I eyed her. “What’s the catch?”
Sarah shook her head, shrugging. “No catch. Just go inside and take a look around,” she said, holding out the keys to me.
I gently plucked the keys from her fingers, and as I turned to head up the concrete steps, she added, “It also comes furnished.”
I whirled on her, eyes wide. “What?” I breathed.
She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to hide her smile of excitement. “There’s a king bed, a sectional, a breakfast table, and a dresser. It isn’t much, but it will get you started. Starting over can be expensive.”
I nodded, clutching the strap of my backpack tighter. We’d driven separately, and I didn’t feel comfortable leaving the bag in the car—even if it was only for a few minutes. I was in a town full of strangers, and though everyone I’d come across so far was nice, I knew better than to let my guard down. “That sounds lovely, Sarah. Thank you.”
Once I was on the porch, I took in the bright red door, and honestly, I didn’t mind the color. For once, I didn’t get flashbacks to that dreadful day over a year ago. For once, my heart didn’t stop beating at the sight of it.
I took this as a sign, put the key in the knob, and opened the door.
I sucked in a breath at the painting directly in front of me of a sunset, the pinks, purples, and oranges blending together over the endless dark blue water. While it was stunning, that wasn’t what took my breath away. It was the seagulls. At least a hundred of them were scattered all over the pink sky, their silhouettes adding texture and depth. Some were big, some were small, and I loved every single one.
They were free.
And finally, so was I.
Tears filled my eyes as my heart jumped into my throat before I stepped inside and took in the living space. The ceiling was slanted, but the skylight above made the room seem even bigger. The sand-colored sectional was placed in the far corner of the room, a few pillows in various shades of blue scattered along it. Across from it was the kitchen, nestled into the corner in an L shape. The cabinets were older, painted a fresh cream color, with black handles, the appliances stainless steel. I ventured further in to the living area before stepping into the kitchen to find a door on the other side of the fridge. Taking a peek through the small window in the door, I smiled when my eyes landed on a breakfast table sitting in the middle of a screened-in deck. In the distance, I could see the river over the hills of colorful homes and bright green trees.
“I feel like I’m in a dream,” I whispered, backing away from the door.
As I left the kitchen, I trailed my finger across the smooth surface of the countertop, contentment washing over me. My footsteps were soft on the wooden floors as I made my way back through the living room, turning down a short hallway with a bathroom on the left, a laundry closet at the end of the hall, and a small bedroom on the right. It was empty—which meant the master was upstairs.
The last thing I expected was to find that the entire second level of the home was the master bedroom, with windows on every single wall, the bathroom to the left with a small sink and a precious claw-foot tub. A real smile spread across my face at the sight, and when I went back into the bedroom, I took everything in.
The bed was underneath a large rectangle window, the view of the river warming my heart. The dresser was across from the bed, leaving a huge open space in front of the largest window. The longer I stared, the more I pictured myself lounging on the window seat, lost in a book. I turned, envisioning bookshelves opposite of the reading nook.
The king bed was stripped, leaving the bare mattress, but I could easily go into town to purchase some bedding, dishes, and other household essentials.
I did a slow spin, taking everything in before backing up and taking a seat on the edge of the mattress.
It was so soft.
I hadn’t slept in a soft bed since—
Broken glass splintered my throat as the image of Robert came into my head, his laughter echoing in my ears. A heavy, dark cloud slithered above me, ready to weigh me down.
“No,” I declared, gripping the sides of the mattress as I bowed my head. “I will not be a prisoner in my sadness. I will not bend to the will of my pain.”
I closed my eyes and took three, calculated, controlled deep breaths.
When I was done, my dead husband was nothing but a memory, a closed chapter of my life.
It was time to start a new one.
“Here you go,” the cashier said, holding my long receipt out to me.
It was nearly nine o'clock, the sun had finally set, and I was officially the new owner of Blue Beauty. Of course, on Monday, there would be more documents to sign, the transferring of the title, and I’d be transferring the money over to Sarah and Michael’s account.
