Coming Home

by Lydia Michaels

  When there was a lull in the crowd, the waitress surprised her by sitting in the stool to her left and cutting into a fresh-baked pie. She sliced two sections into creamy triangles and served them up on small saucers, sliding one directly in front of Scout.

  “You look like you could use some pie.”

  Caught off guard by the generous offering, Scout stared. Her eyes went to the name tag clipped on the waitress’s blouse. It started with a B.

  “Go on. It’s on the house.”

  Instinctively, Scout hesitated. Food was something she was rarely treated to prior to Lucian. She smiled and reached for a fork. The pie melted like a cloud of heaven on her tongue. Chocolate.

  The waitress grinned and moaned as she took a bite of her own slice. “Good, right?”

  “It’s delicious.”

  “Thanks. I made it this morning. Girl’s gotta have chocolate. Best substitute for sex there is.”

  Scout laughed. “I should have a dozen then.”

  The waitress snickered. “You having men troubles?”

  Scout truly laughed. “Oh, you could say that. The trouble is I don’t want one.”

  The waitress nodded knowingly and bit into another forkful of chocolate heaven. “Don’t want one, but your heart says otherwise, I’m guessing.”

  “I’m not on speaking terms with my heart right now,” Scout admitted, scraping up the last bit of whipped chocolate from her plate.

  The waitress laughed. “I’m Barbara.”

  Scout smiled. “Scout.”

  “You looking for something particular in that paper? Been thumbing through it all morning.”

  She opened her mouth, but hesitated. “I’m trying to find an apartment.”

  Barbara glanced at the paper then, with halting progression, reached over and turned a few pages. “The apartment listings are here, hon, under the classifieds.” She met Scout’s gaze, a curious look in her eyes. Leaning close, she whispered, “Can you read, Scout?”

  Swallowing tightly, lips sealed, she shook her head. “Not much.”

  Barbara scooted closer and nodded. In a soft voice, she said, “Okay, well, here’s one that’s not too far. It’s a one–bedroom loft, rents for eight-fifty a month.”

  Scout’s breath shook on an exhalation as she nodded humbly.

  “And this one here’s a little less, but that isn’t in the greatest section of Folsom. It’s an efficiency. You pay utilities and the rent’s seven-twenty. Are you looking to be close to a certain area?”

  “I work at Clemons Market.”

  “I know where that is. Let’s see . . .” Barbara pulled the paper closer and dragged a painted fingernail down the typed column of listings. “Here we go. This one’s around there. Oh, and it rents for only six-fifty. Says it’s an efficiency. You pay utilities. There’s a number here. You got a phone?”

  “My phone broke.”

  Barbara glanced at the cook window, then reached over the counter, a cordless phone appearing in her hand. “Better let me make the call. My boss gets a bug up his ass whenever I let the customers use the phone.”

  Scout nodded and Barbara dialed, her fingers drumming over the Formica countertop as she waited. “Yes, hello, I’m calling about the apartment located at twenty-five South Knights Boulevard. . . .Mm-hm . . . No, just me . . . Today at two o’clock?” She glanced at Scout for conformation and whispered, “He can show it at two today.”

  Scout nodded.

  “That would be wonderful . . . my name’s Scout . . .” She looked to Scout questioningly.

  “Keats.”

  “Keats. Scout Keats, and I’ll see you at two. Thank you very much.” Barbara clicked off the phone and returned it to the other side of the counter. “There you go, hon.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Thank you!” she said in return. “I’m hoping some good karma will pay off tonight when they pull the Powerball.”

  “Well, I hope you win,” Scout said.

  “Me too. Mmm! What I could do with a couple hundred thousand.”

  Scout grinned. “What would you do?”

  “Oh, I’d buy this here diner and make it into the cutest little pie place Folsom’s ever seen. Get rid of my man and find someone who treats me nice, someone who really appreciates me for me. Maybe buy one of those fancy televisions.” She giggled. “Who knows?”

  Scout saved her comments. There was no point in letting her jaded opinions of the cost of frivolous luxuries taint this woman’s dreams. She hoped Barbara someday had her own pie place. Her pies deserved a good home.

  Taking out her money, she counted out a generous tip. “You buy yourself an extra ticket with this.”

  “Aw, you don’t have to do that, hon. That pie was my treat.”

  “I know. I want to. Take it as a thank-you for helping me find an apartment.”

  “Well, I hope it’s real nice for you.”

  ***

  Scout cooled her heels on South Knights Boulevard for twenty minutes waiting for the landlord to show, checking her cheap watch. She paced, hoping he hadn’t given the apartment to someone else.

  Like a gap-toothed grin, the Boulevard was made up of storefronts separated by cavernous alleys. Clemons was three blocks away, and Patras was over four miles distant. Scout liked the location for its practicality. Number twenty-five was an old building. The bottom floor was an office of some sort. At two thirty, a blue sedan finally pulled along the curb.

  “Ms. Keats?” The pudgy older man called as he climbed out of his car.

  Scout smiled. “Yes.”

  He bustled over and held out a hand. “Name’s Snyder. You ready to see the apartment?”

