Page 7 of Shelter from the Storm

“Well, now, I suppose that is true,” Manny replied, and Gretchen breathed a sigh of relief. “One of the local fellas, Koda James, started offering the service a year or so back. That young man is obsessed with his car and driving, and completely unimpressed with set work hours that begin before noon and involve sitting behind a desk.”

“Oh.”

Manny continued. “Koda will Uber people around town but usually only in the evenings. Truthfully, that seems to be the only time anyone needs a ride. Koda drives folks home from Whiskey Abbey, our local bar. In addition to his Uber services, he’s our only DoorDash deliveryman. And because neither of those jobs earn him enough money, he also delivers pizza for the local pizza place. Between those three things, he’s managed to avoid the dreaded day job and make Gracemont sound cool, because we get to say we have Uber and DoorDash now, like the bigger cities around us.”

Gretchen bit her lower lip. Now she was faced with a dilemma. She’d looked at a map when she’d first rented the room from Edith, so she knew it was a little less than five miles from Millholland House to Stormy Weather Farm, where she’d taken a job. She’d seen that as good news, thinking it would mean a cheap Uber trip back and forth to work.

Score yet another one for Briggs. He’d convinced her when she was younger—and stupider—that she didn’t need to get a driver’s license, assuring her that he would take her wherever she needed to go. It was one of many ways he’d managed to keep her trapped.

It looked like she was going to have to get creative. She wondered how long it would take to walk five miles. Luckily, she didn’t start her new job until next Monday. It was Wednesday now, so that gave her four days to practice the trek and time it. She tried to tell herself the exercise would be good for her. Then she mentally moved “get a driver’s license and car” up on her “New Life” to-do list and added “get a bike and learn how to ride it,” as well.

“Here we are,” Manny said, pulling her from her thoughts. “Gracemont.”

She glanced up in time to see the pretty sign announcing they were indeed entering the town of Gracemont. As they traveled along Main Street, Manny pointed out the businesses, filling her in on what they provided, who owned them, who offered fair deals, and who overcharged.

Her eyes widened when he pulled up in front of a grandiose three-story white house with a wraparound porch, bright green shutters, and huge azalea bushes in the front yard that were probably gorgeous in the spring. There was a small sign hanging from a pillar in the yard that said Millholland House.

“Welcome to your new home, Miss Banks,” Manny offered cheerfully.

Home.

She liked the sound of that.

Manny pulled into the driveway as Gretchen tried to calm her nerves before climbing out of the car. She waited while Manny retrieved her suitcase from the trunk, then before they even reached the top of the porch, the front door swung open and the tiniest woman Gretchen had ever seen emerged.

When Manny told her all the stories about his aunt, Gretchen had pictured Edith as a much taller woman, sturdier and more imposing.

Edith Millholland looked like a light breeze could blow her away, with her petite frame. However, the woman’s looks were obviously misleading. Gretchen fought not to wince when Edith stepped forward, arms outstretched, and pulled her in for a hug, gripping her tightly.

Of course, it wasn’t the hug that hurt but the pressure on the hidden bruises beneath her clothing.

“There you are! I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Gretchen.” Edith released her, eyeing her from head to toe. “Well, let me have a look at you. Aren’t you a beauty!”

Gretchen smiled, doing her own once-over of the elderly lady. Edith had snow-white hair pulled up in a loose bun, bright blue eyes, and deep creases by her eyes and mouth that seemed to indicate she laughed and smiled a lot. “It’s very nice to meet you, Ms. Millholland.”

Edith waved her hands. “No, no. None of that. You and I are going to be roomies and future besties, so I insist you call me Edith.”

Gretchen was amused by the elderly woman’s use of the words roomies and besties.

Edith looped her arm through Gretchen’s, guiding her into the house before looking over her shoulder. “Well, don’t stand there with your mouth hanging open, Manny. You’ll catch flies. Bring in her bag.”

Manny, whose mouth was not hanging open, rolled his eyes, then hastened to follow them inside. Like her nephew, Edith was taken aback by Gretchen’s lack of belongings.

“That’s your only suitcase?” the older woman asked.

Gretchen nodded, but before she had to repeat her lie, Manny told it for her. “A friend is sending the rest of her stuff along later.”

Edith accepted that fib as easily as her nephew. “She’ll be staying in the blue room,” she said to Manny, who climbed the stairs with her bag.

“Let me give you a tour of the house, dear.” Edith’s eyes drifted down to Gretchen’s neck, narrowing.

Gretchen tugged on her turtleneck sweater, pulling it higher. She hadn’t had a chance to touch up her concealer, so she feared the bruises must be at least partially visible by now. Explaining away bruised arms and cheeks was a lot easier than a neck. Especially when the bruises were fingerprint-shaped. Briggs had an unnatural fondness for choking her during his fits of rage.

Mercifully, Edith didn’t ask her about her injuries, and for the next twenty minutes, Gretchen followed her around the large house as her host took her through each room, pointing out the interesting artwork, collectables, and various other knickknacks—all of which had fascinating stories—that she’d acquired over the years. Edith was obviously very proud of her home, and she should be. The elegant décor reminded Gretchen of pictures she’d seen in magazines.

According to Edith, there were four rooms available for rent upstairs, but Gretchen was currently the only guest staying there.

When Gretchen had first gotten the job as event coordinator for Stormy Weather Farm, she feared she might have to turn it down due to the lack of available apartments. Gracemont seemed to be one of those towns that time forgot. When she began researching places to rent, she’d come up painfully shy on options because there wasn’t a single apartment building within the town limits. The closest place she could find was a condo that was way out of her price range, just outside Leesburg.

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