Once I told her I wanted to buy it from her, she jumped up and down with glee, told me to keep the keys, and that was that.
I was a homeowner.
Me.
We exchanged numbers, and she told me to come by the bookstore tomorrow whenever I could—as if I’d miss out on another one of Margo’s lavender lattes. That was divine. I’d be old, gray, and still thinking about that coffee.
I smiled at the cashier of the store that was like a Wal-Mart and HomeGoods all in one. It was Astoria’s General Store, and you could get anything you needed, from groceries to power tools or clothes to home decor. I absolutely loved it. “Thank you for not rushing me out,” I said softly, putting my hands on the cart. “I know you’re about to close.”
I’d been in here for the last hour and a half, a good chunk of that time spent in the kitchen section, deciding on dishes. It was a big decision; one I’d never had the opportunity to make before.
I took it seriously.
The young girl waved me off. “I have to do inventory tonight anyways; I’m not going to be out of here until midnight. Besides, Sarah called me,” she explained.
I blinked. “Is this a town where everyone knows everyone?”
She laughed. “No, no, just the business owners. We look out for each other.”
Huh. I assessed the girl more closely. “You own this store?”
“No, my parents, Jimmy and Marsha, do. They’re on a mini vacation this weekend. They’ll be back tomorrow.”
I nodded. “Right. Well, thank you. I appreciate it.”
As the cool summer night air hit me, I looked down to the full shopping cart.
I’d gotten everything. I may have gone overboard, but who cared?
This was my life, right?
I could go overboard if I wanted to.
Ten minutes later, after packing up the backseat and trunk, I made my way through town, taking in the lit sidewalks, bustling nightlife, and people walking up and down the main road. When I pulled into my driveway, I braced myself for how many trips it was going to take to get my haul into the house.
It took ten more minutes of back and forth, but once everything was inside, sitting in the middle of the living room, I released a heavy sigh, my shoulders sagging.
I’d been on the go for over thirty hours at this point. I needed a hot shower, some food, and some sleep.
“Come on, Carrie,” I mumbled, grabbing the bags filled with groceries and heading into the kitchen.
One stocked fridge and a devoured PB&J sandwich later, my new bedding was washed and in the dryer. The dishwasher was loaded with the new dishes. I unloaded the cleaning supplies I’d bought and went to clean the bathroom.
Despite my exhaustion, I knew I wouldn’t be able to relax until I was settled in.
I scrubbed the tub just like my father’s maid taught me when I was teenager then cleaned the toilet, followed by the sink. Once that was done, I hung up the floral shower curtain. It was white with tiny pink tulips on it. I thought it fit well. Plus, it was pretty.
I went back downstairs and cleaned the half bath as well. After that, I took my bathroom supplies I’d bought upstairs and organized them. Again, I might have gone a little overboard, but I didn’t mind. I got what I needed and then some. After spending the last year living off the bare minimum of someone else’s standards, I needed it.
My entire life, I had been shaped and molded into someone I wasn’t. I was made to satisfy the people around me. No one, aside from the friends I once had, saw me as a person, but that was quickly ripped away from me—
I shook my head. “No. I’m not going there,” I said to my new cute make-up bag. “I’m here. I’m in my new chapter. I’m getting settled. I’m doing what’s best for me. There is nothing wrong with that.”
There was nothing wrong with wanting to be the person I was meant to be.
The scary part was that I didn’t even know who that person was.
I’d lived my life for other people, forced to meet their standards, and now? I was free.
Shaking it off, I finished organizing my bathroom and went back downstairs to grab my backpack, unpacked the three outfits I had from St. Louis, re-folded them, and placed them in the top drawer of the dresser.
Staring at them, I muttered, “I need new clothes.”
A yawn overtook me then, reminding me that I needed sleep. Right then, the dryer dinged from downstairs, and I tilted my head back. “Thank God.”
With the last of my energy, I made the bed and headed for the shower.
It was the best shower I’d ever had, and the second I snuggled into my warm, fresh, clean sheets, I was out.
The nightmares didn’t come for me.
I counted that as a blessing.