My head might be pounding, but the cry had been necessary. Being in Grandma’s house alone was incredibly painful, but it was also cathartic. She wanted me here, I knew that, otherwise she’d have made the house part of the rest of the estate, with the proceeds from the sale distributed between all three of her grandchildren.
I remained confident that coming here was the right thing for me at this point in my life. I loved my family, but being out from under their watchful eyes and the constant suggestions on how I could improve my life would be good for me. I was ready to make decisions completely on my own, rather than having to consider how my parents and sisters would react.
Decisions such as what kind of car I might want to buy, what color to paint the rooms of my new home, whether to go with carpet or hardwood, curtains or blinds, and which organizations I might want to volunteer with.
Oh, the possibilities. The freedom. As I contemplated all this from the comfort of Grandma’s chair, renewed excitement began to push some of my sadness away—at least for the time being. I got up and went to the kitchen, thinking once again of soft grandma hugs and banana bread, but also of all I needed to do to make this house my home.
I walked around the room, opening drawers and cupboards, taking stock of what was there. My dad and I had gone through the house the day after Grandma’s funeral, right after we’d sat for the reading of her will at the local attorney’s office. Since we’d known by then that the house would be mine, I’d decided to keep all the kitchen stuff. I wanted all her well-used utensils, pans, and dishes, because that would be a way of keeping her with me.
We’d donated what food we could and thrown out the rest. The fridge had been cleaned and turned off, the door hanging open to prevent odors. I closed it now and turned the dial to the mid-point between “cold” and “colder.” I wished I’d thought to bring a cooler and ice to keep my groceries cold while the fridge cooled down, but since the appliance was on the smaller side, it wouldn’t take long.
I went outside and brought the groceries inside, leaving the cold items wrapped up together in a heavy paper bag, to stay as cool as possible while the fridge did its thing.
I wandered back to the living room. Even though the kitchen was intact and basically ready to go, I had a lot of decisions to make about the rest of the house. There were a number of pieces of existing furniture I wanted to keep, mostly for sentimental reasons, but I had to figure out how to make them work with my own things.
That would be doable and even kind of fun. It was the thought of tackling Grandma’s bedroom that was completely overwhelming. I’d peeked into the room when Dad and I had come over to clean out the kitchen, but when I’d realized that everything was just as Grandma had left it the day of the stroke, I couldn’t make myself go inside. It hurt too much to think of her tidying up the room and then going downstairs to face the day, having no idea she had just spent her last night on earth.
I remembered exactly how the room looked. The bed was neatly made, Grandma’s floral printed nightgown folded in a neat square on the corner of the quilt, ready for a night that had never come. The quilt was the one that had been on Grandma’s bed ever since I could remember—the one her mother had made and given to her as a wedding gift.
Her nightcap was laid out on the dresser, and her worn Bible and glasses case were on the bedside table. Everything was in its place. That’s how Grandma rolled.
Cleaning out that room would be terribly sad, and I decided there was really no reason I couldn’t delay the task until I felt ready, whether that be next week or three months from now. I’d face it when I felt strong enough. In the meantime, I’d take the bedroom across the hall and the hall bath for my own.
The third bedroom, the one to the left at the top of the stairs, was going to be my office. Grandma hadn’t used the room for much, other than storing Christmas decorations and such, and the door had always been closed to save heating and cooling it. I felt no sentimental attachment to that room. In fact, I couldn’t wait to get started transforming it.
That line of thought made me feel a little twitchy and impatient. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone an entire day without touching a keyboard. I’d worked ahead on my current project so I wouldn’t jeopardize the deadline by taking some time off, but it still felt weird to spend a whole day away from all things technology related. Well, except for my phone. A girl traveling alone has to have a phone.
I’d made the decision not to bring any of the tools of my trade with me, even though I wasn’t used to being separated from them. My plan was to concentrate solely on the house for a few days. My regular moving truck would get here on Saturday, three days from now, but all my computer equipment was being packed and moved by a trustworthy technology relocation company, and that truck wouldn’t be arriving until Monday.
Which was okay—if I could handle the twitchiness—because that would give me a chance to get the room ready.
Yes, I’m aware that it’s unusual to own enough computer equipment to warrant specially skilled movers and a separate truck, but when it comes to making a living, I’m one lucky girl. I have my dream job, plain and simple, and it just happens to require a lot of computer stuff, along with a ton of really cool gadgets. It’s also challenging and rewarding, and I like to think my work makes a difference.
Ironically, although I’m very proud of what I do, few people know exactly what that is. Even my family has no idea. They think I work for a nice all-American software firm designing websites. If they knew what I really do, and the kind of money I make, their jaws would hit the floor. Because, after all, I’m a college drop-out. There’s no way I could be making more money than sisters Audrey and Ella, who both have their master’s degrees. Only…..I do. Lots more.
As it turns out, a college degree isn’t the be-all, end-all in the world of computer hacking. Which is a good thing, because sitting still in school and getting the expected straight A’s was just not going to happen for me. Thankfully I discovered my true passion in the eighth grade, and I’ve been perfecting my craft ever since. The fact that I get paid extremely well for doing what I love is a bonus.
I know hacking sounds like a bad thing to do, but it doesn’t have to be. My job is totally legitimate. I’m one of the good guys—a “white hat” hacker. I admit that when I first started, my hacking was not always on the up-and-up. It also wasn’t malicious. Yes, I liked to see which networks I could hack into, but the challenge for me was the breech itself, not snooping around once I got in. And I never caused any harm.
