Page 4 of Love Over Easy

It’s nearing dusk by the time I make it to the other side of the island. My body is giving out on me and I know I need to find someplace to lie down.

There are three rows of houses. Oceanfront, a second, and then a third row. The house I want is in the third row. My feet take me there on autopilot. I’m not sure if it’s vacant or not. I hope it is, but if it’s not, I have a backup plan. I just don’t like it. Breaking into this particular house doesn’t make me feel as bad as breaking into a random stranger’s house. That just shows how desperate I am if I can justify breaking into anyone’s house.

Keeping to the shadows, I find three dark houses in a row and give a sigh of relief. The middle house is the one I want. The grass is high, telling me nobody has been around to mow it. My gaze runs lovingly over the weathered cottage, but I allow myself only a moment to remember. I creep around the outside and try the lower windows. None of them are unlocked.

At the back of the house, there’s a screened deck that wasn’t there before. When I try the screen door and find it opens, my shoulders sag in relief. From the stacked and covered outdoor furniture on the screened porch, I am positive the house isn’t occupied.

Reaching into my hoodie pocket, I pull out my tactical flashlight and peek in the window of the back door that goes into the house and see nothing but darkness. I’m also happy to see there isn’t a deadbolt. Perfect. I set my bag down and hold the light in my teeth while I unzip my backpack. This is the part I’m not happy with. I pull out the tools I need, and in less than three seconds, I’m inside the house.

I grin. The security guy that gave me my very own tool pack and taught me to pick locks would be proud of that time. At least for a moment before he ratted me out for breaking and entering.

Just inside the door, I pause with my heart threatening to beat out of my chest and listen. After a few minutes of silence, I pick up my suitcase and backpack and take a brief inventory of the rooms as I pass through. Of course they aren’t as I remember, but then again, that was a long time ago. I have no idea who owns the house now. Tomorrow, in the daylight, I’ll explore and take a walk down memory lane.

I enter through the kitchen and go through the dining room to the living room. At the front of the house, I climb stairs to the second story where I know there are two bedrooms and a bathroom. By instinct, I take the back bedroom, close the door, drop my stuff at the door, and pull my hoodie off as I stumble to the bed. There is no pink ruffle bedspread and the walls are no longer a pastel pink color. I fall face first onto a musty mattress and, surrounded by the comfort of my memories of long ago, I’m out.

* * *

As I’ve become used to doing, I wake with a start before I remember where I am. I slowly release the breath I’d been holding and my racing heart begins to calm. My lips pull into a lopsided grin. I did it. I’m on Faire Island. Now, if only the rest of my plans will fall into place as easily.

I roll my head and look out the window. Even with the curtains pulled closed, sunlight still filters in. For the first time in a very long time, I smile. Today I can do whatever I want to do. Nobody is going to tell me what to do or make demands on my time. It’s too early to get excited about a clean getaway, but at least I can breathe a bit easier.

I roll over to get out of bed and yelp with pain as I grab my sore ribs. Damn, that hurts. I’m glad I thought to bring some tape and wrap with me. By the time I’m vertical and shuffling towards the bathroom, I feel like an elderly woman. I’m too young to feel this old.

Once in the bathroom, I open the window curtain to let the sunlight in. I try the light switch, not expecting the power to still be on, but the fates must finally be on my side because the overhead light comes on. That means not only will I have lights when it turns dark, I also have hot water.

A shower will be incredible. I haven’t felt clean in days. I turn the shower on as hot as I can stand and start pulling my clothes off. When I’m down to my bra and panties, I glance at myself in the mirror on the back of the bathroom door. Why did it have to be full length? I cringe at the unfamiliar brown hair and seethe at the mass of bruises up and down my arms and legs with my chest and ribs taking the brunt of the blows. I should have protected myself better.

I turn away from the battered image in disgust and shuffle back to the bedroom to grab my toiletry bag and a washcloth from my suitcase. I may have broken into someone’s house, but I won’t use any of their things. When I leave, it will be as if I was never here.

