“Hey, it’s me. Yes, I found a place. I think it’s perfect. We have to make a few improvements. I…no, I haven’t asked about adding a ramp. I’ll add that to the contract. He’s walking. Do you think we have to do all that? There’s a yoga place but not a gym. We could have Rodin build a gym. He’s not coming here for another month. Listen, I need you to come and help me.” He pauses and looks at me. “If I bring you help, when do you think you can empty your house?”
“I could do it on Friday.”
“Friday. Can you come on Friday? It’s a day trip. Get permission from that stuffy lawyer. It’s important and practically an emergency. Well, stay the weekend. You need to tell me where you want everything. I can get you in at the inn if you want. Oh, I thought they said they only have a one room home. Okay, so you’ll stay with the Hutchences while you help…” He pauses, looks at me again and asks, “What’s your name again?”
“Nydia.”
He arches an eyebrow and stares at me for a couple of beats before repeating my name, slowly. “Nydia?” He nods a couple of times and takes a long breath. “Maybe? Listen, that doesn’t matter. I don’t give a shit. The house is perfect and it’s the best in the area. Let’s just not mention that little detail, okay sweetheart? It’ll be our secret.”
“Is everything okay with your wife?”
He looks at the phone. “Oh no that’s…Grace. She’s one of my best friends. She’s engaged to my friend…well he’s like my brother. He had an accident a few months back. He’s still learning how to walk so she has to come and make sure the house has a ramp in case he needs a wheelchair. Will it be okay if we have the contractor add that and a small gym around that area?”
He points at the space between the guesthouse and the storage place.
I point at the land next door. “That’s empty, why don’t you buy it and build whatever you need there?”
“How about the one to the left?” he asks.
I shake my head. “It belongs to my family.”
I should sell it or plant more flowers. I don’t have money for the latter and to sell it…well, I really can’t do much with my parents’ properties. Not until Dad wakes up, or dies. Mom’s will is a mess and to claim anything I need a lawyer. I can’t pay for one. It’s one of those little details my grandfather didn’t care to look into when the accident happened.
Sour-suit looks at it and frowns. “You could plant more flowers there.”
There’s a sound coming from his iPad. He grins and says, “Let’s see who you are, Nydia Vega-Knapp.” He pauses, reads the iPad, and says, “As I suspected, you have an abundance of debt.”
He frowns and shakes his head. Then he looks at me.
“What?”
“Your break between high school and college.” His voice is almost deflated.
“Whatever you find out about me is personal. You breathe a word and you’re out of here. As a matter of fact, you’re out of here.”
“I wouldn’t breathe a word,” he says, giving me a pitying look. “It’s just…”
“Not a word,” I order. “And erase that look from your face. How do I know you won’t go and tell anyone in town? This town has ears everywhere.”
“Listen, I’ll sign an NDA where I promise not to disclose any of your personal information to anyone. If I do, you can sue me for everything I own. And I own a lot.”
“Why would you be willing to do that?” I ask suspiciously.
He shrugs one shoulder. “I have my reasons.”
“Okay, let’s do this.”
Chapter Seven
Nydia
I said yes.
The money should help me. Not only that, but it might give me a boost if I handle it well. Except, after the money arrives in my account, I pay one of the overdue medical bills and my bank account is back to zero.
I’m trying to look on the bright side, I really am, so I tell myself it’s okay. Next month I’ll receive the rent, and I’ll be able to kill another bill. Everything will be fine.
And yet, that not-right-something-bad-is-about-to-happen feeling niggles at me. It’s like a whisper coming from the mountains saying save yourself. I swear it’s like the feeling I had before the car accident when I lost Mom and Dad…
I order myself not to think about hunches, my parents, or superstitions. I’m not that kind of person.
Just think positive thoughts, Nydia.
This is the product of doing something different that I know my father and grandparents would disapprove of. Focus on the things you can do with that money, like buying more supplies or a new pair of comfortable shoes.
Even though the uneasiness doesn’t leave me, by Friday, I’ve learned to live with it. After yoga class, I walk to my place with a renewed force. I’m convinced that moving to the guesthouse is the best thing I can do not only for the farm, but for me. Siobhan and I moved most of our things during the week.
Walking back toward the farm, I notice several cars and trucks heading in that direction. My heart pounds fast and loud. My ears throb. It’s the panic. Deep breaths don’t calm me. Tension radiates through my entire body.
So much for having a nice yoga class to relax me. I’m frozen for several seconds, staring at the vehicles and my farm.
The trucks are gathered in the lot next door, I realize. Did he buy the place? What if they plan on building a house there? Then I only have nine months to a year to deal with them. The thought of them leaving soon is frightening because that’s only six to nine months of rent, and I’d have to return the deposit. Another wave of anxiety hits me, creating a seed of hysteria that settles in my stomach.
Why did I think this was a good idea? My legs unfreeze and I take off, running toward the farm. I’m going to be in pain, but it doesn’t matter. I have to stop them. They shouldn’t touch my grandparents’ things.
When I arrive, I’m almost out of breath. Mr. Langdon is by the door and a tall woman is next to him. Her lilac and teal hair is braided. She wears a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.
“Good morning,” I greet them. “I wasn’t expecting you this early.”
The woman studies me.
I extend my hand and say, “Hi, I’m Nydia Vega-Knapp. I’m the owner. You must be the—”
“Grace,” she interrupts me, barely shaking my hand.
I’m not sure if she’s shy or if she doesn’t like me. Either way, I don’t pay much attention. I open the door and invite them inside.
“My roommate and I moved most of our stuff to the guesthouse,” I explain and swallow the orange-size ball of tears stuck in my throat.
I’m not going to cry.
This is temporary.
“She doesn’t have time this weekend to help me with my grandparents’ room. If it’s okay with you, can we do it on Monday?”
“Moving day is Sunday. I can have my people go through that room today,” Langdon says. Is he just an insensitive asshole or a robot?
“It’s not about shoving things inside a box. It’s taking their memories out of the house. I wasn’t ready to do it. I need my friend to be with me while I do it.”