Home for a Spell (4 page)

The two of us were silent, contemplating the possibilities. Conjuring possibilities. Any possibilities.

Any at all.

“Well,” Steff said with a little hesitation in her voice, “there is always your mom and dad as a last resort?”

Eek. Banish the thought! My mother would love only too much to have me come crawling back home after turning my nose up at the offer a month ago. “Could we save that option for the last possible of all possible fallback plans?”

And because she was my best friend, I didn’t even have to explain. “Forget I mentioned it.”

Any possibilities at all . . .

Another thought struck me, just then. “You’re not going to be living upstairs anymore.”

“Oh.” Steff’s voice was extra quiet. “No, I’m not.”

This was, truly, the end of an epoch.

And then, contemplatively, “You’re not going to be living upstairs anymore . . .”

“Yes, we’ve already established that, Mags.”

“No,” I said, getting excited, “what I mean is . . . this is the end of an era.”

“That’s right. Just poke that arrow in farther and turn it a little harder to the left there. Sheesh.”

I laughed. “No, what I mean is, maybe, just maybe, it’s time for me to embrace change. Not fight it.”

“Do explain.”

“Well. Instead of looking at this as a problem, maybe I should be looking at it as a good time to make some other changes in my life as well. Like . . . maybe moving into a new apartment. One that isn’t in a basement. Maybe you moving out is actually a cosmic sign that I need to pay attention to.”

“I . . . well, I guess you could look at it that way, sure.”

“I mean it,” I said, seriously warming up to the idea. “It’s not like I have a lease to worry about, since our landlord is old school. Maybe I should be looking at this as the opportunity it is to get out there and look. Think about it. A different apartment, one without stairs, would mean I could at least take care of myself for the most part. Without a keeper. Well, except for getting back and forth to work. That might take a little thinking.” Hm. “And maybe this is just the kick start I need. I mean, looking back at my life, it’s only in the last year that I’ve been digging myself out of the rut that was my life. Maybe this is meant to be. Fate. Kismet.”

Steff laughed. “Well, I’ll let you get back to that, Kismet Girl. I’m actually supposed to be getting ready for work, so I’ll talk to you
lataaaah
.”

Kismet Girl. I liked that. Kind of like Wonder Woman, except without the unforgiving costume.

Energized into action by the possibilities I sensed opening up in front of me, the first thing I did upon hanging up was clump around the counter to where my laptop was resting, opened and logged in, next to the cash register. The two customers who had been milling around had just left without a purchase, so I was free and clear until the brass bells on the front door rang again to alert me to our next customer of the day. I pulled up the local Craigslist site to search for all apartment rentals. The list was, I must say, a disappointment. Granted, Stony Mill was a small town and limited in rental properties, but I had been hopeful to find more than the paltry few entries the search pulled up. None of which suited my needs. Darn. I even searched on homes for rent, knowing before the search yielded results that the two homes that appeared in ad form would be priced way out of my league. Nothing. Nothing affordable, that is. And then, just in case someone had gone old school, I dug yesterday’s newspaper classified section out of the recycling bin and spread it out wide to catch the light. It was the same as the Craigslist offerings. So unless I wanted to rent a space at the local Jellystone campground and pitch a tent, there just didn’t seem to be anything out there for me.

Double darn.

Maybe tonight’s newspaper would be better. Or maybe I’d take Liss’s way out of things and try a simple Finding and Summoning Spell. Put the energies of the universe at work for me.

Sighing in momentary defeat, I went back to the laptop and pulled up my email account, looking for distraction. And there, between the advertisements from my favorite retail establishments, churchy forwards from my mom’s ladies’ auxiliary group (
gosh, I wonder how they got my email address; it’s a mystery
. . . ), a joke video featuring two dancing squirrels who may or may not have been putting the moves on, and a couple of rogue emails hawking a certain little blue pill that had somehow made it through my spam filter, there was an email from Uncle Lou, sent just this morning. Curious, I clicked on it.

I replied back to say of course I would let Marcus know . . . and as an afterthought asked whether by some odd chance Lou or Molly might know of any ground-level apartments or single-story homes for rent in the area. To spark his interest, I explained that I wasn’t comfortable with Marcus putting off his return to school for the semester because of me because I felt it was really important to him, and that perhaps if I could secure housing that was both affordable and workable around my broken ankle, then maybe I could convince him to keep on target with his plans. I wasn’t expecting much, but I figured, what the heck as I fired it off.

I certainly wasn’t expecting a reply less than ten minutes later.

Could that be right? Why wouldn’t the rentals have been listed in the newspaper? I could scarcely believe my luck. Instead of responding by email, I texted back quickly, just in case he had logged off, that it sounded great and I would be waiting to hear. “Liss?” I called out.

She appeared suddenly, pulling aside the deep purple velvet curtain that separated the storefront from the office in back. “You rang, ducks?”

“Would you mind if I left early to see an apartment this afternoon? I could come back afterward to make up my time.”

“Pshh,”
she said with a wave of her hand. “Of course I don’t mind, and there’s no need to make up any time. After all the extra hours you’ve put in this year? I’m fully aware that I am lucky to have you, and I am not one to look my good fortune in the eye. Did you find something, then?”

