Page 20 of Traces Of You
Brooke walked over and gave her a coffee, took one look at her, and remembered exactly who she was.
Not only did she remember her, but she pulled her into a warm hug and told her she’d grown into a lovely young woman. Whatever was going on, she said, her door was always open if she ever needed to talk.
A tear escaped out of her eye before she could stop it.
This family just kept giving. It was the jolt of courage she’d been chasing when she came back. The flicker of hope Ford had given her as a child, the kind no one else ever offered her as an adult.
Her few relationships all started the same. Men like Oliver sweet-talking her, telling her how pretty she was and how they needed someone like her in their life to take care of them.
She dove in hoping for the same care in return, but it never happened. She gave and gave and was empty in the end.
Now as Reenie pulled the cleaner out of the box with a rag, she went to the sink to dump it in a bucket she’d found in a cabinet.
A bang had her jumping and dropping the bottle of Lysol on the floor, the cap in her hand and cleaning liquid spilling everywhere.
She bent to grab it and saw Clay stacking the wood he’d dropped by the stove. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“It’s fine. I’m a little jumpy.”
Ford’s brother turned to stare at her. “You’ll be safe here. You can trust me like you do Ford.”
“Thank you. I don’t know how long I’ll be here. I don’t want to inconvenience anyone.”
“If you leave, you’ll only force Ford and me to come get you.”
She froze. She’d been forced back before and it was not a feeling she ever wanted to experience again.
“I’m free to leave, Ford said.”
Clay snorted. “Sure. If you want to hide the rest of your life. But if you want that freedom, you’ll let us help you. It’s your choice. Make the right one.”
Clay walked out again.
Great. That’s who was going to be monitoring her here?
She turned back to the bucket and dumped the cleaner in it and wiped down the kitchen counters. The layers of dust had her sneezing, but there was no way she could live like this.
It wouldn’t take long to clean. The place wasn’t that big.
One big open room that had a couch and a chair in it. Had to be twenty years old easily, but since they’d been covered with drop cloths she’d already removed and left on the front porch, they would do.
There was a table and mix-matched chairs between the living room and galley kitchen. A kitchen that only took up one wall, had a black fridge that might be as old as the furniture, anancient gas oven that she hoped worked, and four cabinets. Two on the top, two on the bottom.
She was pulling them open and found some plates, glasses and pots and pans. New enough that it looked as if someone had been here in the last decade but hadn’t stayed long.
As she brought them down to wipe the shelves, she realized there wasn’t much dust there.
“Has someone been living here?” she asked when Clay returned with more wood.
“Me,” he said. “I used to stay here when I came home from leave before I moved back. I turned the water back on before you came over. The knocking of the pipes will stop once you run more water. Don’t worry. There is an electric hot water tank for the shower and sinks. The only heat source is this wood burning stove. The place is small enough that it doesn’t take long to warm everything.”
“It’s perfect,” she said.
“Did you look around at anything else?”
“No. I removed the tarps and was opening the windows.”
Clay moved to a door off the living room. “Here is the bedroom.”
