Two Years Later

It has been two years since I got that check from the Wild Foundation and it has been one and a half years since Momma went into remission. Every three months she goes for a checkup, and the more checkups that come and go without a resurgence of cancer, the better her luck is in surviving in the long run.

Every day, I am thankful for that check from that mysterious benefactor. I don’t know why we were chosen, but I want more than anything to thank him or her in person. But even that won’t do it justice. It’s impossible to explain how I really feel about this, because it’s not just my Momma’s life that that check saved. It also saved my life.

When Momma was dying, I was living my life day to day, week to week. I made no plans for the future. The future didn’t really exist. I barely knew how I was going to get through the week. Now, the future is open and bright.

I even moved out!

I don’t live too far now, only a few streets over, but Momma insisted on it.

“A young woman such as yourself needs her own space,” she says. “What if you want to bring a guy over? Where are you guys going to hang out? In the living room, while I’m snoring in the back room?”

“Momma,” I roll my eyes, “I don’t want to bring a guy over.”

“Well, I want you to,” she looks straight at me. “You’re twenty-seven years old now. You’ve been taking care of me for almost seven years. That’s a big burden. You should’ve been living your own life.”

She’s right, of course, but I can’t say that. I don’t regret a moment that I spent caring for her, but a small part of me does wonder how different my life could be.

“Besides,” I remember Momma saying. “You need your own place so you can find a guy so you can finally give me grandchildren!”

Grandchildren! I’ve been caring for her for so long, I can’t even imagine having the time in the day to care for children! Let alone a husband.

And so, with her insistence, I moved out. I got my own trailer a couple of streets away from hers. It’s definitely nice to come home to my own place with everything put away neatly in its place. No boxes here. No clothes all over the floor. I have more time to focus on this now. I even have time to focus on other things. Like my future.

My gaze goes to the course catalog laying on my brand-new kitchen table. Well, it’s not brand-new, it’s from the thrift store down the street, but it’s nevertheless my kitchen table. All mine. I leaf through the course catalog. I wonder what else could be mine? Perhaps, I could have my own career. A nurse, maybe? I have a lot of experience now. The pay is really good, in comparison to a waitress, anyway. But I don’t know if I can care for anyone anymore. Momma’s cancer has really worn me out.

“Ding Dong! Ding Dong!” My new door bell goes off, startling me. Who could that be?

“Yes, may I help you?” I open the door.

There’s a mailman at the door. I’ve never seen him before, so he must be new.

“I’ve got a certified letter here for you, Miss,” he says. He doesn’t know my name.

“Where’s Mr. Thompson, isn’t he still working?”

He looks surprised that I know the other mailman’s name.

“Yes, but he’s transitioning to an internal role. So I’m going to be filling in for him sometimes.”

I nod and sign for the letter.

The envelope looks familiar. The same fancy paper and the same elegant script which has saved Momma’s life.

After he pulls away, I turn the envelope over. This time, it’s not from the Wild Foundation. It’s from someone named Mr. Francis Whitewater. I open the envelope and take a deep breath. If they’re asking for all the money back, I have no way of paying. We’ve spent it all!

Dear Ms. Brielle Elizabeth Cole,

---

We have recently learned that your mother has made quite a recovery, and her cancer is now in remission. What great news!

We are pleased that you were able to put the money to such good use, and we are very happy for you.

However, we are now in need of your help. It is my pleasure to invite you to the Wild House for a brief residency, lasting no longer than a year. We hope you accept the invitation, so that the process of you paying the debt back goes smoothly.

---

Sincerely,

Mr. Francis Whitewater

---

Certain words and phrases stand out. I read them over and over again, but they don’t make any more sense.

Residency.

No longer than a year.

Debt.

---

What does that mean? What is he talking about? What debt?

“Well, you didn’t think you got that money for nothing, did you?” Dottie asks when I show her the letter at work.

She’s close to 90-years-old, and she’s the only one who I trusted enough to tell her about the check. I didn’t even tell her anything until after half the money was spent and Momma was on her way to recovery.

“I don’t know,” I shake my head. “I guess I did.”

Dottie laughs. “I’ve seen a lot in my long life, but this is a new one for me.”

“What should I do?”

“I don’t know what to do, child,” she shakes her head. “But from the looks of this, the letter doesn’t seem menacing at all. Maybe they just want you to work there until you pay off your debt.”

“Work there? Where?”

“At the Wild House. Whatever the hell that is.”

“But I didn’t even know this was a debt. Don’t they have the obligation to tell me? Shouldn’t I sign for something, if it was going to be a debt?”

“Perhaps, but I don’t think this is any normal kind of debt. This isn’t the bank. They would’ve never given you the money.”

I know she’s right, of course. No one gave us any money when we needed it. They all turned their backs on us.

“Well, do you think it’s something sinister? Like some sort of brothel? Or prostitution ring?” I ask.

I don’t know why my mind went there, except that I watch a lot of crime investigation shows on my days off.

Dottie thinks about it for a moment.

“I doubt it,” she finally says.

“Those kind of places usually promise you lots of money first and then use you up and toss you out. These people gave you a quarter of a million dollars first without even getting you to sign anything for it.”

“And since I didn’t sign anything for it, I technically don’t have to do anything they say,” I say. I feel my eyes lighting up with excitement.

“Well, technically, no,” Dottie nods, “but I wouldn’t want to play with Karma like that, honey. That might bring a whole lot of bad luck on you.”

She’s right, of course. I had to go. I owed a debt, and if there was some reasonable and honest way that I could pay it back, then I owed it to them to try.