Chapter Three
Overgrown trees, patches of dirt and a run-down cottage that at one time was a sweet getaway. Cane in one hand, bucket of cleaning supplies in the other, Nash stood back and stared at his inheritance, his project, what would become his life’s work.
His father may have told him to give everything his best shot, but now, four days after the reading of his father’s will, Nash wondered why everything in life came with strings attached?
Change was fast, unforgiving and inevitable, something he didn’t know if he would ever accept.
With a sigh, he scanned the landscape. Once upon a time, his parents bought the little piece of land where his father built his mother the little cottage. Located near the Pacific Ocean and only two hours away from Los Angeles, the milder temperatures of Los Padres made it the perfect spot to spend the summers.
The first time his life changed in an instant, it was not an explosion or lab results, but rather two police officers showing up at their cottage and relaying the news of his mother’s car accident when he was eleven years old.
They never spent another summer here.
Yes, they drove by, even went inside, but Nash knew exactly why his father left this place in disarray. The man couldn’t come back, looking back hurt, it ached and weighed him down. Instead, he chose to move forward.
Maybe his father couldn’t return, but with the reading of the will, Nash finally had the permission to reclaim what was his—his childhood and his memories. By his father putting conditions on the land, he knew he had to work for everything, take care of it, and never ever take anything for granted.
Time was against him. Then again, when was time ever for anyone? Still, needing to get to work, he finally fished the keys out of his pocket and opened the door.
Sepia light streamed in through the covered windows showing cobwebs and years of dust, which made the entire space appear blurred and washed out. Gone was the happy area where a family of three collapsed in laughter on the floral printed couches. The faded pictures captured times before anyone knew it could end abruptly. The table was piled with magazines and mail as if someone would be arriving soon to deal with everyday life.
In all honesty, he didn’t know if he wanted the cottage. He only knew he couldn’t give it up, couldn’t sell the last remaining image of what he once was.
As he walked toward the kitchen, his steps kicked up dust and out of the corner of his eye he swore he spied a mouse scurrying away. At the moment, everything seemed overwhelming. How was he supposed to clean years of neglect out of this place, then do the repairs? “Start at the beginning,” he repeated what his mother always told him, went to the sink, and turned on the water.
After a pause, the flow began, sputtering rust colored liquid that soon turned clear and continuous. He dumped some cleaning solution in the bucket and stuck it under the faucet. In order to know what he was dealing with, he needed to clean up first.
Once he had a bucket full of suds, he grabbed some rags and wiped off the dinette table. With one clean spot, he put his phone down and turned on some music, reminding himself to bring his speakers tomorrow.
He pulled his hair into a ponytail and got to work.
Starting in the kitchen, he wiped and cleaned, starting with the cabinets and working his way down. The hard rock music he loved throbbed through the kitchen and he found his rhythm. He didn’t know how many times he dumped out the dirty water in the bucket, but it didn’t matter. Every bucket was one step closer to his goal.
He propped his cane against the counter, then got down on his hands and knees to tackle the floor. While his muscles ached from all the exertion, he was determined to have one clean room before he took a break. Again, he submerged his scrub brush into the water and using both hands scoured away years of accumulated dirt and grime.
A pair of shiny red stilettoes entered his space, coupled with two matching sets of black leather loafers.
At the intrusion, Nash tightened his hold on the brush and looked up. Stacy and her destructive duo stood there.
“Well, well, I never thought I would see the day.” She tapped her foot. “The rock star on his hands and knees.”
“That can’t be the first time he’s been in this position.” Cash elbowed his brother and the twins laughed, more like cackled.
“Now, now boys.” Stacy ran her hand along the top of one of the dinette chairs and rubbed her fingers together. “Nashville, I never did understand your music.”
“I never asked you to.” He forced himself up and turned off the tunes.
“Is it strange watching your colleagues, all those other musicians, go on to have successful careers while you have been reduced to hobbling around in a rundown hovel?” Her tone came out innocent. Cyanide mixed with sugar.
He braced himself on the table. “I could have stayed in the industry if I wanted.” After the accident, more than one offer came his way, but without his band mates it didn’t matter. If he planned his settlement money carefully, he had enough to basically retire. Only now, all that faced him was nothing, nothing except this cottage he had to save with his sweat, not with his savings.
“You know, for someone so good at finances that he could have been an accountant, you are acting a fool.” His stepmother inched closer. “If you gave up this farce of trying to save this monstrosity, we can take the money and I will support you in trying to get back into the industry you love.”
Rather than speak, he picked up his bucket and returned to the sink. It took every bit of his strength not to dump the dirty water on her and her minions.
“Nashville! Help!”
At his stepmother’s screech, he spun around, spilling the water all over his freshly clean kitchen and knocking over his cane. “What is it?”
“A mouse!” She grabbed the twins. “A mouse. It went into the corner.”
“You better be careful, they are known to carry disease.” With a chuckle, he stepped over to get his cane. “Maybe you shouldn’t come around here.”
“Look, you’re walking.” Colton pointed.
No sooner did the words leave his mouth than Nash slipped in the puddle of water, ending up sliding onto the floor and landing on his good knee.
“Here, let me help.” His stepbrother went to run forward.
“Stop!” his stepmother screamed out.
In an instant, Colton froze.
“Nashville has to do all the work himself.” She took hold of her son’s sleeve and pulled him back. “Remember anything he does, no matter how trivial, will only add to the selling price.”
The two of them stared at one another. Nash reached over, retrieved his cane and got himself up.
“Let’s go boys, can’t say we didn’t try talking some sense into him.” She glanced over her shoulder. “You’re never going to make it, Nashville.” With her words out, she and her offspring left.
He glanced around. Their intrusion tracked in dirt on his one clean spot.