Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Sam
Icheck with three places that have help wanted signs propped in their windows. Honestly, that’s more than I expected, and I’m relieved to have options. In the past, I could live off a tiny thread of possibility.
Right now? I need actual, tangible options.
It does help that this town is utterly adorable.
It centers on the park, and businesses line three sides with a historic city building on the fourth side that sits right next to a lovely old church.
It reminds me of the churches in New York City that are nestled in the midst of things even though Juniper View is the polar opposite of New York in terms of size, location, culture, and so much more.
I don’t remember life in New York all that well since I left just before my thirteenth birthday when my mom wanted to try her luck in Hollywood, but I’ll never forget the sheer height of things.
I’ve collected applications for jobs I plan to submit later today, and now I get to reward myself. What used to be internal motivation to work hard has withered in the wake of being in survival mode for so long, so now I work off of an incentive system.
I enter what looks like a small outbuilding of the church but proudly displays a sign stating it is the Juniper View Public Library.
Stepping inside gives me the first sense of true safety and calm I’ve had in… maybe years. The library branch I used in LA was a safe place, but I relied on it in such a fundamental way, it didn’t bring the sense of calm I feel now.
And I need calm after that run-in with Sheriff Ryan.
The man is too good-looking for anyone’s well-being, and he’s also pushy.
Nosy, maybe. Whatever. And his hand on my waist made me feel…
hot. Overheated. Overwhelmed-ish, but not in a fearful way.
More like a, wait don’t go! way, and that is not what I need in my life right now.
So. Calm. Yes, please.
Here, I’m simply stepping inside this building with stained glass windows. It can’t be all that ancient because the town is only a little over a hundred years old according to the small plaque I saw on the corner of the park, but it feels like a thousand lives have been lived here.
The space has the feeling of fullness, but there’s the quiet that accompanies a library I love so much. No background music playing, no conversations to overhear, just pure quiet, alive with the presence of books and readers.
Basically heaven, especially if I had another coffee in my hand.
As I glance around, I make eye contact with a woman standing behind a small circulation desk.
She’s slightly stooped, hair a lovely purply-gray and framing her face.
Her attention is directed at the hardback book lying flat on the desk in front of her.
The desk is made of the same polished wood decorating every windowsill and several pew-like benches grouped at the far end of the open space.
“Let me know if you need anything.” Her words are barely audible through her bright red lipstick that speaks volumes, but I hear her well enough and smile, mouthing “Thanks” when I do.
It takes mere minutes to tour the collection. They have worn paperback classics, an absurd number of dictionaries, a complete Encyclopedia Brittanica, a smattering of fiction and nonfiction, and a lovely little children’s section. There’s even a small but stout display dedicated to banned books.
Kitty-corner from the children’s area, there’s a worn-out old tube computer with a screen saver bouncing around the front complete with CD-ROM drive to the right and tattered mouse pad, and adorable framed art prints strung up at intervals that say things like, “Books make the world a better place,” and “Readers rule the world.”
There’s not another soul inside, but the librarian is committed to the quiet. I keep my voice low when I ask, “Are you the main branch for Juniper View?”
She smiles with so much pride, it infuses me with secondhand joy just witnessing it.
“Yes. It’s an all-volunteer branch due to funding cuts years ago.
But we’ve got a little crew of folks who keep it open.
” She glances around. “Someday, we’ll get it expanded, but for now, it’s the principle of the thing.
The library is a space for everyone.” She tips her head toward something behind me.
I glance back to see another beautiful art print on the wall with exactly those words.
“Libraries have saved my life more than once, so I’m with you there.” It sounds like hyperbole, but it’s really not.
She nods sagely, like the idea of a library saving someone’s life isn’t foreign to her at all.
And that’s why I’ll always feel at home in them.
“You new in town? I don’t think we’ve met.” She extends her weathered hand with perfectly manicured nails and a glittering gold watch. “Georgia Sullivan.”
“S-am Ellis. Nice to meet you.”
Hopefully, the awkward stutter on my name didn’t faze her.
