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So I set to making my sister a sandwich, knowing that I’ll go home to an empty and quiet home with no complications at the end of the day.
5
AUGUST
Soft chenille rubs under my fingertips as I hang my favorite cardigan up in the guest room closet of Alana’s house.
There’s something strange about staying in the room Alana and Warren slept in as a newly married couple, even if they’ve been long gone from this house and the bedding has definitely been cleaned. It would almost be like staying in my parent’s room if I’d had the traditional type of family, so I chose the perfectly nice guest room down the hall.
After Warren gave me the keys, I didn’t hesitate to grab my duffel and head out from Hope Pizza, back to my car packed high with every worldly belonging I own. I suppose I now own everything in my mother’s house, but that’s a headache to sort through on another day. Today, I want to get settled and feel like I have some semblance of balance and normalcy. Thus, why I’m sitting in a closet hanging my meager belongings long after the sun has gone down over the Delaware River.
Stocking the house with groceries, following up on some job-related emails, and lugging the suitcases and bins from my trunk into the house were first on the agenda. After getting all of that situated, I unpacked my clothes so it didn’t feel quite like I was a nomad living out of bags.
Next on the list? Probably bed. But if sleep is unachievable, considering it’s already midnight, and I know the minute I set my head on the pillow, my thoughts will start attacking me, then I have some emergency gummy worms downstairs calling my name.
Thinking about my mother’s will and all the things I’ll have to figuratively put to bed before I leave Hope Crest again is the thing I’m trying to avoid most. I’ve been here about twenty-four hours at this point, and I need a full forty-eight hours sleep and a good bath before I can even tackle that. Considering I’ve been nonstop studying and working for four years straight, maybe it’s nice that I’ll get a little reprieve where I don’t have to push so hard.
With all my hanging clothes in the closet, I decide to call it a night. Except, just as I go to turn the closet light off, I hear the lock of the front door jingle downstairs.
The creak of the door has the hair on my arms standing up, and the thud of a footstep in the hardwood foyer throttles my heart right into my throat.
Holy shit, Alana’s place is getting robbed.
If Alana and Warren were coming over, they would have called. Any of the Ashtons would. Considering it’s well past a normal hour to go to sleep, none of them would just drop by unexpected. Which means …
Another thud of footsteps and I nearly jump, slapping a hand over my mouth to keep from panting with fear so that the killer, robber, whoever the hell is here doesn’t know I’m also in the house. The only things I’m sure of is that someone is here, they weren’t invited, and they probably think this house is empty, seeing as it has been for so long.
Maybe I should stay hidden up here. Maybe they’ll just take what they came for and go away. Except, every horror film or true crime story I’ve ever seen or read about indicates that not staying put is the better option of the two. Movement means you’re still living, and as long as you’re sedentary, there is a bigger chance something or someone is going to catch you.
So, what’s my plan? My eyes flick around the guest bedroom, the door wide open to the hall. Unfortunately, jumping out the window in here means I’ll probably break a leg or two, seeing as there isn’t shrubbery underneath it. The only way out is down, out the front door, if I can make a break for it.
The most dangerous thing in sight is my curling iron. It’s the only weapon-shaped object on the second floor with me and would be more lethal if it was burning hot, but alas, I haven’t even plugged it in today. Nevertheless, as I hear more creaks of footsteps below me, I grab it and wrap the cord around my arm.
My heart is beating wildly, sweat dripping in between my boobs, my whole body vibrating with fear as I walk gingerly down the upstairs hallway.
Creeping down the stairs, I hold the curling iron in my hand like a lifesaver, as if it will do any damage if I go up against a burglar. Cautiously, I tread, careful not to make a sound. The front door is in sight, my freedom and a call to the police so close I can taste it. I’m not here to fight anyone; I just want to get out, and then I can dash to report a crime.
“Hello?”
A voice says this at the exact same time I jump around the corner, brandishing my curling iron and letting loose a blood-curdling scream.
I’m an instant away from striking the owner of the voice, my whole body poised for attack, my mind riddled with hysteria that I’m actually in this position when I realize who is standing in front of me.
“August!” Evan Ashton looks bewildered at my battle stance or maybe that I’m here in the first place.
“Evan!” I’m just as surprised; shock replacing the fear in my system and making me feel weak with whiplash.
“Were you planning to clobber me with a … hair tool?” Confusion flits over his face.
Lowering the curling iron that I realize I’m still wielding over my head, I explain. “I thought you were a burglar. I mean, it is midnight and I’m in a strange house that I was told was going to be mine and mine alone. I don’t know, it was the closest thing that resembled a weapon I could grab fastest.”
Evan looks around the cozy first floor of Alana’s old house and rubs his jaw. I realize he probably just got out of the kitchen after dinner shift and cleanup.
“Wait, did you say you thought you’d have this place to yourself?”
I nod. “Warren offered it to me while I’m in town. They don’t have renters right now, and I can’t stay …” I don’t feel like explaining my mommy issues to Evan. “Anyway, yeah, I’m living here until I leave town.”
He cocks his head to the side, light brown curls moving with the incline. “Um … Alana told me I could stay here until I find my own place.”
