Page 16 of Counting Quarters

Chapter Seven

Blaire

“Whencanyoumove in?” my mother asked from my bedroom floor as she pulled my wrinkled clothes out of my dresser and neatly folded them into a suitcase.

I shrugged from my spot on the floor inside the closet. “I think it’s mine as soon as I get him the money.”

I hardly had a chance to speak with Sheriff Abbot since he left Grammy stewing in the kitchen three days ago. When I called the number he had on the flier, he responded in a clipped, irritated tone. Even though I offered to bring him the money right away, he agreed to meet with me tomorrow to collect his check and promised to have a contract written up by then. Before I had time to ask any more questions, he mumbled something about having to respond to a call and then hung up.

“I’ll help you get moved in. I’m sure Storie can get some of those boys to help us move the furniture out of here.”

Her eyes scanned the old, solid wood dresser and bed frame that she sat between.

“You’re not taking the furniture.” Grammy’s voice drifted into the bedroom. Mom’s face fell as heavy footsteps made their way through the short hall.

“Come on, Mom,” she started, but was shut up with a thick finger pointing at her.

“You might be entertaining this ridiculousness for a shred of affection, but I’m not. That’s my furniture. I bought it, and it stays in my house.” She aimed a withering stare at me. “You want to go out on your own, then you can start with buying your own furniture.”

Mom rolled her eyes and Grammy stalked off, not even bothering to give me a chance to argue. I heard her grumbling through the hall toward her room. “There’s no use moving it, anyway. You’ll be back here before it can make dents in the carpet.”

Then, she slammed the door.

“Don’t listen to her. She’s emotional about you leaving.”

I gave her a look that said I didn’t believe her, and then turned back to the box I was packing.

Sheriff Abbot handed the key to my new apartment over as soon as we finished signing our contract. He was going over his expectations as I stared down at the tiny chunk of metal in my hand, an array of emotions coursing through my chest so fast, it ached.

“...rent is due on the first of the month. If you have any trouble paying, just let me know. The porch is a shared space. I don’t mind if you use it, just don’t leave a mess…”

His voice droned on, hardly penetrating the trail of thoughts that were weaving in and out of my head or the silent victory I felt at what our meeting truly meant.

I did it.

I got out.

And while there was a long road ahead for me, that was a step my own mother couldn’t even manage to take.

“I'll help you carry your things up. Do you have anything else?” he asked. His gaze fell to the bags at my feet—the extent of everything I owned—before they moved to the street, looking for a moving van, most likely.

“I'm still working that part out.”

It was embarrassing to admit, but not enough to dampen my mood.

He bent forward and lifted the bags into his arms, leading the way through the doorway to my new home.

My front door was positioned right beside his. It opened to a set of white stairs, which led straight into the living room of the loft. The space was completely open, with natural light streaming in from all sides. A galley kitchen with white cabinets sat in the back left corner, the bathroom door sat open beside it, and the bedroom was next.

Everything was surprisingly updated, with light and airy, modern tones, a contrast to the aging exterior. He must have done the work on his own, since he had owned the house for as long as I could remember. I couldn't figure out why anyone would go through that sort of trouble for a space that sat empty, but it didn't matter now.

Sheriff Abbot set my bags down in the center of the loft, kicking up dust that floated around us in a cloud.

“It still needs a good cleaning,” he admitted sheepishly. “I haven't had a chance to get up here since we talked. I can send someone in here to do it if you'd like.”

“I can do it.”

The irony wasn't lost on me that the catalyst for this change was Grammy commanding me to clean a room. But this was mine. I smiled to myself at the thought.

Sheriff Abbot didn't linger long. He showed me around, sharing random tips about how to work the faucet or closing a cabinet that was just a little off kilter, before mumbling something about having to get back to work. Within twenty minutes of receiving my keys, I stood in the middle of my new home.

Alone at last.

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