I’m still adjusting to using the nickname, and even though she seems completely lovely and harmless, I can’t avoid the sense that sharing my name is too obvious.
I’ve already done it once here, and though I know it’s illogical considering I’ll be sharing a lot more information on job applications, I can’t stop the flood of anxiety.
That somehow it’ll lead my ex right to me, even though I’m mostly convinced he has no idea I’m gone yet.
But those are the thoughts of a woman far more paranoid than I. In reality, Andrew’s still in California living his high-class life with his fancy rich friends, and the slumming he did when he married his maid is just an interesting anecdote.
Yeah. That’s way better.
“Lovely to meet you, Sam. Would you like a library card?”
I do. Absolutely. But I don’t know what kind of system she’ll put my name into, and for now, I want to keep my footprint small.
I just need time to think everything through, and I’ve been so focused on leaving LA that I didn’t spend nearly as much thinking about arriving here and all that would entail.
I’m rapidly realizing what a mistake that was.
I make a show of glancing down at my phone. “I’d love one, but I have an appointment to see an apartment right now. I’ll come back soon, okay?”
We say our goodbyes—quietly, of course—and I leave smiling.
I’m not in danger of being late, but I don’t want to risk getting lost, so I find my car where I parked it on the edge of the square and head out.
The drive to the one apartment building with a vacancy that also allows cats and doesn’t require first and last month’s rent I found is through the cute little neighborhoods fanning out toward the east. My heart flutters a little as I pass one or two streets with adorable houses and I let myself dream of a time when maybe I can afford a place closer in town.
I hoped to be walking distance from wherever I find a job, though it might be presumptuous to think I’d be in town, but I just love the idea of the simplicity. And of maybe not needing to buy a new tire for my car for a while.
I keep going, farther from the town center, and farther, until my phone tells me I’ve arrived. But… this can’t be it, can it?
I swallow hard and park on the street, wary of the sign that screams in all caps PARKING FOR RESIDENTS ONLY NO TRESPASSING.
Not the most welcoming start, but it makes sense to protect the parking spaces for residents so maybe that’s a good sign.
I don’t have the luxury to turn and run at the uh-oh feeling I’m getting, though, because I can’t sustain living in the motel for more than about a week, and so far, I’m hitting dead ends on rentals who would accept cats even if I do sign away my firstborn child.
Not that I would. But it’s a thing, even here in the mountains.
Silly me thought mountain-type folks would be more generous with their pet policies.
The stairwells are outside, which isn’t ideal, but that’s fine. I’ve lived in places like this. There are long-dead weeds sprouting from the cracks of the sidewalk and some graffiti in the stairwell along with an array of trash. That’s just life sometimes, though.
On the second floor, I find a man hunched over mumbling at his phone and smoking a cigarette so aggressively, I wonder how it wronged him. He’s standing in front of a door right at the top of the stairs.
“You Ellis?”
“Yes. Sam. Nice to meet you.”
I hold out a hand, but he ignores it completely, turning to jangle the key in the lock. Inside, I try not to breathe through my nose… or my mouth. So basically, I’m holding my breath and wondering how quickly I can leave without pissing this guy off completely. I can’t live here.
There’s a huge stain in the middle of the linoleum and while I feel like he’d have to disclose it, I am fairly certain someone died here and is undoubtedly going to revenge haunt the next resident. Or maybe more than one person did, and the subsequent tenants all died here.
Maybe this is one of those places that inspired various horror movies. Neat.
“It’s four hundred up front, four hundred monthly, no late rent.” His eyes hold mine for a second, then drop blatantly to the front of my jacket as though he has x-ray vision to my chest and stay there. “But if it happens, we’ll see what we can do.”
“Thanks so much for your time.”
I’m gone. A puff of smoke because no thank you we will not see what we can do. I’ve lived in the agony of not knowing what comes next and I will not be comfortable living here knowing the landlord is like that. Nope!
I will live in a tent in the woods before I occupy space with that man—or that smell—ever again.
I’m down the stairs before he exits the apartment, nearly to my car before he hollers out, “I guess that’s a no?” and mutters something foul I’m glad I can’t hear.