Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Betty
Narrator: Were you expecting them to have their meet-cute already?
Well, a meet-cute where they actually saw each other’s faces and introduced themselves?
Maybe he’d search her out on the farm, looking for the girl in the red sweater?
Well, I thought about it but then decided what I have planned might be more fun, because it’s Max after all.
Stumbling into her on the farm is too easy.
Their first true encounter needs to be more exciting.
More unexpected.
More . . . Max.
But don’t worry. I’ll have some fun with them in the meantime.
“Okay, should I be nervous?” I ask as Uncle Dwight drives out of the main part of town and toward the land.
It’s been two days since I accepted his offer, and the only thing that I’ve accomplished since saying yes is to take a few pictures of a farm and draw Christmas tree after Christmas tree in my notebook.
“Why should you be nervous?” Uncle Dwight asks.
“Uh, because you said you’d show me my new home, and yet you’re driving me out into the woods. Is there a tent in the trunk I don’t know about? I’m not opposed to outdoor living, but I’m not accustomed to surviving in such harsh outdoor elements.”
“Do you really think I’d stick you in a tent and leave?”
“I mean, I want to say no . . .”
“No, Betty.” He laughs. “When I spoke to my dad about this idea, his initial response was to tell me to take care of Betty at all costs, and I’m sticking to that.”
“I appreciate that, but why are we—”
My words are cut short when Uncle Dwight turns into the driveway of the property he showed me, and then a small cottage with a green roof comes into view.
All the lights inside are lit, giving me a view into the house through the windows. It seems like something you’d find in a storybook, with its Bavarian-style siding, red moldings, and a flower box full of evergreens.
“Is that . . . is that the place?” I ask, feeling slightly in awe.
“Yup,” Uncle Dwight says, bursting with pride.
“But it wasn’t there three days ago when you showed me the land.”
“I know. I would have brought you over here yesterday, but they were still hooking up the water and septic. I wanted it to be ready for you.”
“Wait, doesn’t that take a while to set up?”
“Not when it’s already on the property. Trust me, I’ve been planning this for a while. I just needed the yes from you to hook everything up.”
“And the house, where did that come from?” I ask as he pulls in front of it. God, it’s really adorable.
“It’s one of those prefabricated houses.
There’s a company just over the mountain that sells them.
I thought it would be the perfect place for you to settle in while we plan out this project.
I also thought you would like to be on the property so you can be close and keep an eye on the construction. ”
“I mean . . . yeah, but this is all so . . . Wait, is that my car?” I ask, pointing to my Honda CR-V around the corner.
“Yup. And all your clothes are in the house as well. Your mom helped the movers pack everything you might need. They didn’t unpack though. That’s on you.”
“I . . . I can’t believe this,” I say, looking through the windshield at the quaint cottage. “This all seems too good to be true.” I turn toward my uncle in the car and ask, “Why are you doing all this?”
“What do you mean?” he asks, looking genuinely confused. “You’re family. And we help family out.”
“But this is helping out a lot. You’re giving me a job, a salary, a place to live . . . This is more than just helping out.”
“You’re not the only one getting something out of this,” Uncle Dwight says. “Remember, you’re making a dream into a reality by helping me. I’ve been holding on to this land for a long time, waiting to do something with it, and now is the time. So consider it helping each other out.”
“Well, it seems like I’m getting the better end of the bargain, but I guess I won’t fight about it and just take it.”
I step out of the vehicle and walk up to the small wooden porch, where I run my hand over the evergreen bushes in the flower box.
The door is painted a deep red, something I didn’t notice until I got closer, and there is a wreath hanging from the door, welcoming me in.
Uncle Dwight holds the keys to the house in front of me. “Go ahead. Let yourself in.”
Feeling giddy, I unlock the door and open it up. Immediately, I’m hit with warmth. The entire cottage is covered in wood, from the floors to the walls to the kitchen cabinets, but it’s broken up by greens and reds scattered all throughout the space with rugs, furniture, and curtains.
I run my fingers over the back of a green velvet wingback chair.
“I hope it’s okay that I went with the Christmas cottage. I thought it was appropriate.”
