Chapter One #3
A tear tried to burn its way into the open, but she refused. There was work to be done, and she only had the U-Haul for one day.
After taking a deep breath to calm her hammering heart, she rushed back down the steps and out to her car to retrieve her cleaning supplies.
Within about two hours, she had every floor in the house swept, mopped, and clean enough so she could start moving boxes and furniture inside.
Tiny flyaway hairs escaped her braid, and sweat that dotted her forehead occasionally stung at the corners of her eyes, but she didn’t feel the need for a break just yet.
The U-Haul was packed in such a way that everything that would go upstairs was crammed toward the back and the first boxes to come out belonged to the kitchen and bathrooms. Using the hand truck she had rented from the moving company, she loaded up the first trip and forced the nearly flat tires to roll down the uneven pathway.
Just as she was about to wonder how to properly ease the load up the porch steps, she heard a voice from the house to the left. She turned and spotted a couple walking toward her.
Neighbors. In all her plans, she hadn’t really accounted for the fact that she would have neighbors.
In her tiny studio apartment, the people who lived on her level never spoke a word to her, not in all the years she had lived there.
They avoided her, and she avoided them, not because she wanted to be rude, but because she never saw a reason to get too attached.
Many of the tenants were gone in less than six months, only to be replaced by a new family or college student.
It had never occurred to her that she’d have permanent neighbors that she’d have to talk to on a regular basis.
The couple looked to be a handful of years older than herself.
The man was insanely tall, well over six foot.
His dark, curly hair was just long enough to be tossed about in the breeze, and his deep coffee-colored eyes held a kind of intensity that unsettled her.
The woman beside him, presumably his wife or girlfriend, was significantly shorter and exuded soft gentleness in the way her blue eyes smiled at their new neighbor.
Given her mixed perception of them, she was unsure if she’d be in for a pleasant conversation or a harsh lecture about “the way things are” on Crescent Lane.
“Do you need any help?” the lady called out as she shielded her eyes from the sun.
At first, Erica wanted to say that she had it covered, but one look at the man’s hefty biceps made her rethink that. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”
The man gave a deep, hearty laugh that seemed to vibrate the very air between them. “It’s no trouble. We thought you were only coming to clean up the house until you pulled out that hand truck.”
She stopped her efforts as the couple made their way through the gate and up the walkway. Had they been watching her from their window the whole time?
“My name’s Tracy Brunson, and this is my husband, Burt.” The woman held out her slender hand.
“Erica Barrett,” she replied with a confident smile and returned the handshake. “I just signed the closing papers this morning.”
Tracy’s eyes lit up. “You’re going to live here now?”
She gave a humble shrug. “That’s the plan.”
Without being told, Burt eased his way around to take the hand truck from Erica. Slightly startled by the way he took command of her things, she tripped over her own feet trying to get out of the way. Burt hauled the boxes up the porch steps with baffling ease and left the women on the lawn.
Erica had spent her entire life never having to rely on a man for anything.
She opened her own doors, paid her own bills, and even loaded the U-Haul by herself, only requesting help from a former co-worker for the big furniture.
Her sofa and mattress would have proven to be one hell of a trip from the trailer to the house, but she figured she would manage somehow.
To have Burt’s help should have been a relief, but she only felt uneasy and useless as she watched him do all the heavy lifting.
Be thankful he’s willing to help to begin with, she told herself.
“I’m so glad someone finally bought this place,” Tracy said. “We’ve been watching it get worse and worse over the last several months. Burt didn’t think it would ever happen. The house has charm, but we noticed no real estate agent ever stopped by with a potential buyer.”
Erica tried not to stare as Burt unloaded the boxes from the hand truck in the foyer with such little effort. “No, I hadn’t seen the house before today.”
Tracy’s eyes went wide. “You just went off the pictures from the online listing?”
Erica smiled a little sheepishly. “Actually, I never took a good look at the online pictures.”
“Where are these going?” Burt called out from the foyer.
