4. Chapter 4
Lydia
“And this is the historical fiction section, all these shelves to the right,” Coco, the owner of The Second Chapter, tells me, pointing to the books.
She is showing me around the small bookstore, and I’m trying to conceal my excitement over finding a job here.
Me? Working in a bookstore? It’s perfect.
I pulled into town earlier and immediately decided Whispering Hills was the cutest little mountain town I’d ever seen, and I might just like to stay a while.
I parked and walked down the main road, peeking into shop windows with the overwhelming sense that this was where I was meant to land.
The town was quiet, small shops lining what I was pretty sure was the main road, and when I saw the HELP WANTED sign in the window of the quaint little bookstore, I had to check it out.
I was nervous to tell Coco about my lack of work history, but when I mentioned I hadn’t had a full-time job since right after graduating high school, she waved me off and then said she “liked my vibe” and trusted me instantly.
Well, alright then.
I wasn’t about to argue. I was so tickled by the idea of working alongside this colorful character of a woman and being surrounded by books all day, that I didn’t think to tell her no when she asked if I could start the following day.
I blurted, “Absolutely!” as I wrapped her in a hug. I’m not sure when I became a hugger, but it felt like the right thing to do.
As soon as I walk out the door, the excitement dims a little when I remember the huge problem of currently having nowhere to live. I got a job but have no place to lay my head at night. That has to be next on my priority list.
It was shocking that Coco hired me for a mixture of reasons, one of them being I must’ve looked like I had driven all night.
I had stopped to take off and throw away that terrible red dress, pulled on some overalls, washed my face, and brushed my teeth.
I finagled my hair into slightly less of a tangled mess, but not by much.
I convinced myself the bruising on my face and the swelling in my lip weren’t too noticeable, and I managed to conceal them a bit with what little makeup I had with me.
I leave the bookstore, refusing to let my excitement fade as I search for a realty office or even a community board with rental listings.
I round the corner off Main onto Silver Springs Ave—um, hello, Stevie, I see you, girl—when I spot a small FOR RENT sign in the yard of a small lavender house.
Taking the name of the street as a sign, I take it all in.
It is, after all, my favorite Fleetwood Mac song.
It’s small but adorable, painted the lightest shade of lavender with pale green shutters and window boxes.
A gentle breeze rustles the shutters as I approach, and the faint scent of honeysuckle lingers in the air, mingling with the earthy smell of untended soil.
The landscaping has been neglected a bit, and while I’ve never had a garden or yard to care for, maybe next-phase Lydia has a green thumb.
Or maybe she could buy really pretty fake flowers no one would suspect aren’t real. We’ll see.
I walk up to the door, with its adorable stained-glass window, and knock lightly.
No one answers. I knock again, a little harder, but to no avail.
Refusing to admit defeat, I walk back to the sign and spot a phone number written on it.
I pull out the small flip phone I bought at a truck stop before I made it to town, not wanting to risk Simon being able to track my regular phone if I need to use it.
I dial the number, and an older woman answers on the first ring.
“Hello?” she says. She doesn’t shout, but it isn’t quite talking at a reasonable volume either.
“Hello? My name is Lydia, and I’m calling about the rental sign in the yard of the lovely house on Silver Springs Ave. I’d like to speak to someone about renting it, please.”
“Give me one second, sweetheart,” the woman on the line shout-talks, and then she hangs up. Oh, um. Okay?
I hang up and turn back toward the house, just in time to see the front screen door of the neighboring house swing open and shut. A small woman comes down the front steps and heads toward me.
“You’re interested in renting this house?” she asks.
No preamble or small talk. She’s a straight shooter, and I instantly like her.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m new in town and just happened to come across this house. It’s lovely. Can I look inside?”
“I’m Rita, and I live next door. The house belongs to my friend Sharon.
She’s gotten a touch of Alzheimer’s, and her kids felt it best to move her into an assisted living facility.
She’s lived in this house for nearly twenty years.
I’ve lived next door for almost as long.
” There’s a small hitch in her voice as she speaks of Sharon, her words weighted with a mixture of sadness and nostalgia.
“You nearly burned down the house one time because you forgot the cookies in the oven, and all of a sudden you’re too forgetful to live on your own.
Such a shame. I miss that old broad.” Her eyes linger on Sharon’s empty porch, as if expecting her friend to step out with a wave.
The quiet longing in her gaze makes my chest ache for both of them.
She turns back to look at me. “Her kids left me in charge of renting it out. Said they didn’t want to mess with selling it right now. If you’re sure you’re interested, we can go take a look.”
“That would be great, Miss Rita. Thank you.” I have a good feeling about Rita. I like her spirit. I’m also digging her choice of attire. Leopard print from head to toe. Rita is a whole vibe, and I’m here for it.
We walk into the house, and I’m immediately in love.
Hardwood floors, built-in bookshelves. So many bookshelves!
A small kitchen and bathroom, both a little outdated but clean, and a small office space just off the living room.
It’s all beautiful. Rita then shows me the one and only bedroom, and I have to pause a moment to take it in.
It’s perfect. There’s a large corner window looking out over the beautiful town.
The room has lovely floral wallpaper and a large wrought-iron bed smack dab in the middle.
I wonder how Sharon was able to get in and out of such a large bed, but decide not to ask questions.
I’m in love with this home, and I’m already thinking of how I can decorate. I’ll need plants and rugs. I’ve never lived on my own, and the idea of having a space that is just mine tickles me to no end.
Rita coughs a bit, pulling me out of my wistful thoughts.
“Do you want it? Utilities are included in the rent, but upkeep of the yard and house is your responsibility.”
Even though I have never taken care of my own home and don’t have the first clue what maintaining a yard and an old Craftsman house involves, I nod eagerly and tell Rita I’m very interested.
She gives me a reassuring smile as she hands me a set of keys, her steady confidence making me feel a little less anxious about my own uncertainty.
I watch her stride out the door. Her pants have flecks of gold in them, glinting in the sunlight.
Her back is straight and her movements purposeful.
There’s something comforting about Rita’s presence.
She’s exactly the kind of neighbor I need.
Someone who cares about the house and can be sweet without coming across as overly nosy.
It’s clear she’s not just Sharon’s friend, but someone who cares deeply about this house and the people who might call it home.
I laugh at my own impulsiveness, but the worry starts to creep in. What if this leap is too big for me? It suddenly occurs to me I didn’t even ask how much the rent was. What if I can’t afford it? Man, first day on my own, and I’m already making stellar financial decisions.
I stand in the quiet house and hear Simon’s voice in my head, telling me he’d handle the money and I didn’t need to worry about such things. Looking back, I realize that was just one more way he kept me under his thumb. He had total financial control. God, I was so na?ve.
But I refuse to let thoughts of my soon-to-be ex-husband ruin my day.
This house is perfect, and I count myself lucky to have found it so quickly.
Things are falling into place almost too easily.
Am I being foolish to think I can really make it on my own?
I’m nearly twenty-six and have never lived alone.
I have no clue what the hell I’m doing, and yet I’m determined to try.
Simon’s negative words about my intelligence, and my stepfather’s constant insistence I can’t stand on my own two feet, be damned.
This is my chance to build a life for myself, prove I’m capable, and finally be happy. For the first time, I glimpse the possibility of growth, setbacks, and real independence. I’m ready to embrace every part of it.