  Nodding, she followed him down the alley beside an office building. A nondescript brown door was the only interruption in the long brick wall. Mr. Snyder dug out a set of keys and, with a little elbow grease, got the door open.

  “I just had new paint and carpets put in.”

  The new fibers of the gray rug tickled her nose and tempted a sneeze as she followed him up a steep set of stairs. The landlord hunched a little once he made it to the top. The entrance was small.

  The ceilings were low. Mr. Snyder was short for a man, but seemed hunched in the squat apartment. Everything was painted a clinical shade of white. There was a small stove on a tiny patch of linoleum and a sink. No counters. The fridge seemed made for dwarves.

  Walking across the new carpet, Mr. Snyder opened a cheaply made wooden door, also painted hospital white. “This is the bathroom.”

  Tiny black and white tiles made up the space. There was a pedestal sink and a claw-foot tub. A dormer took the ceiling space over the tub from seven feet to about five. She wouldn’t be taking many showers there.

  “Over here’s a closet for your clothes.” It was more like a pantry.

  Her stomach sunk and then propelled somewhere behind her heart. She could afford this place. It wasn’t much, but it could actually be hers if she played her cards right.

  This was going to be her home. Her first home. She could make it her own and fill it with personal touches.

  Mr. Snyder’s cheeks flushed in a way that spoke of too many heavy meals and not enough light exercise. He ran a hand over his thinning hair. “What do you think? Utilities won’t be much here.”

  Her lungs released a pent-up breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. It seemed that breath had been held for twenty-three years. “I’ll take it.”

  “Great. All I need is the first and last months’ rent. I’ll take a check. You can move in today if you’d like. I have the lease here.” He handed her a long, yellow slip of paper with a pink carbon copy on the back.

  Paperwork.

  Taking the paper, she glanced over it. It was a lot of printed writing. For the first time she missed Parker. He always helped her with this sort
of thing. “Do you have a pen?”

  He handed her a blue pen. “Guess there isn’t really a place to write, being there’s no furniture. Tell you what. Why don’t you just write out your name there at the top of the lease and sign? I already filled in the numbers. I’ll do the rest when I get back to my office.”

  The literary gods must’ve been smiling on her that day. She carefully wrote her name, then signed the bottom, much like she’d signed her name at the bank. Finding her temporary checks, she pulled one out. She thought about what Lucian’s check had looked like.

  “The check’s for how much?”

  “Thirteen total. Then your next check will be due on the first of June. It’s a month-to-month lease, but it states you give me sixty days notice of intent to move. Electric’s already set up. The bill arrives on the fifteenth of the month. You can pick it up at the insurance office directly downstairs. Once I get the company a copy of the lease, your name will be added to the account. Cable and phone are your responsibility to set up.”

  Leaning against the stove, Scout drew the numbers 1300.00 in the box on the check and signed her name. Tearing the check from the others, she handed it to him. He frowned. “You forgot the rest, dear.”

  “Um . . .” She swallowed. “I . . .”

  He tilted his head. “You special?”

  She bristled. “No, I am not special. I . . . I hurt my hand yesterday. Would you mind filling out the rest?” Dickhead.

  “Oh, my apologies.”

  She scowled at him as he filled in the rest of the check. He turned and held out his hand. “Well, it was a pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Keats. Oh, before I forget. Here’s your key.”

  Her heart stuttered. Her key. She took the small piece of carved metal and squeezed it tight, its jagged edges a welcome pinch of reality in her palm. “Thank you.”

  After tearing the carbon copy from the lease, Mr. Snyder, her new landlord, handed it to her. “My office address is at the top. I charge a late fee after the fifth, so you want to have your check in the mail well before then. You have any trouble, you call my office.”

  After a few more instructions, like where to find the breaker box and thermostat, Mr. Snyder left and she stood alone in her apartment. It was surreal.

  Scout turned slowly in a circle and took in the space that was now her home. Her cheeks pulled as a grin slowly split her face, and suddenly she was jogging in place doing a happy dance and squealing like a child.

  She fell to the stiff carpet in a fit of giggles and held her stomach. “Home,” she whispered. “You have a home.”

  Chapter 4

  Indulgences

  The euphoria Scout experienced at having her own place to call home was unexpected and definitely welcome. When she finally dragged herself off the floor, she dug out her bank book and carefully wrote:

  Transaction

  Check

  /-

  Balance

  L.

  $35,000.00

  BANC

  -$300.00

  $34,700.00

  HOME

  0001

  -$1,300.00

  $33,400.00

  Tucking the checkbook back in her bag, she looked at her watch. She had two hundred and four dollars and thirty-six cents left after the motel and breakfast. Gazing around her home she considered the necessities she needed.

  She stood and opened the fridge. How incredible. The air that touched her hand was cold. She opened the freezer—also cold. Amazing! She ran to the bathroom and turned on the water. Beautiful, clear liquid flowed from the spigot. Cupping her hands, she drank a mouthful, laughing at the purity of the taste. Running water! In her bathroom!

  She flushed the toilet and spun in place. Her fingers flipped the switch as she watched the simple bulb behind the glass flicker with each click. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off.

