2. New Arrival
TWO
New Arrival
STEVE
Ypsilanti, Michigan
“I’ll be back in a week or two to pack up all my stuff.” Steve Cook hugged Sheryl Albright, who held him tight for a few extra seconds.
“Take care of yourself, Steve,” she said.
“Yeah,” Mason ‘Mace’ Albright added as he accepted Steve’s proffered hand and pulled him into a hug with a couple of hearty slaps on the back. “And don’t worry about all your stuff, bro. We’re glad to hold on to it for at least a few months before putting it out with the trash.”
Steve shook his head and chuckled. “Yeah, thanks, Mace. You’re a real friend,” Steve said with only a bit of sarcasm.
Steve and Mace served together in Iraq and Afghanistan through some of the worst fighting, yet somehow they made it out with their sanity and friendship intact. They’d both swear that only their sanity would ever be in question.
Turning serious, Steve held onto his friend’s hand a moment longer. “I’m indebted to you, helping me get set up here while–”
“You owe us nothing, Steve,” Mace cut him off. “Just be careful, okay?”
“I…” Steve trailed off as the sound of a motorcycle drew near.
Their friend Andy, another veteran Marine who now served as a police officer like Mace, let his feet drop to the ground, removed his helmet, and left the engine running.
Steve glanced over and nodded at Andy.
“I’m heading to Sandusky to be with my old lady at the beach,” Andy called out. “Thought I’d ride out with you for a while.”
“Appreciate it.” Steve shrugged his backpack over his shoulders and grabbed his helmet. He turned toward his friend. “Mace…”
“I know.” Mace nodded. “You’ll find Nick. I know you will.”
Steve returned the nod and then smiled up at Mace’s wife. “Take care of your men, Sheryl.”
“You bet I will.” As if on cue, their infant son’s cries could be heard through the screen door. She laughed. “Speaking of…” She waved goodbye on her way inside the house.
Steve shook Andy’s hand on his way to his own motorcycle. He strapped on his helmet and started the engine before turning back for one last wave to Mace before he and Andy pulled out.
After a while, Andy exited off the freeway in the direction of Sandusky while Steve continued south toward Columbus.
After nearly two hours of driving through Ohio’s ubiquitous cornfields and eventually past a seemingly abandoned industrial complex west of town on the other side of the Scioto River, Steve finally pulled into the small town of Grant’s Crossing.
Built around a square-shaped park that was at least one and a half football fields wide and one football field long, the center of the town was large yet homey and full of life. Shoppers went in and out of one-of-a-kind stores and restaurants surrounding the park while kids tossed frisbees inside the large, open area of the square itself.
Steve found an open parking spot in the northwest corner behind the town hall, the only building located inside the main square. Thinking he’d take a lap around the downtown area to get a lay of the land, Steve cut the engine of his motorcycle and pushed down his kickstand. He removed his helmet and ran his hands through his dirty blond hair, pushing it off his face. Securing his helmet to his bike, he followed the tree-lined sidewalk toward an old carousel in the northeast corner, now used as an outdoor stage surrounded by benches and small tables where people sat with their chosen beverages. Some older men played chess while young parents pushed strollers toward the park.
After completing his lap, he came upon a shop that was sandwiched between a boutique clothing shop and an art gallery. A sign in a bookshop window advertising an apartment for rent drew Steve’s eye.
The bell above the door jingled as he entered the shop. The man behind the counter closed the till and looked Steve in the eye with a broad smile. “Welcome to Between the Lines. How can I help you today?”
Steve extended his hand toward the front door. “You have an apartment for rent?”
“Sure do. Just put that out this morning,” the man said. “You lookin’ for a new place?”
“Yes, sir. I am,” Steve confirmed.
“Name’s Ken Bailey.” Ken extended his hand, which Steve accepted.
“Steve Cook.”
“And call me Ken.” He smiled. “No need to call me sir. Sounds like we’re in the military or something.”
“Habit.”
Ken turned toward Steve with an arched brow. “You served?”
“Yes, sir. Marines.”
“You don’t say! What brings you to Grant’s Crossing?”
“Moving here to be closer to family.”
That was only mostly true, but it wasn’t a lie either.
“Already lined up a job yet? I know some folks looking for people if you work construction.”
“Thanks, but I’ll be a firefighter paramedic with Grant’s Crossing Fire Department.”
“Good. Good. The apartment’s right above the shop.” Ken motioned for Steve to follow. “Come on back so I can show it to you.”
Ken peaked in the office to tell the woman inside he was heading upstairs. A medium-sized loading area was in the back, with a large, curved, wooden staircase winding its way up to the second floor opposite a single elevator.
“This used to be a hotel, then a boarding house, but most of the rooms were converted into offices back in the ‘30s,” Ken explained on the way up the stairs. “We’re working on converting some of those into apartments on one side and upgrading them for commercial use on the other. The door to the residential area will have its own lock as well as a private entrance from the street out front, though you can also get in via the loading area we just passed through.”
Ken unlocked the door and held it open for Steve to pass through first. “This is it. Two bedrooms, one bath, a full kitchen, and a living room.”
Steve walked into the spacious apartment and looked around. He looked in all the rooms and returned to the living room, where Ken waited.
“It’s got a hell of a view, too,” Ken said, gesturing toward the windows.
Steve looked through to find a stunning view of the park inside the square and nodded in agreement.
“We’re on Washington Avenue and that’s Adams Street over there,” Ken pointed over the top of the carousel. “The fire station is about two blocks farther down, so you can walk to and from work if you want.”
“What’s the rent?”
Ken quoted him a price.
Steve extended his hand. “I’ll take it.”