Eden

My stomach is in knots as I park my Jeep in the lot of Miller’s Efficiency Units. Instead of preparing to go back to college the way I have at this time of year for the last few years, I’m starting a whole new life. Looking around, I’m happy to see that the small, pixelated photos on the overly simplistic website didn’t do this place justice at all. I’ve been preparing myself for something that might be a good fit for a location of the next Norman Bates movie— something surrounded by spooky trees and death traps for stupid people to trip on as they run from the murderer— but I’ve worried for nothing.

I imagined the single-story thirty unit building would be small and kind of blah. Instead, it’s both larger and far more welcoming than I’d thought. The lower portion of the building is red brick while the upper is khaki colored vinyl siding. Every room has a large window accented by black shutters, and beneath each window is a seating area with two wooden Adirondack chairs with a small table between them. I count a dozen massive terracotta planters strategically placed around the front, each full of impatiens in shades of white, fuchsia, and light pink. This fresh and cheerful landscape carries throughout the property. At the start of the drive that leads down to the motel, there’s a business sign beneath which is a freshly mulched garden full of impatiens that match those in the planters. The shrubs are so perfectly shaped I’m wondering if the landscaper uses a level.

It’s beautiful here—and very peaceful. All of this is better than I ever could’ve hoped, and for the first time in what seems like an eternity, I feel as though it may be possible for me to get some wind back in my sails. Wiping my hands against my jeans, I take a deep breath and head toward the office. The next chapter of my life starts now.

“And here’s your room,” Margie announces in a cheerful tone as she turns the key in the door and opens it about an inch. The light breeze flutters through her shoulder-length blonde hair as she turns and smiles at me. The gentle wind reminds me that it’s fifteen degrees cooler here than it was in Jersey City. Although it’s only mid-August, now that the sun is going down I’m realizing the weather will change up before it would have there.

“We’re not Buckingham Palace,” she continues, “but it’s clean, comfortable, safe, and all yours. I would’ve given you the room closest to the office, but we rent to a trucker with OCD who requests that room when he comes through each month. I reckoned it wouldn’t matter much to you since all the rooms are the same.”

It doesn’t. A room is a room, really. I smile at Margie warmly and tell her the God’s honest truth. “I’m just happy the room is a job perk.”

Left unspoken is how desperately I need the no-cost accommodation but since we talked about it back in the office, I sense she wouldn’t want me to go on and on about it. Margie is very relaxed, and I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. Already, I can tell we’re going to get along great since she’s the same in person as she was during our phone calls and email exchanges during the interview process.

“Alright then, I’ll leave you to it,” she says. “You’re on nine to six tomorrow. I left takeout menus for the three places that deliver out here on the table in your room and the Wi-Fi password is on the desk. Give a holler if you need anything at all. I’m less than a mile away.”

I nod, remembering that she’d told me that before. Margie and her husband Ron moved up here and bought the motel and then a house as close as they could get to it, seven and a half years ago.

“Thank you so much for everything. I’m really looking forward to starting in the morning.”

She grins and pats my arm. “Thank you for being willing to relocate up here to take the job, Eden. Your being here frees our daughter up to go back to school and that’s a big deal for us. Not everyone knows what they want to do when they graduate high school. It’s taken three years, but she’s finally got some direction, and her father and I couldn’t be happier. Things work out in mysterious ways—had she gone before we wouldn’t have had the job for you now. I think you’re going to like it here. It may not be the most exciting work, but it is steady. Since summer is almost over we’ve only got one more really busy week, which will give you time to settle in.”

I think I am too, so I tell her as much. After another minute or so of conversation, Margie takes her leave. With one last wave over her shoulder, she leaves me to explore my space. Opening the door all the way I’m greeted by the fresh scent of lemon cleaner. Getting my first real look, I let out a long sigh of relief. Just like the situation with the exterior, the interior looks better than it did online. Margie was correct— it’s not fancy, but it is clean, spotlessly so. Closing the door behind me, I smile. This is more than I could have hoped for.

