Page 14 of Salvation

Blake

Iforgot just how hot it gets here towards the end of summer. Sweat coats my skin, causing my grey tank to stick to me like honey. My feet pad against the ground as I nod my head to the music blasting through my headphones. I didn’t sleep well last night, my brain moving a million miles a minute, and once the sun finally rose, I decided it was best if I got out of the house and did something to occupy my mind. Panting, I try to tell myself, “In through the nose, out through the mouth,” but it quite literally doesn’t help the fact that my body is protesting at pushing it so hard. I’m unbelievably out of shape, and it’s borderline embarrassing. It’s something I truly wish I hadn’t let slip while living in the city.

Yes, I hate it, because let’s be honest, whoenjoysrunning? What I do love is that sheer adrenaline that courses through you when you’re done. The burn in your arms, legs, and chest. There’s no greater high.

I slow my steps before stopping completely as I reach a dead end, gasping in as much air as my lungs will let me. Doubling over and checking my watch, I see I’ve only made it two miles. I left the househalf an hour ago.

I know I shouldn’t be so hard on myself, but I could easily run twice that distance without breaking a sweat when I kept up with my exercise. Sighing, I look up from my watch and take in the surrounding area, finally catching my breath. Thankfully, I’m not completely lost as I remember where I came from. There’s the dead end straight ahead, but to my left, there’s a gravel road leading uphill that I don’t recognize.

I pivot my body toward the way I came with intentions of returning to the house and calling it a day, but for some reason, I have this nagging feeling to explore, so I turn onto the unfamiliar road and begin my hike up.

***

After a couple of minutes of walking, I’m panting once again, but mainly from the uphill slope and nerves that make little-to-no sense. The road goes deep and has begun to curve, with trees on either side of me. Somehow, it feels louder out here than it does in town. The wind rustling the trees, birds chirping, and sounds of machinery way off in the distance.

I stumble upon the first building on my left, still walking but taking it in as I go. There’s a long driveway that leads to a smallfarm-style house with white paneling, a black roof, and brick steps that open up to the wide wrap-around porch framed by wooden beams. Floor-to-ceiling windows surround all sides of the house, and there’s a little matching shed to the right.

It's cute. A dream, really. Living in a perfect white house where you can watch the dogs run around from the kitchen window, a backyard with a fire pit and a spot to host a family BBQ, agarden so full and bright you look forward to seeing it every morning. A porch with a swing to drink coffee in while the rain comes crashing down all around you. It’s the kind of peaceful life you admire from afar when you’re young and daydream of when you’re an adult. It’s the life I would have loved to see with Marshall. It’s unfortunate that the one time I pitched the idea of moving somewhere more rural, he laughed in my face. But I suppose it’s even more unfortunate that he enjoyed my boss’s company far more than mine.

After a few more minutes, I start to wonder if that’s the only house on this road until I catch sight of a little blue mailbox. Drawing closer, I peek down the open dirt road and scrunch my eyebrows. It’s surrounded by more trees, and you wouldn’t even know there was something here if it weren’t for the mailbox. Shrugging my shoulders, I turn to continue my walk, but my eye catches the sign leaning against the wooden post, causing me to stop.

“For Sale” in big red letters.I glance over my shoulder, but curiosity gets the better of me, and I follow the road until itnarrows into a cobblestone walkway. I walk along the cobblestones until it flows open into a lush green oasis with a home nestled right in the center.

Immediately, I can see it needs a little TLC, but otherwise, it’sgorgeous.The garden is overflowing and crawls up the small frame of the house. So much so that it has even started to wrap around the porch railing. Flowers in shades of pinks, yellows, and whites are scattered all over the greenery. Its roof consists of the same grey cobblestone as the walkway with a matching chimney, and the walls that can be seen peeking through the overgrowth are a deep blue. I creep closer up the walkway, intent on checking out the porch, and spot a small pond nestled in the far-left corner behind the house. The lowering sun casts a beautiful glow over the water, and an old wooden dock thatcan’t hold more than two people starts at the edge of the pond. Something about it feels sofamiliar, and the sight makes my chest ache.

