Page 6 of Refuge for Flora

“I understand. So do you have a number for a cab company or?”

“No. There’s a fella from the church who comes and takes the ladies here to doctor appointments, the dentist, meetings with teachers at school. He’s huge and scary, and everybody feels safe with him. Plus he’s gay, so they know he’s not sizing them up.”

“That sounds good. How do I reach him?”

“I’ll give him a call and then give you his number. As long as I call him first, he’ll take you wherever you need to go and watch out for you. When are you supposed to be there?”

“She said come when I could, so I guess anytime.”

Forty-five minutes later, Flora and the man named Rick were driving away from town and out into the suburbs. The houses got farther apart and everything looked more rural. Finally, Rick said, “Okay, this is the road.”

“I thought it would be in town.”

“Nope. Oh, there it is.” He pointed, and Flora sighed in disappointment.

Nestled in a thicket of trees and shrubs at the end of the long gravel drive was a dilapidated little house, one shutter falling off and paint peeling everywhere. She was pretty sure it had been blue at one time, but the sun and rain had turned it a grayish color. A gutter was down, its end on the ground, and there were a couple of rungs out of the wooden porch rail. Clumps of plants grew in what looked like random spots, weeds shooting up within them, and there were various pieces of junk lying about. The whole place looked tired and depressed, and Flora wondered if she was about to step into a mess. Rick pulled up to the flagstone path that led to the door and stopped. “So should I wait for you?”

“I guess I should stay at least thirty minutes. What do you think?”

“That sounds appropriate. I need to get some gas for the van anyway, so I’ll go gas it up and pick up some things I need from the hardware store and then I’ll come back. If you haven’t come out in forty-five minutes, I’ll come up and knock on the door.”

Flora got out and leaned into the car door. “Sounds good. See you in thirty minutes. Thanks, Rick.”

“You’re very welcome. Good luck.” Flora stood at the end of the walk and watched as Rick turned the van around and pulled out of the driveway. It occurred to her as his taillights disappeared that the person who lived there might not be home, so she climbed the rickety porch steps and knocked.

There was some type of dragging sound from inside, and then the knob turned and the door opened a crack. “Yeah?”

“Are you Mrs.Murphy?”

A pair of gray-blue eyes sized Flora up from the darkness of the house. “Who wants to know?”

“I’m Flora. FloraStevens. We spoke on the phone and?”

“Yeah, okay. Come on in.” The woman pulled the door wide open and Flora stepped in.

Musty. That was the only word she could think of that would describe the house. It didn’t smell… bad. It just smelled like it needed to be aired out. Flora stood there, unsure of what to do, when the woman pointed to the sofa, so she sat down. The cushion was lumpy and the arms were threadbare, and she wondered if she should try to get comfortable or sit up on the edge. She was trying to think of something to say and all she came up with was, “Nice house.”

“Eh. It’s a shit hole.” The old woman plopped down in a recliner that tilted suspiciously to the right and sighed. “So you need a job.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And what do you think this job would be?”

Flora shrugged. “I have no idea, ma’am. I suppose it’s whatever you want it to be.”

“Right answer.” Mrs.Murphy leaned back into the chair and sighed. “I’m old.”

“You said you’re eighty-nine.”

“Yeah. And I can’t do most of the things I used to do. Even if I do, it takes me all day.”

“What would you need me to do?”

“Washing. Cooking. Cleaning. That sort of stuff. Taking out the garbage. Sweeping. Mopping. And the yard?”

“Mowing?”

“Nah. There’s a guy who lives down the road. He comes and mows. But them flower beds out there, they’re nasty.”

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