Chapter 2 #2
“Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry,” Leah yells as she barrels breathlessly toward the table, tying her apron along the way. “I’ve got them, Liv. You can go.”
“That’s my cue,” I tell Caleb and Daisy as I step away. “Have a great rest of your morning.”
I know Leah is only in a hurry to start working because Robert told her about Caleb and she wanted to wait on what passes for a celebrity in a town like this.
It doesn’t matter. I should just be grateful she’s not as late as she usually is. I’ve managed to avoid yelling at Caleb Stone for this long, and that’s probably a good thing for my own karma.
I slip off my own apron on the way back to the counter and wrap it into a tight little bundle. I’ll sort through my tips later.
“Great job today,” Robert says distractedly as I punch out. His eyes are on the small booth where Leah is clearly trying to chat up Caleb Stone.
I pull on my coat and head out into the cold pre-dawn of autumn in rural Pennsylvania.
Bluevale is beautiful this time of year. Even though it’s still dark, the streetlamps reflect in the puddles and I can smell the leaves that are piled up in front yards and plastered to the wet sidewalks that line streets of brick and stone-front colonials.
By the time I’m halfway home, I’m humming contentedly to myself. It’s hard not to feel good. The town is so peaceful, and I love my beautiful apartment in Hall House, which is just a few blocks away.
Helene, Edie, and Phillipa Hall are sisters who own the magnificent house.
Apparently, their grandfather made his fortune in shipping in the early nineteen hundreds, and he built himself a mansion in Bluevale for no reason anyone could really understand.
It’s an enormous stone manor, like something out of a BBC movie, surrounded by a beautiful garden.
The Hall sisters never married or had children, and whether they lost the family fortune, or are just too sensible to keep the whole house to themselves, I’ll probably never know.
The three of them live on the first floor of the east wing and the rest of the place has been broken into lovely shared spaces and beautiful apartments, most of which are currently empty.
Mine is an enormous two-bedroom on the first floor of the west wing, with gorgeous garden views and plenty of delightful little nooks and crannies.
It came fully furnished, so I didn’t have to buy anything.
And the space right next to mine has been outfitted with laundry machines and a common entrance onto one of the verandas, so I’ll never have to worry about a neighbor.
For all that, my rent is shockingly reasonable and it’s never been raised since the day I moved in. Sometimes, I think the Hall sisters just like having someone around to admire their gardening, baking, and artwork.
I turn onto Magnolia Lane and the shape of Hall House comes into view.
At this time of year, the red two maples out front are bright with scarlet leaves.
And behind the house, the sugar maple that stands just outside the west wing veranda is alight with canary-yellow leaves that fall like snow, leaving a golden blanket on the lawn below.
Interestingly, every light in the house seems to be on.
I walk a little faster, hoping nothing is wrong. The three ladies have to be in their late seventies or early eighties by now, and while they seem as healthy and active as anyone half their age, I know time may eventually take its toll.
“Oh, Liv,” Miss Helene says as she hurries down the stone walkway to meet me. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Is everything okay, Miss Helene?” I ask her. “What can I do to help?”
“You’re a love,” she says, nodding to herself. “Well, I’m afraid there is something you can do, and it’s not much fun.”
“Okay,” I say, wondering what on earth they could need. Miss Helene was an emergency room nurse at the county hospital for decades, and she’s as no-nonsense as they come. If she says a task is not much fun, I’m sure it’s dreadful.
“There’s been a fire,” she says, then holds up her hands when she sees my alarm. “Not here, thank heavens—at the apartment building by the stadium.”
“That’s terrible,” I say.
“We got a call late last night,” she says. “The hockey team was supposed to be staying there. They’re all arriving in town tomorrow and, well, long story short, the girls and I said we’d take them in.”
“That’s very kind of you,” I tell her, though my stomach is twisting at the thought of sharing my peaceful home with a bunch of rowdy hockey players.
“Here’s the thing,” she says. “One of them needs a first-floor unit. And with Philippa’s knees what they are, we can’t move upstairs.”
I nod. I know all about Miss Philippa’s bad knees. And the sisters have been in that apartment for decades. It’s full to the brim with Miss Helene’s books, Miss Philippa’s paintings, and souvenirs from Miss Edie’s many trips abroad during her teaching vacations.
“So… we need you to move upstairs, dear,” Miss Helene says. “Today.”
“Oh,” I say, stunned.
“I know it’s no notice at all,” she says, a furrow in her brow. “And none of us like it, but we’ve got to make accommodations. Now, the flat above yours is a three-bedroom with a den. So if you wanted, you could bring in a roommate or two. Rent will stay the same, of course.”
I know that’s a blisteringly good deal. And I’ve been toying with the idea of a roommate for a while now. Hailey has been wanting to move out of her parents’ place. So I guess this isn’t all bad.
In any case, I can’t really say no. The Hall sisters have been more than kind to me. It’s possible they are just being generous here, but it’s also possible they might actually need that rent money the team would bring. Either way, I’m happy for them.
“I’ll get started right away,” I tell her, plastering on a smile.
“That’s why you’re our favorite tenant,” Miss Helene says, patting my arm and taking off up the walkway to the house at an impressive clip.
I’m also their only tenant. At least I was until today, apparently.
“We’ll be cleaning and making up beds,” she calls back to me over her shoulder. “But if you need help, just holler. The new place is open and the key’s in the door.”
I pick up my own pace, wondering how long it will take me to move my stuff. I don’t even have any boxes. At least it’s just upstairs.
By nine in the morning, I’m filthy. If I thought I was truly exhausted when my shift ended, I was mistaken. I’m so tired now that my bones hurt. But all my stuff is in the second-floor apartment, and I’ve swept and scrubbed the one on the first floor and stripped the sheets.
This new apartment is much bigger than my old one, which is nice, and I’ve still got a view of the sugar maple out back. And even though it’s a little strange at first, the Hall sisters’ mishmash of antique furniture makes it feel homey right away.
At this point, I just want to fall into bed, but I know I’ve got to take a shower before I do.
I carry my bathroom stuff with me and try to figure out how to get it all arranged.
The bathroom closest to the bedroom I’ve chosen has a clawfoot tub with a shower that must have been installed long after, and no shelf or storage fixture.
I guess my bodywash and shampoo are going on the floor of the tub for now.
Only I can’t find the shampoo…
I must have left it downstairs.
I briefly consider asking Miss Helene to loan me back the key so I can grab it, since it’s my favorite peaches & cream blend. But I’m just too exhausted right now. It can wait. For tonight, I can wash my hair with bodywash.
Thinking about the shampoo has me suddenly on the verge of tears. But I know it’s not really about that.
I’ve always thought of Hall House as my own safe space. But even here, stupid hockey players are still pushing me around. I can’t seem to escape them.
Once I’m showered and wearing my softest pajamas, I feel a lot better. I close the curtains, making it as dark in my new room as I can. Though after my overnight shift and impromptu move, I feel like I’ll be asleep the second my head hits the pillow.
Before slipping into bed, I take a moment to set out my work clothes so they’re ready for my next shift.
My apron is heavier than it should be, and I realize I never took out my tips.
When I grab the handful of bills and coins, something else falls out.
It’s the envelope from Mr. Russo. In all the excitement, I forgot all about that.
I smile as I open it, wondering what he could have possibly left for me. I’m betting on a silly note or maybe a news clipping. He likes to share stories with me if he thinks I’ll get a kick out of them. And I usually do.
But when I open the envelope, I can only stare at what slides into my hand.
A season ticket pass for the Stallions.