Chapter 1 #2
Lou Doyle had been my landlady for over five years.
We had developed a relationship that went beyond tenant and owner.
I found her funny and droll. She was old-fashioned and, at seventy-eight, refused to change her ways.
Her white hair was always up in a bun, but once I had seen it down and it was well past her waist. Her dark-brown eyes were still discerning, and she didn’t suffer fools well.
Although she lived alone, she cooked for herself daily.
Baked for the local food bank that she volunteered at as well.
Drove a cool old Mustang she repaired herself.
She wore overalls and boots most of the time.
A big hat. She loved to garden and putter in the yard.
She could build an engine and often helped the neighbors if they required auto assistance.
She had worked in a garage with her father for years and knew more about cars than I could ever hope to.
She was a hero to the teenage boys she worked with at the local school, teaching them about engines and automobiles in her spare time.
She was independent and strong. Intelligent.
I liked her a lot. The past couple of years, her memory had started failing, but she still insisted on looking after herself.
I kept an eye on her, as did her other friends. She was well loved.
The house was an old Victorian that she had lived in for decades. The original owners had split it in two, and she lived in the larger part, renting out the smaller side on occasion.
“Only to people I knew,” she had informed me once.
When she decided it was too much space for her, she rented the bigger part to me and lived in the smaller section of the house.
I had a kitchen and living room on the main floor, along with an unused room I’d turned into an office.
Upstairs were two good-sized bedrooms and a bathroom.
Her unit of the house had a living room, eat-in kitchen, and back stairs that led up to one bedroom and a bathroom that took up the entire floor.
Each dwelling had a half bath on the main floor and a stackable laundry unit.
The front porch was divided by a small partial wall, the doors to each unit side by side.
Lou had used the front door as her main entrance, and I used the back door most of the time.
She liked to sit on her porch and sip tea usually laced with brandy.
I used the deck I built out back, although some days I joined her for tea.
Some nights she joined me at the fire pit out back, and we sat in comfortable silence, neither of us needing to talk.
Over time, I started cutting the grass, helping with repairs, and general upkeep.
I enjoyed using my hands, and as I was part of a firefighter squad, we helped each other out with various personal projects.
We redid the front porch and the overhang that was sagging for her.
Repaired the back door. Added a small deck to her back area, then a pergola for shade.
Lou was always grateful, paid for the supplies, and thanked us with a great meal and baked goods.
One day about eight months ago, she fell down the staircase and broke her hip.
It didn’t heal well, and she wasn’t able to look after herself or manage the steps anymore.
It also affected her memory even more and killed her independence.
She never returned to the house, going into a home instead.
I visited her often, and one day, she’d looked at me over her cup of tea.
“I’m not able to come back to the house.”
I nodded. “I know.”
“I’m going to sell it.”
“I want to buy it,” I responded.
“I thought as much. I’ll sell it to you on one condition.”
“Which is?”
“I need you to keep the apartment empty for a while. I have someone who might need a place. I’ll take the costs of the upkeep on it out of the house sale price. You can charge them a fair rent.”
I paused. “So, a tenant.”
“You okay with that?”
“I had planned on reverting it back to a one-family place,” I admitted. “I don’t really want to be a landlord.”
“I need this, Jesse.”
I studied her, seeing her determination.
She was a great lady and had been good to me.
She had a few friends, no family I knew of, aside from a little girl she referred to as Pixie on occasion, who I gathered was the daughter of a friend she no longer kept in touch with.
And a young man she spoke of on occasion lately. Some IT specialist who lived out west.
“KC might need a place,” she explained. “It’s only for a year or so. Maybe less.”
KC. The recent addition to her stories .
KC is fabulous with computers. Head of a huge project.
KC wrote me again.
KC called last night.
I assumed KC was a relative, but Lou was intensely private and rarely offered details of her past life. I understood. I didn’t like to talk about the past either.
“What if KC doesn’t show up?” I asked.
“Then rip down the walls.”
“Any other stipulations?”
She sighed and smiled. “Keep an open mind. And be patient.”
I wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but I agreed.
I bought the house, and the apartment sat empty for a while.
Lou passed away suddenly, sending shock waves through the community.
She left me her Mustang, which surprised me, but not as much as the money bequest. I tried to protest, but her lawyer, Charles Sims—or Sims, as everyone called him—insisted it was what she wanted.
I put the money into an account, unsure what else to do with it.
I knew how much she loved this house, so I thought perhaps I could use some of the funds for upgrades to make sure it was well-kept.
The rest of her estate went to the mysterious KC.
Sims got in touch not long afterward to tell me that KC would be arriving in six weeks.
That had been a month ago.
Now, there was a woman next door I hadn’t expected. Didn’t want.
And was stuck with.
I couldn’t refuse her because I’d mistakenly thought she was a he. I paced as I tried to figure this out.
I had thought a male tenant would be simple. I could ignore them. I wouldn’t smell fancy scented candles being burned. Or hear love songs being played. I grimaced as another thought hit me. What if she was a headbanger? I liked my quiet time.
I ran a hand through my hair. I would simply set the ground rules, and we would go from there. Hopefully it wouldn’t be for long.
I could do that right?
I could treat her as if she were nothing but a tenant. Because that was all she was.
Flashes of her creamy skin and long, dark hair flitted through my mind, and I pushed them away.
They weren’t factoring into the situation at all.
Nope.