I cup my hands and try to peek in one of the dusty windows, hoping to glimpse what the inside looks like. I’m so engrossed in exploring that I don’t even notice I’m not alone until a voice asks from behind, “Gorgeous, isn’t it?” I let out a startled scream, spinning around and then proceeding to trip over one of the white rocking chairs on the porch, causing me to faceplant on the ground. “Oh god! Are you okay?”

I groan and push up onto my arms to roll onto my back. “Yup!” I cover my face with both hands. “Fine. Just – just unusually clumsy.” I force myself to pry open my fingers and peek up at the voice. An older woman with short brown hair kneels over me, checking me for any injuries. She lends me a hand once she deems me fine, and I refrain from throwing myself back on the wooden deck with how sore my limbs feel. I dust myself off. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize anyone lived here. I saw the sign at the end of the road, and I thought –"

“No worries, Hun. You thought right. It was my mom’s house; I was just coming by to pick up a few things. My name’s Jane.” She extends her hand to me in offering.

“Blake.” I reply.

“Nice to meet you, Blake.” She gives me a warm smile. “Were you interested in seeing the inside?”

“Um-" I consider saying no. It’s not like I have any intentions on buying the place, but once again, my mouth betrays my brain, so I settle on, “Why not?” Another smile and she begins making her way to the door, so I take that as a cue to follow her. We step inside, and I feel my breath whoosh out of me all over again. It’s not big by any means. It’s an open floor plan, and you can see pretty much the entire house from the doorway. A kitchen to the left flows into a small dining area on the right. In frontof that is a living room with arealfireplace. I haven’t seen one of those in years. It’s fully furnished. A dining table with chairs, a couch, and an armchair. All a little outdated, but well-kept. Three closed doors are on the right that must lead to bathrooms or bedrooms.

The kitchen is possibly the most charming part of the house. The cabinets are the same blue as the outside of the house, and the countertops are made of butcher block. A matching island is in the center of the space, a rack of pots and pans swinging above. There’s a large window over the sink that you can see the pond from, and wooden shelves that match the butcher block litter the faded brick walls. The natural lighting lights up the entire house. I don’t know what it is, but something in my head just keeps screaming,yes, yes, yes!

“There’s one bedroom, one bath, and a decently sized basement below. The basement’s always been used for storage, but it would be beautiful if someone wanted to do some work. And there’s only two other people on this road, with a ranch about another mile down.”

“Who could possibly want to leave this place?” I blurt out before I can stop myself, running my hands along the back of the couch. It’s private but not isolated. There’s a story here, one you can see in the upkeep of this home. Someone lived here, loved here, and clearly, hadn’t wanted to leave here. Something in my heart cracks at the thought, and I have the urge to give this house back its life.

“No one.” She says with a little smile, and her tone tells me that maybe this house means more to her than I originally thought.

“It was your mom’s, you said. You don’t want to keep it for yourself? Or…in the family, I guess?” Maybe I was prying, and maybe it was an inappropriate question to ask, but I had to know.

“I could keep it, but I don’t need to. And I think she would have loved for someone new to create a life here.” She didn’t sound sad, maybe a little mournful, some relief hidden in her expression at the prospect of the home being in capable hands. A comfortable silence fills the space as we both look around, contemplating. We spend the next half hour discussing prices, more about the area, a possible move-in date, and everything else house-related.I don’t ask any more questions about her mom or the situation, and she doesn’t pry about how I stumbled upon the house. “We haven’t had any offers. We were even considering putting it up for auction, but it’s yours if you want it. So, you can take a few days and-"

“I’ll take it.” I’m saying the words before I can even comprehend my own decision. But I have enough for a down payment saved up from my time in the city, and with a steady income from the coffee shop I should be able to handle monthly payments…

What’s back in New York City for me, anyways? I tried that job I so desperately craved, I tried the man. It didn’t work, and clearly, it wasn’t ever going to work. I have Viv, of course. But I can visit, and so can she. I had no plans of staying here, let alone buying a damn house, but I think consciously I knew my plans were changing the minute I saw that “For Sale” sign. Maybe even the minute I got on that plane when I truly didn’thaveto.

Is this insane? Yes.

Am I going to do it anyway? Also, yes.

“Let’s get some papers drawn up, then.”

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