I was in my mid-teens and a year into my hobby when I began making online connections with other hackers. Thankfully, I was drawn to like-minded, harmless souls, rather than to ones who had darker motives. It was through those interactions—primarily discussion forums—that I’d realized I could actually use my abilities to do good and to make a living instead of just entertaining myself.
When I quit college after two years, I started officially working in the “industry.” I’m currently part of a seven-member team that works with government contractors performing cyber-security jobs for the military.
It’s fulfilling, if sometimes kind of dark. The U.S. Department of Defense is under attack twenty-four seven by too many faceless evil-doers to count. My team is hired to test systems and try to find problem areas before the bad guys do. It’s a very cutthroat environment. We’re competing against dozens of other subcontractors who do the same kind of work, many of whom have way more years of experience.
However, we’re pretty darn good at what we do, even though we’ve only been together for three years. It was slow going at first, until our name got out there. But we’ve had a lot of success; we’ve built an impressive list of references, and most importantly, we’re gaining a reputation for sniffing out virtual “bad guys” who’ve managed to elude other teams.
It doesn’t make us all that popular with our peers sometimes, but it sure does bring in work.
I love my job and hate to think what I’d be doing with my life if I hadn’t chosen a coding class as an elective during my eighth-grade year. Of course, my parents dearly wish I’d chosen to learn Mandarin Chinese instead, or taken a theater class, but what’s done is done, and I’ve been addicted to coding and hacking ever since. I might not be the head of a university business department like Audrey, or run a prestigious non-profit like Ella, but I’m quite happy with the way things have turned out.
***
Contemplating the arrival of my computer equipment made me curious about just how much work it was going to be to get the room ready. I decided now was as good a time as any to see if the walls were as pink as I remembered.
I hauled one of my suitcases upstairs, since I was going up anyway, leaving it in the hall while I held my breath and slowly opened the door to my future office.
I winced at first, because unfortunately, the walls were indeed the unattractive shade of pink I remembered. Which meant I’d be picking up paint tomorrow. On the plus side, I was pleasantly surprised to see the room had lovely hardwood floors. I was pretty sure they were original to the house, and they’d be perfect for my workspace. Much better than carpet.
I walked slowly around the room, and pretty soon I had a big smile on my face. Other than needing new paint, the room was perfect. It even had an unusually large window looking out over the backyard. That window, and the room’s location at the back of the house, made for a bright, cheerful, private space. I loved it.
I mentally placed my equipment throughout the room. My two big server and switch racks would fit nicely along one end wall, and the special table that held various routers, modems, and my large collection of cutting-edge gadgets would go great on the opposite wall.
There would be a good amount of cable tunnel needed to keep my abundance of cables and cords up off the floor, but the movers were removing what I’d had in my condo and bringing it here, so that wouldn’t be a problem.
The last big piece, a modular table long enough to fit three huge monitors, would be perfect along the windowed wall. I could place the monitors in a way that would give me a nice view out the window, making it even more of a pleasure to work in this space.
I could hardly wait to get started.
I backed up to the doorway and folded my arms, squinting as I looked around the room and tried to decide whether to go with a gray or blue color scheme. The trim was currently a natural, light oak color, but it would look lovely painted white, contrasting with the new wall color—whatever that ended up being. The white would give the room a more modern look, which seemed appropriate considering it was going to be filled with the latest and greatest technology, some of which couldn’t even be bought on the open market yet. That was one of the perks of working government jobs.
I crossed over to the window and ran my hand over the trim there. It was rather ornate, in that “older house” kind of style. Lots of grooves and fancy corner pieces. I loved it, even though it would be a bit of a challenge to paint.
As I stood at the window, my attention was caught by movement outside, down in the yard. Or rather, the next-door neighbor’s yard. I leaned toward the glass for a better view, curious about who lived in that house now. I knew Maisie Whitacker had sold it when she moved to a retirement home a year ago, and when I wracked my brain, I remembered Grandma saying a young couple had moved in.
She must have found them acceptable—if they’d caused her any hassle, Grandma definitely would have told me all about them.
The husband was outside now, and I had a rear view of him. He was standing with his hands on his hips, watching something. He wore jeans and a blue T-shirt, and his walnut brown hair was cut short, but not too short. He looked tall, although it was hard to tell for sure from where I was. I wished I could see his face. I had a feeling he was a very good-looking guy.
Pretty soon I spotted the “something” he was watching. A little black wiener dog was picking its way across the lawn, and as I watched, it stopped abruptly and squatted. Not that it had to squat much—its stomach was already only inches from the grass.
While the dog relieved itself, it turned its head away from the man, like it was trying to maintain a little dignity while it peed. When the necessary task was accomplished, the dog bounded back over to the man, jumping eagerly around his feet. I didn’t mean to, but when the guy bent to give it a pat, I couldn’t help but notice he was put together extremely well. I mean, extremely well. Wide shoulders. Trim waist. Long legs. And….a very nice behind.
“Wooooooow.” I actually said the word out loud, long and drawn out. I knew I should probably look away, but I was mesmerized. The little dog raced down to the end of the yard, and the man’s hands returned to his hips as he waited patiently for it to return.
I wasn’t normally so taken aback by a fine male form, especially when I couldn’t even see the guy’s face. But there was something about that tall, powerful-looking man and his silly little dog that I found profoundly attractive. And I’ve never even been much of a dog person.
I watched a little bit longer, hoping he’d turn around. He didn’t, and I decided I was being a creepy neighbor, ogling him the way I was. I turned away from the window and went back downstairs, then out the front door to begin unloading my car.
Nothing like a good unpacking spree to take my mind off my hot, married, neighbor.
Whose wife, I had to say, was one lucky gal.