“I’m not sure. I hope so.” If I had, it would certainly be a definitive example of kismet. One for the books, even. I told her about Lou’s timely email. “I’m just waiting to hear back from him—” Right on cue, my cell phone vibrated like a hive full of distressed bees on the antique wooden countertop.
“Ooh
.
”
I grabbed it. The display panel on the front read
Uncle Lou.
Excited, I flipped it open and lifted it to my ear. “Hiya! So, what’s the verdict? Did he have anything? No biggie if he didn’t, I’m probably getting ahead of myself here. I know these things don’t grow on trees around these parts, and—”

“Uh, Maggie? Can I cut in here a minute? Because I have two minutes to get to my last class of the day.”

Heh.
Verbal incontinence again. Oops. “Sure.”

“My guy—Rob Locke—he says he does have something that might work for you. Should I stop by, pick you up, let you take a look-see?”

“Yes, please,” I said, trying to be concise. For his sake. “If you don’t mind.”

“No trouble at all. School lets out at three-oh-five. I need to take care of a couple small things, but I should be down your way before four.”

“Great, see you then!” Maybe it wasn’t time to back down quite yet after all.

 

 

Liss promised to cat-sit Minnie for the evening so that I didn’t have to worry about dragging her around town, and it was a good thing, too, since Big Lou happened to own one of the miniature ecofriendly cars that looked like it might be comfortable for seating a hobbit. I quickly disguised the skepticism that made my brow shoot straight up as I considered whether such a miniscule vehicle could possibly have room enough for one barrel-chested Irish American, let alone one big man, one medium-sized woman, and a massively large, brilliantly yellow fiberglass cast. Adding a cat into the mix, even in a soft-sided carrier, was bound to be trouble. I gave Minnie a kiss between the ears and a back scratch, telling her I’d see her later. The twitch of her black tail as she turned and presented her behind to me before nonchalantly padding away told me just how concerned she was.

An old-fashioned kind of guy, Lou helped me into the small car—that must be where Marcus got the endearing habit—and within moments we were off, tootling across town in our goofy-looking chariot, making small talk that was just a little on the uncomfortable side of things because we had never been one-on-one together before today. It wasn’t as awkward as I had feared, though. Get Lou talking on all things high school, and there was no opportunity for embarrassing silences. Quite handy, that trait.

The apartment complex proved to be in the older, southern end of town, over the Bolander bridge and south of the river. In fact, it was no more than five blocks from Marcus’s little Craftsman bungalow. It was an older complex, seventies-tastic in so-called architectural style, a typical two-up, two-down with exposed central stairs and a faux brick front. Maybe the age of the building should have scared me. It didn’t. For one thing, Lou had said something about the place being remodeled and ready for new tenants, so it was worth my time to take a look at it. And besides, Stony Mill didn’t have a whole lot of options. Beggars could not be choosers. Unless I wanted to move out of this town and to the city, which would tack on more than an additional hour of driving time each day, plus gas and wear and tear on my old VW Bug, Christine—which wouldn’t even work until this cast came off my leg anyway, which kind of made the urgency of the plan a moot point—or unless I wanted to pay a premium for the few up-to-date condos listed on Craigslist, then I would be smart to keep my worries to myself at least until I’d had a chance to see the place firsthand.

Lou toured the parking lot in front of the row of apartment buildings so that I could see the lay of the land, then pulled up into the drive along the side road, where the office shared a backyard with the first apartment.

Gentleman that he was, Lou helped me out of the car, and it was a good thing, too—sliding down off the bench seat in Marcus’s truck was different from rising from a tiny car that rode only a foot off the ground. I was grateful for the hand up.

“Why don’t we head up to the office first?” he suggested.

A sign pointed the way for us. The sidewalks weren’t pristine, but they weren’t yet too pitted and gouged by the weather extremes that plagued Indiana from season to season. The office door had an “Open” sign stuck to the window. Lou opened the door for me, and as soon as I put one crutch over the threshold a chime sounded loudly. Surprised, I pulled my crutch back, then tentatively set it down again.
Ding-dong, ding-dong . . .

Lou pointed to a red light inside the door frame. “Infrared scanner. Nifty. I need one of those for my dog door.”

The office appeared to be empty, so Lou and I entered and stood in the center of the lobby, gazing at our surroundings. The space was fairly spartan. A single desk stood in the open room, opposed by two utilitarian chairs. Another seating area had been created by the placement of a small loveseat and cheap-looking coffee table with the requisite magazines spread over its tired surface in front of a fake fireplace to our right. The lobby also boasted a pair of windows on the opposite wall that opened onto a grassy yard behind the first of the five apartment houses. The room was rectangular, smallish, with another boxy enclosure cutting into the space, the wall of which was broken by two interior doors.

In other words, it was just your typical everyday office. Boxy, lifeless, utilitarian. I hoped it wasn’t indicative of the apartments themselves.

“Hello, hello!” Lou called, not one to mince words or gestures. “Anyone home?”

My ears picked up sounds of movement, like shuffling or shifting, and then a thud and a muffled curse. I saw a shadow cross the band of faint light coming from beneath the farthest door along the inner wall. After what seemed like forever, but was probably no more than a minute or so, the door was yanked open and out came a youngish man, probably no more than thirty-five, wearing—or should I say straightening—what amounted to casual business dress of khaki pants, a cotton button-down shirt (
whoops, someone missed one; thank goodness for undershirts
) that stretched somewhat unattractively over a pudgy middle, and a tie that he was in the process of straightening. I noticed his belt was only mostly fastened, too, and I had the sneaking suspicion we had interrupted him. Um . . . how embarrassing. Leave it to me to arrive for an appointment while the man was in the bathroom.