Page 8 of Finding Home
Is this entire town named after someone named Barlow?
Another beautiful, much smaller lake sits to the right and spans from the start of the street to a cluster of trees a gooddistance away. I like that this place is tucked away in a secluded part of the town. It’s close, but not too close.
After turning the car through a big bend around the lake, my eyes land on two houses. One of them is a tiny home, and the other is what looks like a gigantic estate-style home a quarter of a mile away.
Do they plan to build more on this road?
“There’s your tiny home,” Nan announces.
A smile splits across my face as I take it in. “Wow.”
She says nothing more as I pull into a makeshift gravel driveway.
I exit the car quickly as the crisp air hits my lungs again. You couldn’t wipe the smile off my face if you tried. A beautiful dock with two Adirondack chairs sits on the edge of the small lake. I can picture sitting out there late at night with a glass of wine, a blanket, and Reginald on my lap. And most definitely with a good book.
I glance to my left to see the bigger home. Evergreen trees surrounding it make it look tucked away at the north end of the street, while my home sits very much out in the open. It’s far enough away that I can still have my privacy, but close enough that if we became friends, it’s a short walk to each other’s house.
I wonder if they are nice.
I hope like hell the entire town isn’t as intimidating as that man driving the truck was.
How cool would it be to have a friend so close?
I turn back to face my house.
My home.
It’s very small, but I expected that after doing some research on these types of houses. It’s a simple design with a dark blue exterior with crisp white trim, giving it a modern but sophisticated appearance. It’s a two-story house with a pitched roof, suggesting the upper level may be a loft-style room. Windows line the outside, which tells me that there is plenty of natural light to flood the interior.
“Needs some work,” Nan says, coming to stand beside me with Reginald’s leash in her hands.
“It’s perfect.”
“No one’s lived here for years. But it’s been kept up on the inside by the previous owner,” she says. “The deck railing ain’t too sturdy. Probably got a nail or two poking out somewhere, so careful.”
The natural wood beams and posts of the porch truly don’t look like it’s going to last much longer. But realization hits me.
One of the biggest thoughts I had on the drive here is to learn who I truly am and gain some independence. So much of my life has been spent relying on others. Relying on a man to do the hard things for me. Once I moved into my sister’s apartment, I realized I didn’t even know who I was as a person anymore. Deep down under the polished exterior I had to maintain, I struggle to know who I really am.
This project might be something I can do to help me learn this independent lifestyle.
Emphasizing the word “might.”
I don’t know if I’ll be able to fix a whole deck by myself, but what a project that could be, huh?
“Maybe one day I can build a bigger deck,” I tell her.
“You need any help, you reach out to me. One of my boys will be right over to help you out with that.”
I smile and nod.
That’s exactly what I don’t want, but I’m not about to tell her that. Besides, it’s nice to know I will have a backup if it turns into more than I anticipated.
I turn to face her fully, taking Reginald’s leash from her. “Thank you so much, ma’am. You know, for helping me get this place.”
“It’s what I do.” She laughs. “We ain’t got real estate agents here in town, so I make it my job to help sell some of these places. And you lucked out with this one. I never thought the owner would sell it.”
“Wow,” I say, chest feeling tight at the perfect turn of events. “It’s going to be the perfect place for us.”
