Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
My heart’s steadier now as the cottage problem becomes more manageable. I swing off the horse, and one of the stable hands grabs the reins, mumbling some greeting or platitude I don’t quite catch. I nod vaguely and stalk inside, the echo of my steps bouncing off the high ceilings.
She’s nothing—a glitch, a fly I’ll swat.
In my mind’s eye, I see her again—coughing in that dust-trap, snapping at me like a little blue-eyed dragon—a hot spike of lust sizzles through my body. I shove it down fast. Doesn’t matter. I’ll be killing two birds with one stone. Either way, she’s toast, and that property is mine.
It’s a done job.
Chapter
Seven
LAUREN
“Why didn’t you tell me grandma was a hoarder?”
My mother’s face looks back at me from my phone screen with surprise. “Because she wasn’t. In fact, she was obsessively neat and tidy. She’d go crazy if we didn’t put everything back exactly where we found it.”
I turn the camera around and hear my mother gulp in disbelief as she takes in one wall of the cottage. More sounds of amazement and shock emit from her as I pan the camera around the cluttered room.
“My goodness, Lauren,” she gasps in a horrified whisper when I put the camera back to selfie mode. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Yeah, well, looks like grandma died a broken woman,” I say quietly.
“She had a choice. All she had to do was pick up the phone.”
“I guess she was too proud to.”
“Well, what are you going to do? You obviously can’t stay there. Will you sell up and come back?”
“No, I’m not selling up.”
Mom frowns. “What? You can’t stay there. That place looks like it has black mold at the very least. I bet there are rats in the kitchen.”
I cringe at the thought of sharing a home with vermin. Their black beady eyes always gave me the creeps. “Actually, the air is pretty dry so there shouldn’t be any black mold, and there have been no noises coming from the kitchen. If I find rats, I’ll get a cat, but I promise, it looks worse than it is, Mom. It’s just piled high with junk. I’ll hire one of those things they call skips here in England and chuck everything into it.”
“Honey, what’s in that house is going to take more than a couple of skips to get rid of. That looks like decades’ worth of clutter there. It’s going to take many months if not years to clear out. Surely you can see that.”
“Yeah, I know that and I’m prepared to do it.”
“But what money will you live on? You can’t work there.”
“Well, I can’t work yet, but I could get some sort of work visa based on the fact that I am partly British.”
“That’s ridiculous. What kind of job are you going to get in a tiny village called Hawk’s End for heaven’s sake?”
“I don’t know yet,” I concede.
“What kind of answer is that?” my mother pounces.
“Look, it’s true that Hawk’s End is a tiny village, but less than an hour away is a popular market town. I drove through it and it has everything, even a very large supermarket. People come from all over England on Sundays to buy honey, cheese, jams, fruit and vegetables sourced from the nearby farms, as well as all kinds of locally made stuff. Who knows? I might bake my famous blueberry muffins or my sweet potato pies and sell them on market days.”
My mother sighs wearily. “This is all starting to sound very impractical and a bit flighty, if you ask me.”
“I gotta go, Mom. Sandy is trying to get through.”
Mom looks at me unhappily. “Okay, but this conversation is not over.”
“Bye, Mom. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
I end the call, put the phone on the ledge next to the cottage’s tiny sink, and hit the accept button against Sandy’s name.
“Booked your return flight yet?” Sandy’s voice crackles through the phone like she’s right next to me instead of an ocean away.
After mom’s insistence that the cottage was unsalvageable, her question hits me sideways. A surreal feeling hits me. I hang suspended between confirmed defeat and wild, crazy faith. I start washing my hands, the water cold and sluggish, barely cutting through the grime caked on my fingers from poking through Grandma’s junk. Soapy water drips onto the cracked porcelain. Why the hell haven’t I booked my return flight? This place is a mess, a literal pile of dust and regret, and yet… I’m not ready to quit.
“Lauren? Earth to Lauren!” Sandy shouts, but her voice is tinny on the speaker.
I snap out of my surreal moment and grab the phone off the counter. “There’s running water here,” I say, dodging her jab. “My beacon of hope.”
Sandy snorts, amused. “Running water? That’s your big win? You’re chasing indoor plumbing now?”