“I love it,” I say as I move into the small open-concept kitchen, which consists of a fridge, an oven, a dishwasher, and an island that looks out over the living space. Behind the kitchen is a bathroom with a vanity, a shower, and surprisingly a combo washer and dryer. That’s a really nice touch.
Back in the living room, there’s a stove in the corner, which is generating the heat, and stairs off to the right, which seem to lead to a loft bedroom.
“This is . . . this is amazing,” I say, taking it all in.
“The kitchen is fully stocked with everything you might need to cook. The bathroom has the essentials. And the bed upstairs is a double, because that’s what could fit up there given the height of the ceilings.”
“That is perfect,” I say, taking one more spin around. “Oh my God, you brought Buzz too.” I rush over to my tarantula’s aquarium, which is bordered in a crocheted scarf, a little present I made for him before I left.
“Yes, miraculously his enclosure was movable.”
I hug the aquarium, feeling all sorts of joy. “Thank you, Uncle Dwight. This is . . . this is wow.”
He smiles. “I’m glad you like it. Just a heads up, Oh-Kay Plumbing will be by tomorrow to do the last installation in the shower. They were missing a part, so don’t use the shower until they stop by, or else you might flood the house.”
“Oof, don’t want that. Might stop by your place then to shower.”
“By all means. I also added a desk under the stairs over there so you can work on all the plans for the property. I wanted to give you your own space as quickly as I could because I know that my house isn’t necessarily the ideal place to find creativity.”
You could say that again. It’s like living in a home that Delia Deetz from Beetlejuice would design.
A touch cold and very unimaginative, which is why I’m so surprised by this house.
It’s warm, inviting, charming, and so much better than my parents’ basement, where the furnace has a life of its own.
And this might sound crazy, but I will swear on my left breast that one night, the furnace whispered my name.
“I love it,” I say. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome. I hope you’re able to start a whole new chapter of your life here.”
I nod, looking around again. “I think I will.”
Max
I finish tying my boots and then wrap my scarf around my head, covering my exposed facial skin; if anything, I’ve got to keep the moneymaker protected.
Then I strap on my favorite knitted winter hat, with red reindeer, making sure my ears are covered by the wool-lined flaps.
Just like any typical Colorado day, the weather changed on a dime.
And instead of the simple flannel I wore earlier, I’m bundled up from head to toe, ready to make the trek.
Word around the farm is there was some noise heard out on the property behind ours. Construction-type noise. And once again, the hairs on the back of my neck were raised, so I waited until the farm closed, ate a hearty meal of Thanksgiving leftovers, and then made a plan.
My brothers might think I’m crazy.
My best friend might be questioning my sanity.
But I know something is up. I can feel it in my bones, and I’ll be damned if I will stand by and let some vagabonds try to push my family out of business.
Standing tall, ready to go, I hold my flashlight at my chest like a BB gun and say, “This is my farm, and I have to defend it.”
With my intentions set, manifesting my protective instincts into the universe, I take off out the back door and into the dark night, the sound of the wind whistling through the pines and my feet crunching against the five-day-old snow the soundtrack to my mission.
I’d prefer John Williams to set the scene for me, but wind and crunching snow will have to do.
With my flashlight turned on, I light up my path toward the property line, making sure to roam the flashlight back and forth, scanning all areas. I do not want to be caught off guard or surprised.
Just to make sure, I pat the crowbar in my back pocket to make sure it’s still there and didn’t fall out.
It was the only thing I could find in my dad’s toolbox that I thought could be used as a sufficient weapon.
It was either a crowbar or a blowtorch, and I am not about to light up the forest in case I come across a murderer or even worse .
. . a murderous bear. Living in Colorado, you have to be aware of such things.
So I went with the crowbar, an honorable but smart choice if you ask me.
Making my way, I stick my hand that’s not holding the flashlight into my pocket to keep it warm while I crunch along the snow, not being quiet at all.
To be honest, this isn’t a secret operative mission where I’m attempting to sneak up on someone.
No, I want it to be known that I will protect and defend my property.
