Page 31 of Someday Not Soon

All I’m hearing is that he was over at your house. Confirm or deny?

Ella

…confirm. BUT it was only because he offered to help fix something for me.

Delaney

Oh, I bet he offered to fix something for you alright. ;)

Madi

Don’t take that any further, Delaney. This is my brother we’re talking about.

Madi

And El, if you need anything, let us know. We’re always here for you.

Ella

I’m fine. Really. Ignore him. And thank you.

Madi

He’s hard to ignore when he’s blowing up my phone every hour because he’s worried.

Delaney

*grabs the popcorn*

Two days after the sprinkler replacement fiasco with Jude, a knock echoes on the front door. A surge of excitement rises in me—maybe it’s someone who is interested in the house after driving by and seeing the brand new for sale sign that was put up this morning. If I could sell this place quickly, I could be out of here sooner than expected. Even if there is the smallest part of me that doesn’t want to leave quite yet.

When I open the door, instead of some dreamed-up passersby, I find two women in Lawson Cleaning Services shirts, their arms loaded with caddies full of products andsupplies. I didn’t call for a cleaning service, so I assume it’s a mistake. But after double-checking their paperwork, they confirm they’re at the correct house and have been scheduled to do a deep clean of the premises. They suggest I grab a coffee or visit a friend and leave the rest to them.

I’m so stunned that I thank them profusely and stumble out the door, still in my yoga pants and sandals. As I drive downtown to grab breakfast, I convince myself that this must be part of a service my real estate agent forgot to mention. Perhaps it’s customary to do this before the listing photos are taken. While I’m relieved I won’t have to tackle deep cleaning the entire house by myself, I also dread the idea of footing the bill for something that likely costs hundreds of dollars.

To get to the bottom of it, I call Sandra. As always, she answers on the first ring, far too chipper for the hour—or for any hour, really. I explain the mystery cleaning crew to her, and she insists it wasn’t her doing, though she’s thrilled at the prospect of a spotless house, rejoicing that it will drive up interest even further.

I hang up, more confused than ever about how and why this cleaning crew has magically appeared on my doorstep, like some kind of unexpected gift from the universe.

As I wander through downtown, window shopping to pass the time, I finally stop for breakfast at Little Elm—the small, locally owned coffee shop. I order a bagel and settle in at a cozy round table by the window, finishing up my book. With hours to kill, I check in with work and letthem know I plan to return from bereavement leave in three weeks, tops. Although they’d prefer it sooner, they’re understanding and encourage me to take all the time I need.

For the first time in a long while, it feels like things are starting to fall into place. The weight of my responsibilities has suddenly been lightened, and in its place, a hope of better things to come blooms.

After spending most of the afternoon downtown, a text from the cleaning company comes through, informing me they’ll be finished in thirty minutes. I quickly gather my things and rush back to the house, curious to see if I can find out more about who ordered the cleaning crew. Was it Delaney or Madi? They are the only two who have heard my bitching about the inches of dust, hoards of boxes, and decrepit rodent feces I’ve discovered throughout this process. I never did it for pity though.

When I arrive, I find one of the workers in the guest room, and my stomach drops—the flimsy air mattress I’ve been sleeping on is gone, replaced by a brand-new, far-too-expensive foldout bed. Immediately, a red flag shoots up in my mind, about one very specific person that just had a mild freak out over my sleeping situation.

“Hi, excuse me. Can I ask who scheduled your company to come in today?”

The woman with the gray ponytail and warm smile pauses mid-dusting, her brow furrowing slightly as if trying to understand my concern. She steps away to check the paperwork while I stand there, my gaze locked on thenew mattress. Freshly laundered sheets and a stack of blankets warm enough to get a good night’s rest in Antarctica, are neatly folded on top.

It’s all a little too specific to be a coincidence.

The woman returns a few moments later. “Hi, ma’am. All I have on file is the last name Beckett. They didn’t leave a first name.”

“Do you know how this bed got here? And also, how much I owe you for today?”

“There were special instructions to deliver the bed and linens. And it’s already been paid for along with a substantial tip. That’s all the information I have, unfortunately.”

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