After the shower, I feel better and the hot water helped my aches and pains. Back in the bedroom, I wrap my sore ribs, but I can’t get the tape tight enough. I don’t think any ribs are cracked. I know what that feels like and this isn’t that bad. But they are going to hurt like a sore toe for days. Three ibuprofen will help.

Since I’m not going anywhere, I pull on a pair of workout shorts and an old Golden’s Gym t-shirt. I brush my mousy brown hair as best I can without being able to reach very high and twist it into a messy bun on top of my head. A feat accomplished by bending at the waist and ducking my chin into my chest.

For breakfast, I dig around in my pack and have an apple and another bottle of water, dreaming it’s piping hot coffee. Soon. Very soon I can come out of hiding. When I finish, I am in no way full, but I’m not starving so I need to be happy with that.

I creep downstairs and revisit the house I lived in for the first ten years of my existence. By far the happiest years of my life.

The kitchen was always my favorite room in the house. Gram not only taught me to cook, but we also had a lot of discussions around the kitchen table. My eye goes to the left and I can see myself standing on a chair by the stove to stir the creamiest, most delicious gravy in the world. Stirring was always my job. The old white stove has been replaced with a trendy stainless steel model.

The stained porcelain sink where Gram gave me a bath when I was little has been swapped out for a matching stainless steel sink. The flowery curtains that had once been at the window about the sink are now a blue and white check pattern.

I run my hand over the small modern table. We would eat all our meals at an old wooden table. Nothing as nice as this one. The wooden chairs had bright red cushions that Gram made. I’d even scratched my name into the underside of the table.

Leaving the kitchen behind, I walk into the rarely used dining room. At Christmas, Gram would invite friends over and we’d use the good dishes Gram kept in a china cabinet. I always felt so rich using those gold-rimmed dishes. I wonder where they ended up. I would love to find them.

The living room used to have a brown and yellow plaid couch and Gram’s rocking recliner. She had a woven basket she kept on the left side where she stowed her knitting projects. I chuckle at the memory. She tried so many times to teach me to knit and I never grasped the concept. Gram never cared that I couldn’t learn. She’d just laugh and tell me my talents were in other areas.

A tear leaks out of the corner of my eye and I wipe it away. I can’t remember the last time I cried. Crying isn’t allowed in my world. Crying is weakness. I make my way back upstairs. That’s all the memories I can handle; they only point out what I’ve lost and how alone I am now.

The rest of the morning I spend in my old bedroom on the window seat reading a book I found in a bedside table. It’s a murder mystery and wouldn’t be my choice of nighttime reading. This genre isn’t my usual cup of tea, but it keeps me entertained. I’m just not sure how well I will sleep tonight with visions of scenes from the book in my dreams.

For lunch, I pull out a jar of peanut butter from my backpack and a sleeve of butter crackers. Not a very nutritious lunch, but filling. Instead of a lovely full-bodied wine, I select a bottle of Sam’s Best water. I grin at my own joke. I’m not allowed to drink alcohol because of all the empty calories. That doesn’t mean I never sneaked a drink when I could.

An occasional car or truck goes by, but other than that, there’s no traffic or pedestrians to worry about. I crack the bedroom window just an inch to get some fresh air and the sound of the ocean waves soothes me.

Dinner is much the same as lunch with the addition of a prohibited Little Debra brownie. I nibble and savor every bite. Sugar is something I haven’t had in years. The carb overload I’ve had today is also a monumental moment as well. Before I got on the ferry, I stopped at a convenience store and bought every sugary candy and pastry I’d ever dreamed of eating. Warning, sugar coma ahead.

By the time darkness falls, thanks to the few naps I’ve had, I can’t sleep. I’ve never been as sedentary as I’ve been today. Plus all that sugar. I can’t wind down and go to sleep. I walk to the front of the house and peek around the curtain. The streets are deserted and I don’t see any lights at any of the houses.

---