Chapter 19
CLOVER
Iwish I could just take one step at a time, very slowly. At first, I had been aggravated beyond imagination at being stuck here with him, but now leaving is the last thing I want to do.
Beckett follows me into the room and closes the door quietly behind him. I don’t have too much to pack, so I’m not sure what he was going to help with. It doesn’t take long for me to have my bag packed and sitting at the end of the bed.
“Hey, thanks for letting me stay,” I say quietly. “It really means a lot, and you went above and beyond. I’m sure Brynn will owe you big time,” I force myself to smile.
He smiles, but it doesn’t feel the same.
“You’re right, she will never be able to pay me back for this.
I should be thanking you, honestly, because now she’s indebted to me forever.
” He grabs my backpack and slides the strap over his shoulder, but then he hesitates.
“You know, we could just leave this here, for now,” he suggests casually.
I’m all for this plan, but I play it cool. “Oh? Why would we do that?”
He shrugs, and the backpack slides back down to the edge of the bed.
“Well,” he states, very matter-of-factly, “It’s been storming ever since your pipes burst. I doubt the landlord has had time to get all of that fixed, ain’t a soul in the county that’ll work on water lines when it’s raining like it has been. ”
He actually kind of has a point. “That’s true,” I say cautiously. “So what’s the plan, then?”
He strides back over to the door and opens it. “We will just keep your bag here, head into town, and you can call the landlord. If the place is ready, we will drive right back here and get your stuff, that damn cat, and I’ll take ya home. If it’s not ready, you have a place to go.”
I consider this. Well, I pretend to. My mind was made up the moment he said I should leave my stuff here. “That makes sense, I guess.” Play it cool, Clover. “Sure.”
He smiles so wide, then immediately drops it. “Cool beans,” he says, and walks out the door. I hear him muttering to himself in the hallways. “Cool beans? What the fuck, Beckett?”
I have to put both hands over my mouth to keep the laugh that is begging me to let it out contained. I give myself a minute to recover before I follow him back down the stairs.
* * *
“Can we get ice cream? Lovey, what’s your favorite ice cream? Have you had the rainbow kind? It’s my favorite. It’s got the fizzy thingies in it,” Lennon rambles. She makes a noise that sounds like static to mimic how it makes her tongue feel.
“I like pistachio ice cream,” I tell her. “The rainbow fizzy kind is pretty cool beans though,” I say, my tone full of fake sweetness. I glance at Beck, and he gives me a go-to-hell glare, but the fact that his cheeks are so red gives him away.
“What’s that mean?” Lennon hasn’t heard this phrase before, apparently.
“It’s what really old ladies say when they think something is awesome,” Beck responds before I can. “Remember, Clover is about a hundred years old.”
If he wasn’t driving, I’d be attacking him right now. Lucky for him, I value Lennon’s life immensely.
“Oh,” she tells him. “Well, even though Lovey is a million, I think she’s pretty cool beans.”
I’ve seen videos of kids saying the dangdest things.
I’ve watched babies laugh so hard at paper ripping that they fall over.
I’ve seen videos of dogs saving ducks from rushing river water, and nothing—NOTHING—has prepared me for how sweet a kid can be.
“Thank you, Lenny.” She gives a single, proud nod.
She’s got my back, even if she thinks I’m a million years old.
Beckett rolls his eyes. “I’m outnumbered. My own flesh and blood has betrayed me. Somehow, I’ve raised a traitor.”
“I’m not a trailer!” Lennon exclaims from the backseat, then continues talking about ice cream until Beckett caves and pulls into Two Scoops. He groans when we both cheer excitedly. Lennon hops out and slams the truck door, immediately moving to the sidewalk to wait for her dad.
“Y’all go ahead,” I say. “I’m going to make a call right quick.”
Beck asks if I’m sure, and I nod. “Yeah, I’m gonna check in with the landlord.” He nods and leads Lennon in.
The landlord picks up on the third ring.
“Hey, Chloe,” he says, his northern accent thick.
“Clover,” I correct.
“Yeah, that’s what I said. I tried calling you about the house, you know how the pipes burst and whatnot,” he says, and I can feel my face express how annoyed I am as he mansplains what happened, even though I’m the one who told him about it in the first place.
“Yeah, Rich. I was there,” I deadpan.
“Right, right. Anyways, I couldn’t get a hold of you; you’re one tough cookie to track down.”
I sigh. “Yeah, there was a bad storm here, and it knocked the power out on the farm I’m staying on,” I explain.
“Look, long story short, kid,” he interrupts. Being called a kid at my age is wild, but okay. “It’s more than just a pipe thing. When they opened the walls to get at it, they told me there’s mold. A lot of it. Stuff you would never know about until someone goes digging, you know?”
I stretch out an “mhmm”, but when he doesn’t continue, I press. “So, when will it be done?”
“Yeah, see, that’s where it gets a little tricky. The inspector came out, and he said it’s a no-go.”
I freeze. “What do you mean, no-go?” I ask slowly.
“I mean, no one’s allowed to live there. Health thing, or whatever. Whole mess of liability.”
I squeeze my hand around my phone, and he should be glad I don’t have access to his neck. “So you’re saying I can’t move back in.”
“Ehhh,” he says, like he’s contemplating. “Technically, I’m not saying it, kid. I mean, I wouldn’t recommend it, of course, but when the feds tell you to do something . . . ” he trails off.
“You said the house was move-in ready, Rich. I signed a lease.”
“Hey, at the time, it was. These things happen all the time. Old houses, am I right?”
He’s acting like he just got the wrong coffee order and not like he’s leaving me without a place to live.
“I’ll send you back your deposit and the first month you paid,” he says.
I’d fucking hope so. “And hey,” he continues, “You were a great tenant. If anyone needs a reference, have them call me, and I’ll tell them.
I’ll email you the paperwork. The inspector said you’re cleared to get your stuff, but you need to get it out quickly.
I’ll email you the paperwork for your renter’s insurance so you can try to recoup some of the furniture and whatever else.
I’ll send it over now. Stay safe, Chloe. ”
He hangs up, and I stare at my phone.
What the fuck do I do now?