Chapter 11
Tilda
“Yes!” I pump my fist in the air, then grimace when I see how close I came to smashing my knuckles against the counter.
Tempering my enthusiasm, I crouch lower and pull the vase out from under the kitchen sink.
Pretty wildflowers are growing in front of my house, and I want to bring some inside to cheer the place up.
It’s great that this place is bigger than anything I’ve ever had before, but it needs a little help in the personality department.
Standing, I glance over at the dead deer staring at me from the corner of the living room.
Air Bud is playing on the TV, too quietly to cover my sigh.
I need to find a way to spruce that freaking deer up too.
I fill the vase half full of water, then set it next to the sink and dry my hands on my skirt.
I chose my pale blue sundress today.
It’s a little plain. Knee-length. And made from jersey cotton, so it hugs the contours of my body more than my more structured dresses do.
But I like the white bow woven into the low neckline and the fact that it has a built-in padded bra.
The boob situation is nearing indecent, but I’m not in the mood to care.
If I have to remove my ribbon and go get groceries today, then I’m going to be comfortable. And this dress does that.
I pick the vase back up and slip my feet into my leather sandals, then open the front door.
Bright morning sun greets me, and I smile against the warmth.
Before I start, I tuck the vase against my body, careful not to spill the water, and reach under my skirt.
From the pocket sewn into the thigh of the thin shorts I have on under my dress, I pull out my phone.
After unlocking it, I open my music and hit Play on the one album I have downloaded.
The soundtrack to Moulin Rouge!
I was flipping through apps on my phone this morning while lying in bed, trying to see if I had anything that could entertain me without internet, when I stumbled across my music library.
Back home—back in Vegas—I streamed music when I wanted it. Never saw the point of buying songs.
Now, I see.
But thankfully past me bought this soundtrack on impulse years ago. Which I’d forgotten about until I came across it.
Music playing, I slide my phone back into my pocket, my skirt falling back to my knees.
Humming yesterday was annoying. I’m not a good hummer. Or singer. But I know I have to make noise while I’m outside.
Or at least I’m pretty sure about that.
I don’t really have a way to check that fact until I go into town later, but I swear I remember Uncle Jack telling me something about making noise so you don’t accidentally surprise a bear with your presence.
Better safe than sorry, I let the tune distract my thoughts as I step off the front step and head toward the box I left outside yesterday.
As I bend down, reaching for the scissors I threw in here yesterday, I notice the strand of beads draped over the edge of the box.
Every bit of it is covered in a thin layer of dirt, and it takes me a moment to remember that this must be the strand I dropped yesterday.
Did the grouchy park ranger pick them up?
Leaving the strand where it is, I grab the scissors and head for the first patch of flowers.