“Regard it as just as desirable to build a chicken house as to build a cathedral.”—Frank Lloyd Wright
Charlie climbed up the broken steps, juggling the mass of supplies in her hands, and walked into the house. The scent of rotted wood and dust filled the air. Her ears strained with the sound of screaming silence. There was something so sad about an empty house. It cried of lost memories and loneliness.
She intended to fix it.
Dropping her toolbox, she grabbed her notebook and began taking inventory of the main things she wanted to accomplish. Finally, she had her own project to dive into. Her heart slammed against her ribs in excitement and anticipation. The dumpster was coming this week, but so far, she had been unable to book any extra help. Besides the expense, schedules for all her contacts were filled with Pierce Brothers work.
Ah, well. She could do the whole thing by herself. It would just take more time. She didn’t have to deliver for a client. This was her baby, and she intended to make sure her first house was filled with her trademark creativity and restoration materials. Besides saving buckets of money, it would give the place a personal touch every homeowner appreciated.
She made notes in her pad, sketching out various ideas for the rooms. The roof would need replacement, but the structure itself was solid. The shingles were basic brown and easy to fill in. The basement was small and stuffed with various junk and insects galore, but it wouldn’t need to be gutted. Everything was salvageable. That was the primary reason she’d wanted the property.
Humming under her breath, she lost herself in the magic of endless possibilities, ending in the tiny bedroom off the Jack and Jill bathroom. Checking light fixtures and computing square feet, her brain clicked madly until she noticed something out of place.
A blanket with a small oil lamp was set up neatly in the corner. A pile of books lay by its side, stacked in perfect precision. Charlie frowned, walking over to examine the odd setup. The blanket didn’t look old, and the books had no dust on them. The lamp seemed to have a surplus of fluid and looked recently used.
Odd. A chill ran down her spine. The house was set on a block far enough away from the occasional violence and drugs that sprung up on the outskirts of town, but what if her house was being used for squatters? Or people doing drugs?
Dragging in a breath, she inspected every inch of the house but found no proof of needles, weed, or any other paraphernalia that pointed to crime. The front door was locked, and the main windows were cracked but not busted open. Where was the point of entry? After another half hour, she came up empty. She shook her head, making a note to check on it more tomorrow, and headed back out.
Shadows were beginning to chase the sun down, but a few leftover rays warmed her face. She got in the truck and turned the key.
Nothing.
Ah, crap.
She tried again but got the grindy sound that confirmed she was going nowhere. Muttering a curse, she popped the hood. She went through her normal checklist of diagnostics but found nothing strange. Probably the battery. A simple jump would work, and she had the cables. She looked around, and with a sinking heart, realized no one was there to help. No doors to knock on, and she wasn’t comfortable enough in the neighborhood to begin walking around. Better to just call in some help.
She grabbed her phone and tried Sydney first.
“Hello?”
“Syd, it’s Charlie. Are you still at the office?”
“Yes, I’m working late tonight and Becca is with the sitter. What’s up?”
“My car broke down and I think it needs a jump. I hate to bother you, but do you think you can come help me? I know Raven is at the bar, but I can check with Morgan if you can’t get me.”
“No, it’s time I got out of here anyway. Give me the address.” Charlie recited it to her. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”
“Thanks.”
She clicked off, got back in the truck, and waited until she saw Sydney’s car. She waved her friend over, directing her close to hook up the cables. “You rock. I didn’t want to get stuck waiting for Triple A.”
Sydney’s green eyes filled with concern. “What are you doing out here?” she asked, her gaze taking in the empty street. “This place is deserted and on a dead end. You know there was a drug bust a few blocks over last week?”
Charlie laughed. “I’m fine. This is the new house I bought to flip.” She waved her hand proudly in the air. “Gonna fix it up, make it nice, and sell it.”
Her friend’s mouth dropped open. “Girlfriend, please tell me you are not working on this all alone, late at night.”