Even if it weren’t, I’d still be thankful because there’s a roof over my head that I don’t need to pay for and that’s what really matters. The small living area consists of an overstuffed earth-toned couch, two oak end tables and a matching coffee table that’s situated on top of a small area rug. Across the room, there is an oak TV cart with a flat screen television on top of it. I make a mental note to ask Margie if the televisions in every room are like this. If so, I want to add that to the update of the web page I’d like to do right away.

Looking to my left, I see a compact three-seat table beneath a half-wall that divides the space. The top of the half-wall is made useful by the navy colored counter on top. On the other side of said counter is a small kitchen tucked into the left side of the room. Like the living room, the kitchen has an oak looking laminate on the floor. I smile when I notice the appliances are bright white, something I haven’t seen since my grandparents’ home in Jersey sold. One of my fondest memories is of staring into the little window at the front of the oven to watch my grandmother’s maple sugar cookies bake. Thinking of that scent makes my stomach growl and I realize I haven’t eaten since the crappy lunch I shoved down at a turnpike rest stop. I think pizza is in my future because for me cheese is always welcome.

After calling for dinner, I make six quick trips to my car to get my stuff. Back inside I head toward the bedroom, passing through a paneled wall that’s been painted an inviting denim blue color. Although the wall isn’t thick, it very effectively breaks up the space. This area has tan Berber carpet to make it feel homier, which is nice. There’s enough room for a king-sized bed, two side tables, a long dresser with a flat screen TV mounted on the wall above it and a small corner desk with a rolling chair. The navy blue coverlet on the bed looks about as cozy as every other motel comforter—which is to say it could be significantly more plush. On a positive note, there are four fluffy-looking pillows and I’ve got the comforter from my college apartment with me. It’s a full size which means it’s not big enough for the bed, but it will definitely keep me warm.

I press down on the mattress with my hand, surprised to feel that it’s good quality. Lifting back the linens, I find that the mattress and box spring look brand new. I make another mental note to find out if all of the rooms have this type of mattress, because it’s something that should be mentioned on the website. Humming to myself, I head into the bathroom. It’s basic but spotlessly clean, which is all I really care about.

The toilet, sink, and tub are all blinding white, as is the ceramic tile on the wall. The grout is crisp and clean and absolutely nothing looks dingy or dirty. It’s very apparent that the maids and maintenance staff here at Miller’s take their jobs seriously. Looking around, I am struck again by how very lucky I am to have landed here.

After using the facilities, I stare at myself in the mirror while I wash my hands. As I wash I take the time to really assess my tired and run down appearance, something I’ve not allowed myself to do in weeks. My bright blue eyes have dark circles beneath them that speak to my lack of sleep and my once rosy complexion seems washed out because I spent the summer stressing out as opposed to lounging by the pool. Instead, I’d hidden from my friends because I didn’t want to talk about what Dad did. Letting people know would make it real and even to this very moment I still desperately want to find out that it’s all been a misunderstanding. I know it’s foolish, but he’s my father and I’ll never stop wishing that some magical explanation will make sense of this situation.

Exhaling slowly, I pull a hairband from my pocket, put my shoulder-length brown hair up into a ponytail and head back into the bedroom to unpack. It doesn’t take long since everything I have, came out of the small apartment I’d been renting back at college with three roommates. The larger wardrobe I’d left at home is gone now, likely in a landfill somewhere along with everything else I’d been foolish enough to leave there. Feeling the tension as it starts to build in my body, I take a deep breath and let it out. I’ve cried enough over spilled milk and it’s gotten me exactly nowhere. Tears can’t change cold, hard facts.

I’m a twenty-one-year-old college dropout, stopped in my tracks with only one more year to go on a hospitality degree I desperately want. I did everything I could do other than sell my body to come up with the tuition but there was too wide a berth between my reality and the money needed to complete my degree. I’d been so desperate that I’d come close to selling my car, but in the end, I couldn’t bear to part with it. Call me sentimental, but with everything else I’ve lost, I couldn’t give that up, too.

