Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
JAMES
“Well fuck,” I grumbled as I rolled to a stop just past the old Sterling estate’s driveway.
SOLD! Assaulted my eyes and deadened my spirits after yet another shit day on the job.
Pulling over, I slid the gearshift into park and stared at the realtor’s sign with the pretty blonde smiling confidently back at me.
Any other day, I’d have probably readily admitted that Miss Alice Swanson was a looker, but today, I’d have preferred to take my hammer to the offending signage that had replaced the for-sale sign that had been there a week ago.
Looking up the drive, I spotted a sedan parked in front of the house, a massive moving truck with its ramp set up, and a Jeep parked alongside it.
Sighing, I looked up at the near-cloudless sky and shook my head. Lady Destiny sure had a shit sense of humor.
The house I’d once hoped would help launch my business into the stratosphere as a showpiece and my own residence had been sold.
It didn’t matter that it had taken me twice as long to get to this point due to other obligations. Family came first, and Emelia had been the only family I had left.
It didn’t matter that today’s payday had netted me enough funds to buy the place outright, achieving a dream I’d held for as long as I could remember.
All that mattered now was that I was back to the drawing board.
With one last longing glance at the century-old Sterling house, I put my truck in drive and steered toward home, wondering where to go from here.
I hoped its new owner had seen the gem beneath the decrepit filth and would bring it back to its original splendor. I’d hate to think that this piece of paradise could have been snapped up by some developer.
I suppose it’s a good thing there’s a moving truck, right?
“Fucking-A. I can’t believe it sold, Emelia.”
EMELIA
I could feel my brother’s despair as if it were a living thing as we drove off.
“It’s alright, Jamie,” I tried to reassure him.
“Another failure.” He smacked the steering wheel as he took the next turn a little sharper than he normally would, thanks to his foul mood.
“It’s not over yet,” I said.
I never knew what to say when he got into one of these moods, which is rare, so I sat next to him in silent support, looking at the passing scenery.
Truth was, there probably wasn’t anything that could be said. After all, I was the main reason behind why he was now stuck on the outside, looking in when it came down to the Sterling estate. But I had a plan, and the man with the hat who’d waved at us as we left the property was going to help.
He just didn’t know it yet.
Now it was all about getting Jamie back there again.
UNKNOWN
The beat-up blue Ford F-150 that had become such a familiar sight over the last five years came to a rolling stop by the end of the gravel drive as it always did.
But this time, instead of that habitual wistful expression of theirs, I bore witness to their countenance of disbelief, followed closely by one of disappointment, then that of failure with an undercurrent of anger.
I knew the man—Jamie or James—had big plans for my generous parcel of land, but moreso for the home itself.
Plenty of folks had come and gone over the last several decades, making the old place theirs in their own way.
Something had to be said about the eyesore that was the mustard yellow shag that called itself my parlor flooring at one point.
That must have been somewhere around the sixties or seventies.
And what was it with poodle pictures on skirts during the fifties?
And don’t get me started on the revisiting of the bright colors of the sixties during the eighties, and what was it with the nineties that made people think it was okay to walk around with holes in their clothes, looking like they’d deprived themselves of a meal or a dozen, faces gaunt, glamourizing a strung-out aesthetic of sorts.
And now, here I am, a hundred-and-three years later, still sporting the knit V-neck sweater-vest over a button shirt, the newsboy cap that matched my beige-brown Oxfords, and a pair of dark brown khakis circa 1922.
Needless to say, in all these years, no family had really lasted. None that I’d wanted to stick with anyhow, and there had especially never been someone I could bring myself to entrust my story to either.
Not until Margaret Fontaine darkened my doorstep no less than three or so weeks ago.
And despite that SOLD! sign, something told me I hadn’t seen the last of that Jamie fella as he proceeded to leave.
The truck kicked up some gravel when Jamie eventually decided to pull away.
Call me surprised when a pair of eyes turned to look through the back window of the truck and connected with mine.
The look of surprise across her face was almost comical as she offered me a small nod of acknowledgement, confusion, and curiosity in her eyes.
Just as shocked, I lifted my hand and gave her a wave as the distance between us grew greater.
If I had a heart, I would have expected it to beat out of my chest right then, and my palms surely would have been sweating something fierce, along with so many other biological responses that evaded me here and in the afterlife.
After so long, had someone finally seen me?
Now, more than ever, hope that Jamie and his friend would return began to churn inside me.