“Of course not. Eventually I’ll hire some help, and it’s not late at night. It’s only seven pm.”
Sydney crossed her arms in front of her chest and gave her the look. It reminded her a bit of her own mother. Since Sydney was a mother of a six-year-old, it wasn’t a far reach. “This is dangerous,” she said firmly. “I’m all about flipping houses and changing the neighborhood, but you didn’t even tell anyone about it. Let us help.”
“I’m fine, I swear. I like doing things on my own, and this is separate from Pierce Brothers work. Plus, I always carry pepper spray and a bat in case something happens. Can you gun your engine for me? I’m going to try to start it.”
Grumbling under her breath, Sydney obeyed, and in a few minutes, the pickup roared back to life. Charlie shot her a thumbs-up signal and disconnected the cables. “Thanks so much. I’m good to go.”
“I’m following you out of here. What made you buy this property?”
“It was the cheapest, and it has great potential. Look at the land.” She pointed out the generous lot, infested with weeds, mud, and rocks. “Most of the houses in this area are squeezed tight together. Since this is on a dead end, it can be a great haven for someone who needs it.”
Sydney shook her head. “You got it bad. A true rehab addict. Listen, I’m thrilled you’re doing this on your own terms but you need to be safe. What if it’s being used for other stuff like gangs or drugs?”
Her mind flashed to the quiet, neat corner with the books. “I didn’t see any evidence of anything criminal. Just looks like a squatter needed a warm place to stay. I’m sure he or she will leave once I begin work.”
Sydney’s mouth dropped open. “Someone is living here!? What did you find?”
“Just a lamp and some books. I’m sure it’s harmless.”
Sydney frowned. “I’ll help you with the project,” she announced.
A pang of affection hit hard. She’d only been working with Sydney and the Pierce Brothers under a year, but already she felt as if she had a family. They took care of their own. “Syd, I adore you, but between work at Pierce and your daughter, you have no extra time. Besides, I want to do this on my own. Now stop being a worry wart and get your ass home.”
Charlie blew her a kiss and got back into the truck. Finally, Sydney pulled out, carefully following her to the town limits before they went their separate ways. Charlie drove to her apartment with a smile on her face. It was nice to have friends who cared. She’d make sure she checked in with people when she was at the house and put an extra bottle of pepper spray inside. She’d learned in college how important it was to take care of herself. When an overly enthusiastic male backed her into a bedroom at a party, ignoring her repeated no’s, she’d lashed out and screamed fire at the top of her lungs until someone took notice.
He’d ended up with a social media smear as she warned everyone to stay far away from him.
Afterward, she’d taken defense classes so she felt more confident fighting back.
She pulled into her parking space and headed to her apartment. Immediately, the space settled and pulsed with warmth around her. Kicking off her boots, she collapsed on the couch. Her place was cozy, with everything she needed to live happily, and dirt cheap. The apartment building might look like crap from the outside, but inside she had appliances, warmth, and wifi. She’d decorated the rooms with her usual creativity, and now it was a feast for the senses. She’d painted her own canvases and hung them on the walls, interspersed between photo collages and shelves containing fun trinkets. She’d sewn her own throw pillows in happy colors like lemon, lime, and tangerine, brightening up her dull beige sofa sleeper, which was the most comfortable thing she’d ever sat her ass on. Much better than Brady’s Mercedes. The coffee and side tables were restored wood she’d refinished. The television was a much smaller screen than most people demanded, but it was clear and color and half price. The chandelier had been created by beads bought at the craft store, and matched the various genie lamps she’d grabbed at a garage sale. A few bucks of polish and some elbow grease had restored them to glory.
Her place was eclectic and fun and made her happy.
She wondered what Brady’s place looked like.
The thought flickered so quickly, she jerked and pushed it out of her head. For the past week, they’d left each other alone. Everything was finally coming together for her. She’d carved out a place at Pierce Brothers, and she had her own house to flip.
She closed her eyes with a smile on her face and dreamed of a perfect future.