  Her cheeks cramped as her smile refused to abate. Sighing, she turned and faced her living room slash bedroom. Decision made, she swept up her bag, dug out her key and nearly broke her neck as she rushed down the steps.

  Calm down, Keats. You want to be around to enjoy it.

  After locking the door, she exited the alley and headed toward Clemons. Her eyes snagged on the people in the insurance office below her apartment. Eventually she’d need to introduce herself to them.

  Her job was the perfect distance from her home. Every time she thought the word she beamed. She had a home!

  A few doors down from Clemons Market was a mattress store. She was getting herself a bed! As she approached the store, she took a deep breath. She’d never bought a big-ticket item, but this was definitely a dream worth pursuing.

  Scout pressed the glass door open and stepped into a showroom full of various white mattresses.

  “Can I help you find something?”

  Scout jumped. Where the hell did that guy come from? He wore a brown suit with a yellow shirt and brown tie. He must work there. “I want to buy a bed.”

  He smirked, as though they were old friends, which automatically made her uncomfortable. Oh, well. She was getting a bed and this was the only bed store she knew of.

  “Well, you came to the right place. Name’s Sal. What kind of bed are you looking for?”

  “Um, the kind you sleep on. Do you guys deliver?”

  “Yes. Thursday’s one of our delivery days, so you’re in luck if you were hoping to get it today. Will you be shopping for a mattress and box spring as well?”

  Yes, mattress, that’s what she meant. “What’s a box spring?”

  “Box spring’s the support piece under the mattress.” He pointed to the bed closest to them and lifted the plush mattress to show her the box spring. It looked like a mattress, but wasn’t cushioned.

  “What does it do?”

  Salesman Sal’s brow creased. “It lifts the mattress, offers more support. You don’t want to put a mattress on the frame.”

  “Frame?”

  “The metal support.” He pointed to the brown metal beams that raised the mattress and box spring off the ground.

  “Oh, yes, I’d also like a box spring.” Her days of sleeping low to the ground were over.

  “What size were you hoping for?”

  “Um, square and a one-person.”

  He frowned and laughed in a way that was insulting. “Well, they’re all square, dear. Let me show you our twins.”

  “It’s just for one person,” she explained.

  “Right. That’s a twin.”

  Oh.

  They walked to the far left of the showroom. Several narrow, one-person beds were lined up on the wall. “This is a good brand, one of our best sellers. Go ahead. Try it out.”

  Eyeing him skeptically, she looked at the bed. Pockets of white curved up in firm diamond shaped clouds, neatly sectioned off with ivory stitching. Cautiously, she stepped closer and sat on the edge. It was firm.

  “Go ahead. Lay down. Get comfortable.”

  Her brow tightened and, with shifting movements, she scooted more on the bed. As she eased back, she was very aware of her breasts pressing into her shirt and Sal observing her. It was impossible to get comfortable with him hovering over her. She sat up. Anything was better than the floor.

  “How much is it?” she asked.

  He looked at the tag she hadn’t noticed tacked to the side. “This one’s four ninety-nine.”

  “Four ninety-nine? As in four hundred and ninety-nine dollars?” She nearly spit.

  “It’s a memory foam. You’re talking about one hundred and eighty degrees of spri
ng and three hundred and sixty degrees of comfort.”

  She stepped away from the bed. “I’m looking for something a little more affordable.”

  Sal stepped to the right. “Well, this here’s a notable brand. It’s a traditional spring.”

  She looked for the tag. It was two hundred and ninety-nine dollars. Her stomach sunk. Scowling, she marched down the line, flicking up each tag until she found one that was in her price range. She sat on the edge of the mattress and bounced. This one wasn’t cut in with white stuffed diamond shapes, but it had nice blue ticking. It was firm and squeaked as she bounced.

  The salesman approached with a regretful expression. “I don’t think you want that one, sweetheart. You’ll be spending the difference on visits to the chiropractor. That there’s a backbreaker.”

  Lips pursed, she met his gaze challengingly. “Do you make a commission?”

  His mouth opened as he gathered his words. “Well, yes, but I’m more concerned with your comfort than making a sale.”

  “I’m sure you are,” she mumbled, standing to examine the box spring. “How much is this?”

  He sighed. “That box spring’s fifty five. Can I show you a better model? It’s only a little more. I’d hate to see you throw away your money on a mattress you aren’t happy with.”

  Scout faced him. “Sal—it is Sal, isn’t it?” He nodded. “Well, Sal, I’m sure the mattress isn’t as bad as you say. A man like you wouldn’t have shoddy merchandise in his store.”

  He blustered. “Well, now, I wouldn’t call it shoddy—”

  “But you’d call it a backbreaker?”

  “I only meant there are better—”

  “Right. I know what you meant. This mattress will do just fine.”

  His lips formed a thin line. “Our store has a non refundable policy—”

  “That’s fine. When can I have it delivered?”

  His eyes narrowed and he sighed. Lifting the clipboard he held, his pudgy fingers flipped a few pages. “Where’s it going?”

  “Only a few blocks from here, South Knights Boulevard.”