Anger and envy burned within her in a bitter, blazing knot.
Most people could hold on to friendships at least, but people always drifted away from her, as if she had nothing they needed long-term. Her family, on the other hand, cultivated sycophants addicted to the faint euphoria that came from draining their emotions, a blissful numbness that approached inner peace. Her mother’s “best friend,” Misty, had been running errands for Delphine Collins for over thirty years, whereas Iris’s bestie from high school had ghosted after graduation. Since Iris had gone to four different colleges before dropping out, she hadn’t made lasting impressions there either. As she rolled up in a blanket and curled up on the couch, she thought, Nobody would care if I disappeared. That was a lot grimmer than she usually felt. Maybe exhaustion was making her emotional. Things would look better in the morning, right?
The next day, things were still messy.
She hauled all her stuff upstairs and then got started sorting Great-Aunt Gertie’s earthly effects. Her family would have simply paid someone to do this, but that felt deeply wrong, even if she could’ve afforded it. To her surprise, she wept as she sorted. When she found a bundle of letters, she couldn’t resist opening them.
In a romantic movie, these would be a collection of love letters from some tragic affair, perhaps a soldier who’d perished in some long-ago war, the reason Auntie had never married. But no, these were chatty notes from various friends, illuminating what life had been like for her great-aunt over the years. Those she elected to save because discarding responses to Gertie’s words and emotions while living in this house seemed like an act of violence.
Iris saved all the photos because they too felt like stories with a life of their own. Most of the clothes went, though she salvaged some vintage sweaters. Random bric-a-brac got discarded, along with musty decorative objects and muddy watercolors. Little by little, over the course of three days, she packed most of what should be donated and called a charity service to collect it.
Then she popped out for the cheapest prepaid SIM she could find. She’d probably keep the data turned off and stick to free hotspots, as this purchase had to last her for the foreseeable future. Between credit cards, student loans, and paying to deep-clean the house, there was no room in her budget for extras. Hell, she’d probably be eating oatmeal for weeks.
Iris cringed at paying online for hired cleaning professionals. “It’ll be worth it,” she told herself and put the transaction on her card. I’ll never pay this off. But the site promised that they’d scrub the place, top to bottom, and they’d also deep-clean all the mattresses and rugs. The next day, the team showed up in pristine uniforms, ready to scour.
Iris spent the afternoon weeding while the crew blitzed the house with cleaning agents. When she came in hours later, the place smelled much better. It couldn’t make up for years of neglect, of course, but stripping away the junk helped. So did making the woodwork gleam. Now, the house itself felt…lighter, somehow, as if she’d lessened its architectural burden; even the air seemed easier to breathe.
“You paid online,” the team leader said. “So we’re finished unless you’d like to schedule regular appointments?”
“I can’t afford that,” she admitted. “Sorry if—”
“No, it’s fine. We often do one-shot visits when houses are changing hands. Good luck!” With that, the crew headed out, getting into the van with the anthropomorphized vacuum cleaner stenciled on the side.
After that, Iris sent a few requests for quotes to various home reno sites and shuddered when they called her back. “Yes, this is Iris Collins.”
“What’s your renovation budget?” a deep-voiced contractor asked.
“Eh, I was hoping to find out how much it would cost,” she hedged.
“To turn your old Victorian into a B and B? I’d have to do a walkthrough, but you’re looking at a minimum of 50K.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“Did you want to set a time for me to come out and take a look at your property?”
How much would that cost?
“I’m talking to a few companies,” she said swiftly. “I’ll be in touch.”
Her credit wouldn’t qualify for a loan, and she didn’t want to get in more debt over an idea that even she wasn’t convinced would pan out. To say she’d lost confidence was a misnomer. That would mean she’d had some in the first place.
And she still had to get the Wi-Fi turned on. She’d be charged for the installation visit, probably for equipment, and then the monthly fee—that was why she’d turned off her cell phone service. Not to mention electric, gas, and there was water and sewage as well, though she hadn’t seen the bills yet. Iris hoped she hadn’t bitten off more than she could chew.
Of course you have, her mother’s voice said. That’s your specialty.
She shook her head fiercely. It occurred to her then that the house had income potential. Not as a B and B, but there were five bedrooms she could rent—one behind the kitchen, two on the second floor, two on the third. And she wouldn’t need to cater to roommates, hovering around with plates of scones or whatever. They’d fix their own food, and she’d collect the money. That base amount should be enough for her to live on while she continued with her jewelry business.
I can fix up the attic for myself. At least it’s finished, and I like the space. It’s big enough for me to set aside part of it as a studio. I’ll probably need to buy an air con, though. There was even enough old furniture stored up there that she could arrange it in a way that made sense for her private living space.
Her mind made up, she opened her laptop and wrote the ad before she could change her mind.
SEEKING ROOMMATE(S) FOR SPACIOUS VICTORIAN HOME IN QUIET NEIGHBORHOOD. PRIVATE ROOM, SHARED BATH. COMMUNAL USE OF KITCHEN, LIVING AREAS, AND LAUNDRY FACILITIES. NONSMOKERS, LIGHT DRINKING OK, NO DRUG USE AND NO PETS. IF INTERESTED, PLEASE GET IN TOUCH.
With an emphatic nod, she hit Send.
* * *
Eli had blown his chance to speak with Iris again.
When he’d spotted her, he froze, just like when they were in school. Instead of going over to say hi, he’d bolted like a coward. He told himself it was no big deal; he’d run into Iris again before she left town. St. Claire wasn’t a huge city by any means…only that hadn’t happened. He never saw her again, and he’d tucked away the vague disappointment.
Not meant to be, that’s all.
For the past two weeks, he’d focused on spending time with Gamma. They watched movies, chatted, ate meals together, and worked on the house. Eli did the heavy lifting while Gamma shared her many opinions regarding his work. Thankfully, she never asked about his social life or when he was planning to get married, and she respected his need to slip away to fly when the prospect of saying goodbye to her overwhelmed him.
And today, he drove her to the airport, reassuring her that he—and her house—would be fine.
“I’ll take pictures,” he promised, as they hugged in front of the security line. “So you can see how nice it looks when I list it.”
She hesitated. “You’re sure you don’t mind handling the sale for me?”