No financial institution will take me on without a co-signer because my credit is jacked to hell and back—a heartbreaking fact I only discovered after I tried to get a loan. That’s when I discovered a list of open credit cards in my name, each and every one maxed out and behind in the payments. Since I’ve never opened a credit card in my life, I immediately knew I’d just been stabbed in the back—again—by my father and his lovely bride, Sharon.

All things being equal, the credit cards are a drop in the bucket. I could’ve handled that blow, had it come on its own. The hardest blow came from the discovery that the bank account I had, the one that held the remainder of the life insurance money I inherited after my mom and grandmother were killed by a drunk driver, was gone. That money and the money from the sale of my grandparents’ house had been set aside for my education—and every last cent is gone, along with the house I grew up in. Dad and Sharon have moved on to God only knows where. The house was foreclosed on, my college money is gone, and my father has disappeared off the face of the earth.

I should have known something more was going on when I didn’t hear from him any of the times I called after I went back to school at the conclusion of my ten-day visit during winter break. I’d foolishly categorized his absence as being Sharon’s fault. How could I not? They’d dated for six weeks before they got married and in the ensuing two years, things had taken a turn I’d never seen coming. My relationship with him had become strained because of her and although it hurt like hell, I’d assured myself I’d take the bull by the horns and sit down with him to talk it out once my spring semester ended. I’d felt like I was losing my dad, but I’d had no idea how total that loss would be.

Arriving home in mid-May and finding a for sale sign on the lawn was beyond shocking. Realizing that the house was empty— and that my key no longer worked—broke a piece of my heart. My next-door neighbor Jerry was the one who told me about the foreclosure. He couldn’t remember the exact date of when Dad and Sharon left, but he knew it was sometime in February. That was like a kick to the stomach.

Four.

Months.

That wasn’t a sorry things got out of control and we had to quickly relocate but I landed here and there’s a room for you type of situation. Still, I had faith that finding him would be easy. I just kept telling myself our lines were crossed somehow, but obviously everything was going to be fine. Using the card attached to my individual checking account, I’d gotten a room at the nearest motel and started making phone calls. That’s when I discovered things were far, far worse than I could ever have imagined.

A call to the construction company my dad was a foreman for revealed that he’d been fired in November. In hushed tones, his former secretary, Meredith, told me that he’d been erratic for two years. After being written up five times in a six-month period for lengthy, unexplained absences, the company had no choice but to fire him. When I asked Meredith what she thought had been going on with him, she’d hesitated before answering.

“Honestly, Eden… we all suspected drugs. Your father really changed so much once Sharon entered the picture, it’s as if he became a different person.”

Meredith wasn’t wrong. After my dad married Sharon two years ago, more and more I felt as if the father I’d grown up with was gone.

By the time I’d gotten off the phone with Meredith, my stomach felt like it had been through a meat grinder. Calls to the few friends Dad retained after Sharon took over his life confirmed what Meredith had told me—my father had been behaving erratically and everyone left from his life before his second marriage had been systematically cut out. After those phone calls were finished, I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that whatever was happening with my father was serious. Realizing that I needed to find housing until school started, I spent the next day looking at short-term rentals. I was lucky to find something on Temp Rent right away—a small basement room with a private bathroom and a separate entrance.

I’ve been working since I was fourteen years old, which means I’ve always had money of my own. Since my education was being covered by the settlement money from Mom and Grandma’s accident, other than getting my own cell phone plan when I went to college and paying for it each month I never had to touch the money I made. I kept five thousand dollars in my checking account at all times and twice a year I would move the excess into the savings account where my college money was. After putting out the money for the summer rental with the five thousand in my personal checking account, I was down to just under four thousand.

I’d had at least five thousand in my account since I was sixteen and I liked it that way, so after I paid for the rental I decided to go to the bank to have money from my school account transferred over. That’s when I found out that the life insurance money, along with the money I’d gotten when my grandparents’ house sold, and all the additional money I’d earned through the years was gone, baby, gone. I’d stared at the bank-teller, Annabelle, blankly when she announced that the account showed a zero balance.