When I reach the tree line that separates the two parcels, I pause and look in both directions, as if crossing a road and not wanting to be run over by a rusted utility van.
When the coast is clear, I take a deep breath and cross over into enemy lines.
When my flashlight illuminates a building, I pause.
On a low gasp, I quickly hide behind a tree, flashlight shining up my nostrils.
A building.
The rumors were right.
Slowly, I look around the tree, this time keeping my flashlight to myself as I spot a light off in the distance that I didn’t see before because of all the large pines blocking a straight view.
“A house,” I whisper.
Pulling out my phone, I hide behind the tree and text Cole.
Max: Alert. Alert. There is a residence on the neighboring property. I repeat, there is a residence on the neighboring property.
I clutch my phone and look past the tree again to get a better view, but with all the trees, I can barely make out what kind of residence I’m dealing with.
And how did this structure just magically appear without my knowledge?
My phone buzzes in my hand with a text.
Cole: What the fuck are you doing?
Max: Investigating.
Cole: Dude, not a good idea.
Max: Don’t worry. I have a crowbar.
Cole: A crowbar? Why?
Max: To protect myself from murderers and murderous bears.
Cole: I really can’t deal with this right now. You have put me through it the last three days.
Max: You’ve been put through it? I woke up two days ago thinking my parents disappeared.
Now there is a residence that popped up out of nowhere on the neighboring property that has been vacant for years, and this just after I heard voices talking in the woods.
I told you something was up. And I’m going to find out exactly what’s happening.
Cole: Please, for the love of God, don’t.
Max: I can’t just sit by while my family is being robbed!
Cole: Robbed? How the fuck is your family being robbed?
Max: Robbed of our privacy, of our farm, of . . . of my sanity.
Cole: The only correct statement you’ve made in the last seventy-two hours is your sanity being robbed, but it’s not by anyone else; it’s by you.
Max: You need to learn to be more supportive, compassionate. Especially in a time of crisis.
Cole: I am. This is a time of crisis. You are losing it, and I’m attempting to tell you to stop. Pack up the crowbar, for the love of God, and go back home. Investigating will only get you in trouble.
Max: It won’t. I know what I’m doing.
Cole: You don’t. Go back home.
Max: Never!
I stuff my phone in my pocket, ready to take charge.
Flashlight in hand, I move closer to the house, bouncing behind tree after tree to avoid getting caught.
And as I get closer, the building becomes more visible until I’m two trees away, taking in a small cottage-type house that looks like an oversize child’s playhouse.
I remove my phone from my pocket and snap a picture for reference. Cole might not want to talk about it now, but tomorrow, when he’s in the barn, I can tell him I told you so.
Now the question is who is living here? And how the fuck was it built so quickly?
Knowing this is risky, I skirt up to the tree that’s right in front of the cottage and lean over, taking a peek inside the house, but the curtains are shut, blocking my view.
Damn it.
I assess my next move and notice that the window near the door isn’t covered by a curtain. That’s my only option to get to the bottom of this. There isn’t a tree to shield me from view, but there is a flower box. I can be stealthy and go undetected behind that shrubbery.
Narrator: Spoiler alert: Max will not go undetected. In fact, this plan is about to very much blow up in his face . . .
Keeping my flashlight low, I duckwalk toward the cottage, keeping my six-foot-four body out of sight and off the snow until I reach the porch.
I fall to my knees and then shuffle on them all the way up to the flower box.
Smiling to myself about how I was able to channel my inner Tom Cruise, I reach for my crowbar, pull back the branches of the shrub in the flower box with the curved end, and slowly start to raise my head to garner a peek.
I hold my breath, raising . . . raising . . .
Almost there . . .
Enemy, be prepared to be found out.
And just as my eyes peek over the shrubs, the front door opens, startling the ever-living shit out of me.
“Ahhh!” I scream out of pure reaction just as a feral warrior cry sounds through the silent night air as five words are screamed into existence by a female voice.
“Take that, you filthy animal!”
And then like a rocket being blasted through a cannon, a two-liter bottle of Pepsi flies right at my head, knocking me out cold.