Erica peered up to catch the black permanent marker scrawled across the side of the box he pointed to. “That’s kitchen stuff. Straight down to the right.”
He gave a nod and shocked Erica as he lifted the box of pots and pans so smoothly. The metal clinked together as he adjusted his grip, and she wondered if the bottom would fall out before he made it to the kitchen. His arms certainly wouldn’t.
“How did you know you wanted the house without ever seeing it?”
For what seemed like the hundredth time, Erica told her story of how she and her mother had idolized this house ever since she was a little girl and vowed one day to own it.
They drove all the way from Decatur whenever her mother had a particularly stressful day, just to look at the house and spend some time by Jade Lake.
It gave them both the chance to get away from their problems and struggles, just for a little while, and this house seemed to give them some measure of hope for the future every time.
Of course, she left out the part about the inheritance and the profits from selling everything her mother owned, which she used to pay for a significant portion of the asking price.
That would spark a flood of questions that she wasn’t ready to answer again.
Burt came out of the house with an empty hand truck when Tracy exclaimed, “That’s an amazing story! I don’t think the house could have gone to anyone better. You’ll certainly take good care of it.”
Erica turned up to gaze at the sharp gables of the upper story to hide the way her cheeks flushed the tiniest shade of embarrassing pink. “I hope so. I’ve been researching all about Victorian homes, so I know the kind of maintenance it’ll need.”
“Oh, you know who would be a great help with that—”
“I hate to interrupt,” Burt cut in, “but what boxes need to go next?”
Erica led them both to the back of the U-Haul, and Tracy continued, “Your other neighbor, Mr. Beaumont. He’s a genius when it comes to old things. He could probably help you if you need it.”
In her head, she abhorred the idea. If she needed help, she could just look it up.
There was no need to get someone else involved in taking care of her own home unless it was way out of her league.
If her mom managed to take care of business without Google or a man to help around the house, then Erica wouldn’t need anyone either.
“Good to know,” she replied politely. She pointed out which boxes needed to be dropped off at the foot of the stairs and then proceeded to grab a few to set on the hand truck.
“Why not just carry them up?” Burt asked as he reached for the box labeled for the bathroom.
“Well, I thought I’d unload everything first and then distribute the boxes across the house.”
They didn’t even know one another, but Burt gave her a reprimanding look as if to say that he didn’t think that was smart at all, and she was nothing but a silly woman. Tracy must have seen this look and scolded him for it before Erica could defend herself.
“It’s her stuff and she can do what she wants with it,” his wife said, her dark brows pinching together. “You just do what you’re told.” Tracy gave Erica a teasing wink.
Burt rolled his eyes and gave a heavy, exaggerated sigh. “Fine, woman.”
As he passed, Tracy gave his rump a playful slap for the remark, and he returned with a chuckle that defused the moment. It was almost comical the way this petite blonde could order a burly man about so easily. They must have had an understanding relationship to tolerate that kind of banter.
Erica glanced at her opposite neighbor on the corner of Crescent Lane and Highland Road.
She had barely paid any mind to the home before.
Though also of the Victorian era, the house appeared smaller than her own and was painted a dark green.
The porch wrapped around all sides, and unlike hers, had no turret on the corner, and the new asphalt shingles were nearly black.
It had a masculine, bold quality in its lines and architectural features that seemed so different from her home.
A tall, sheltering elm tree in its front yard gave the house an all-over dark and slightly foreboding impression as if it were the setting of a horror movie.
She wasn’t sure she’d ever go and ask for Mr. Beaumont’s help, but she was certainly curious about what kind of a neighbor he would be.
In truth, she was curious about the entire town.
She hadn’t visited in recent years and knew of few places to go.
Jade Lake was on the top of her list, of course, but she thought she’d seen a little theater down on First Street, and there were plenty of shops around the town square.
If everyone in Tolstone was as friendly as Julia, Tracy, and Burt, then Erica knew she had arrived home in more ways than one.