wasn’t, Lissy certainly thought she looked it. “We’ll have our-selves a nice, long catch-up once you’re rested.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” Remember, Tory told herself, this is just the type of customer you need. “I ran into Wade just a few minutes ago. He mentioned the house—my old house—might be available to rent.”
“Why, it sure is. The Lavelle tenants moved on just a couple weeks back. But, honey, you don’t want to live way out there, now, do you? We’ve got some nice apartments right here in town. River Terrace has everything a single girl could want, including single men,” she added with a sly wink. “Modern fixtures, wall-to-wall carpet. We’ve got us a garden unit available that’s just lovely.”
“I’m not interested in an apartment. I’d enjoy being out in the country a ways. What’s the rent?”
“I’ll just look that up for you.” She knew it, of course. Lissy’s mind was much sharper than people expected. She preferred it that way. She shifted her chair, fumbled with the keyboard of her computer a bit for form. “I swear, I’ll never get the hang of these things. You know that’s a two-bedroom, one-bath frame construction.”
“Yes, I know.”
Scanning the screen, Lissy tossed off the monthly rent. “Now, that’s a good fifteen-, twenty-minute drive from town. This sweet little apartment I was telling you about’s no more’n a ten-minute walk on a pretty day.”
“I’ll take the house.”
Lissy glanced up, blinked. “Take it? Don’t you want to run out and see it first?”
“I have seen it. I’ll write out a check. First and last month’s rent?”
“Yes.” Lissy shrugged. “Just let me print out the rental agreement.”
Less than thirty seconds after the deal was signed and sealed and Tory walked out with the keys, Lissy was on the phone spreading the word.
This, too, had changed. The house stood as it had always stood, back from a narrow dirt lane a short spit from the swamp. Fields spread on its west side, the tender shoots of cotton already sprung up out of the earth, their rows neat as docile schoolchildren. But someone had planted azaleas in pink and white, and a young magnolia tree near the bedroom window.
She remembered the screens going rusty, and the white paint going gray. But someone had taken care here. The windows sparkled, and the paint was a fresh and soft blue. A front porch had been added, wide enough for the rocking chair that stood alongside the door.
It was almost welcoming.
Her pulse beat dull and thick as she walked toward it. There would be ghosts, but ghosts were why she’d come back. Wasn’t it better to face them all?
The keys rattled in her hand.
The screen door squeaked. She told herself it was a homey sound. A friendly screen door should squeak, and it should slam.
Bracing it open, she fit the key in the lock, turned it. She took one deep breath before stepping inside.
She saw the ragged couch with its faded roses, the old console TV, the frayed braided rug. Dull yellow walls with no pictures to brighten the space. The smell of overcooked greens and Lysol.
Tory! You get in here and clean yourself up this minute. Didn’t I tell you I wanted this table set for supper before your daddy gets home?
Then the image winked away, and she stood in an empty room. The walls were painted cream, a plain but serviceable color. The floors were bare but clean. The air carried the faint scent of paint and polish, more efficient than offensive.
She stepped through to the kitchen.
The counters had been redone in a neutral stone gray, and the cabinets painted white. The stove was new—or newer than the one her mother had sweated over. The window over the sink looked out to the swamp, as it always had. Lush and green and secret.
Gathering her courage, she turned and headed toward her old bedroom.
Had it always been so small? she wondered. Barely big enough to swing a cat in, she decided, though it had been large enough
“I’ll look forward to it.” Remember, Tory told herself, this is just the type of customer you need. “I ran into Wade just a few minutes ago. He mentioned the house—my old house—might be available to rent.”
“Why, it sure is. The Lavelle tenants moved on just a couple weeks back. But, honey, you don’t want to live way out there, now, do you? We’ve got some nice apartments right here in town. River Terrace has everything a single girl could want, including single men,” she added with a sly wink. “Modern fixtures, wall-to-wall carpet. We’ve got us a garden unit available that’s just lovely.”
“I’m not interested in an apartment. I’d enjoy being out in the country a ways. What’s the rent?”
“I’ll just look that up for you.” She knew it, of course. Lissy’s mind was much sharper than people expected. She preferred it that way. She shifted her chair, fumbled with the keyboard of her computer a bit for form. “I swear, I’ll never get the hang of these things. You know that’s a two-bedroom, one-bath frame construction.”
“Yes, I know.”
Scanning the screen, Lissy tossed off the monthly rent. “Now, that’s a good fifteen-, twenty-minute drive from town. This sweet little apartment I was telling you about’s no more’n a ten-minute walk on a pretty day.”
“I’ll take the house.”
Lissy glanced up, blinked. “Take it? Don’t you want to run out and see it first?”
“I have seen it. I’ll write out a check. First and last month’s rent?”
“Yes.” Lissy shrugged. “Just let me print out the rental agreement.”
Less than thirty seconds after the deal was signed and sealed and Tory walked out with the keys, Lissy was on the phone spreading the word.
This, too, had changed. The house stood as it had always stood, back from a narrow dirt lane a short spit from the swamp. Fields spread on its west side, the tender shoots of cotton already sprung up out of the earth, their rows neat as docile schoolchildren. But someone had planted azaleas in pink and white, and a young magnolia tree near the bedroom window.
She remembered the screens going rusty, and the white paint going gray. But someone had taken care here. The windows sparkled, and the paint was a fresh and soft blue. A front porch had been added, wide enough for the rocking chair that stood alongside the door.
It was almost welcoming.
Her pulse beat dull and thick as she walked toward it. There would be ghosts, but ghosts were why she’d come back. Wasn’t it better to face them all?
The keys rattled in her hand.
The screen door squeaked. She told herself it was a homey sound. A friendly screen door should squeak, and it should slam.
Bracing it open, she fit the key in the lock, turned it. She took one deep breath before stepping inside.
She saw the ragged couch with its faded roses, the old console TV, the frayed braided rug. Dull yellow walls with no pictures to brighten the space. The smell of overcooked greens and Lysol.
Tory! You get in here and clean yourself up this minute. Didn’t I tell you I wanted this table set for supper before your daddy gets home?
Then the image winked away, and she stood in an empty room. The walls were painted cream, a plain but serviceable color. The floors were bare but clean. The air carried the faint scent of paint and polish, more efficient than offensive.
She stepped through to the kitchen.
The counters had been redone in a neutral stone gray, and the cabinets painted white. The stove was new—or newer than the one her mother had sweated over. The window over the sink looked out to the swamp, as it always had. Lush and green and secret.
Gathering her courage, she turned and headed toward her old bedroom.
Had it always been so small? she wondered. Barely big enough to swing a cat in, she decided, though it had been large enough
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