“I… that’s impossible,” I said. My voice sounded shaky to my own ears. “I gave my dad a check to deposit what I earned at work from the start of school to break. The last time we took money out was December third, when we paid for the spring semester. That should have left the account with a balance of roughly one hundred and forty-nine thousand dollars. Where did all of my money go?”

Beads of sweat trickled down my back as Annabelle chewed on the inside of her cheek while her fingers flew over her keyboard, the keys clack-clack-clacking as she pulled up information. Although I didn’t want to believe it, my gut was telling me where the money was. The money in question had been in a joint account with my dad, which meant the odds were against his disappearance and my empty coffers not being tied together. Also, those account statements had gone to the house—not to me at school. If he’d decided to take money he’d done so knowing I wouldn’t realize it until I came home once the semester ended. And what had I come back to? No. Freaking. Home. Left. I could feel the storm coming, a category five hurricane gathering strength before it touched down on land.

I shook that feeling off and continued telling myself I was wrong. It’s just a mistake, I chanted. A misunderstanding. No matter what, he wouldn’t do this to you, I assured myself. He’s your father. The two things aren’t connected. The money is still there. She’s wrong. She has to be wrong.

“I’m showing that the account was closed on January tenth of this year by your father when he took out the last twelve thousand dollars.”

“The last twelve thousand? What about the rest?”

The pity in her look tore through me. “There were seven withdrawals between August and January.

It was like a kick to the gut. In six months he’d taken it all and I’d had no clue. I’d gone back to school at the beginning of January and he’d never given me any indication he’d been robbing me blind for months. Sure, he’d been significantly less interested in me than he was when I was younger, but I’d been positive that was Sharon’s fault. I couldn’t blame her for my money, though. Not now that I knew for sure that Dad was the one to take the money. Since Sharon’s name was nowhere on the account, there was no way to blame her. My father had brazenly stolen money from me—his only child.

“So my money is just gone?” I asked in a shrill-sounding voice.

“Unfortunately it is. I’m sorry, miss. My suggestion to you is to speak to your father about it. Maybe he took it to another bank—”

“He didn’t take it to another bank!” I screeched. “He ghosted with my money and now I have nothing. What the actual fuck?”

Needless to say, the branch manager had to come out to get involved since I’d gotten the attention of the entire bank when I started yelling. Humiliated, I’d stormed out in tears. For the next six days, I holed up in my short-term rental and kept right on crying my goddamn eyes out as things went from bad to worse.

Needing money, I tried to get my old job back. They weren’t hiring and nowhere else I went had any openings. It’s hard to get summer work when every other college kid has already filled the good paying available jobs. I’d felt like a complete moron for not having locked down a job before school ended. Like a fool, I’d chosen not to get a job because I’d been hoping to spend the time between the end of spring semester and the start of the fall semester working on my relationship with my dad. Clearly having a bond with me hadn’t even been on his radar.

In the end, I managed to get a gig working in housekeeping at a Holiday Inn but making minimum wage and struggling to get enough hours had been a nightmare. By the end of summer, I was down to thirty-five hundred dollars in my account. I’d have had more, but in addition to taking my money and racking up credit card debt, Dad also stopped carrying insurance on the Jeep Wagoneer I inherited from my grandparents. I’d had to scramble to get my own policy, which didn’t come cheap.

I’d also had to spend money to travel back to Penn State for two days to try to work out my tuition situation. I’d been shuffled around from one place to another for days before I finally got to a good advisor. He had done what he could to help me, but I was too late to apply for scholarships for the coming semester. The tearful breakdown I’d had in his office had been memorable enough for him to call me three days later to tell me about a job about a few hours away up in the mountains that one of my professors recommended me for. Miller’s Efficiency Units was looking to hire an assistant manager. It meant relocating, but I said I was willing to do it if they wanted me. Luckily, they did.

The job is like a gift from God since it comes with a free room and after ninety days, health insurance. I’m thankful to have a place to rest my head and also excited that I’m going to be getting management experience. One way or another I’m going to work my way up the hospitality ladder. My dream of a degree was delayed, but somehow, some way, I’m still going to make it.

I hope.