Page 4 of A Light in the Dark
FOUR
I am Valerie, our street’s good doer.
One day soon, I needed to call out everyone on my street for being shitty neighbors. With the exception of Joel, who handled his cleanup on his own, often in the late afternoon or evening when I wasn’t doing my share, everyone else relied on me to get things done. While the librarians did coordinate the payment and arrival of the stones for the replacement steps, the work fell to me to install them.
Nobody had even asked me if I was all right with doing the work. They just assumed I would.
After my experience with Gabriella, I suspected there was one reason why: they had been born in the city while I had been born outside of the city. Maybe I was a citizen of the city-state, but I remained inferior.
My patience with the situation eroded, much like the stairs I worked to replace had done when exposed to the torrential currents. Sure, baked goods and some thanks would work their way down the chain, but while they remained nestled in their homes, enjoying their time off work, I cleaned, I rebuilt, and I resented the situation I’d put myself into.
I put some serious thought into accepting the Hunters’ offer of relocation to Moonriver. Before I could even think about leaving, I would need to figure out if I could do anything to help the refugees—or if I could help them flee to the general safety of the neighboring city-state.
If I left, would others die? I recognized I would inconvenience most on the block if I packed my bags and left. Someone would have to pick up my work. The work had been of my own choosing, as I’d wanted to fit in and no longer be a stranger. Since I’d been born within the city-state, I’d gotten off lightly compared to other transients.
If I kept the deed for my house, maintaining it as a vacation home, I could bar others from facing my fate, being imported to do the heavy lifting.
Gabriella, to all appearances, wasn’t the kind to be able to do much in the way of manual labor.
With the knowledge the refugee hadn’t been warned about the floods properly and that others had also died, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d barely dodged a similar fate. Rebuilding cost money, money I saved up for year after year. In a few days, I would have to return to my actual job, the one that paid for the rebuilding process. Had anyone told the refugees that few worked in the days leading up to the flood? I’d been given three days off to prepare. I still questioned why I got so much time off after the floods, but I figured my general role as the fixer of all things on my street, save for Joel’s property, had played a part .
Most everyone else would go to work the instant their steps were fixed, assuming they weren’t already retired.
The neighbors with the lift problem had retired long ago, and they’d somehow squirreled away sufficient money to replace their equipment each year. I wondered about that.
The lift cost at least ten thousand dollars, installation included.
My share of the stones and mortar had cost me five hundred, and I’d paid for that in cash before the librarians had placed the order. I assumed the others had found a way to give them cash or the couple trusted them to pay solely based on their status as born residents of the city.
In good news for me, the stone and mortar method of replacing the steps worked well, and despite working alone, I managed to make all six properties in the row, excluding Joel’s, accessible. It’d only taken me three days upon the arrival of the materials to get the job done. My work wasn’t all that pretty, but the stairs would do their job, they were wide enough two people could stand on them at a time, and I’d managed to drill in a rail on one side for everyone.
If they wanted a second rail, that was their problem.
Judging from the sound, the other streets had gone more of a party route, which did a good job of adding to my irritation and bitterness.
The evening I finished, as I’d taken care of everyone else on our stretch of the street, I jotted my landline number on a slip of paper before trudging up the hill to Joel’s door. He had a new set of steps similar to mine, albeit much shorter due to the placement of his door closer to the street. I tested the steps to make certain the mortar had set sufficiently before steeling my nerves, grabbing the knocker, and giving it a solid three bangs.
I waited, and after a minute, I thought about heading off. Before I made the decision to leave, the door opened.
For the most part, I’d only seen Joel at a distance, but my first close encounter with the man reminded me why so many people, especially women, were interested in knowing his last name. I bet most wanted to melt chocolate on him for a chance to lick him squeaky clean. It disturbed me that I’d consider doing such a thing if given an invitation. Instead of informing him of my perverted thoughts, I said, “I’m sorry to bother you, Joel, but I wanted to check in if there’s anything you need.”
He stared down the street at our new collection of steps, his gaze settling on the lift that would give the nicer of my neighbors the freedom to leave their home. “I really appreciate that, but I’ve taken care of everything I need to already, although I’m going to have to replant the flower beds once I can go to the garden store. They’re definitely done. The whole bed washed out.”
While aware his precious raised beds had weathered many floods, it was only a matter of time before his hard work crumbled. “If you need an extra pair of hands and some help with the mortar, feel free to knock or give me a call. I’m glad to help, and I like going to the garden store. I’m thinking I might try to do something with my yard this year.” As I kept my new cell phone from the Hunters a secret, I pulled out the slip of paper I’d prepared with my landline and offered it to him.
Maybe I could lure the luna moth back with the appropriate selection of flowers or even a fruit tree .
The luna moth seemed like better company than most, especially after having learned of the fate of too many refugees.
Joel’s smile captured my attention and held it while he accepted my number. “You know, you’re the first one here to ever offer going to the garden store with me this time of year. I’d like that, actually.”
That caught me by surprise, and I blinked. “Really? That’s so strange. Don’t they come up the way to talk to you about your flowers?” I understood why the old couple wouldn’t volunteer; the fact they came up the hill at all amazed me. When they left, they usually hired a van to pick them up at their door. “I should apologize for not coming up to admire your flowers. You always do such a lovely job on your property.”
“Thank you. They do, but the work is already done by the time they come up to see the fruits of my labor. And I’ve seen you admiring the flowers from a distance when you pass by. You’re always respectful of the fence, and you never pick any of the flowers even though you could.”
I hated that people picked his flowers without his permission. “They’re your flowers. If you wanted me to pick them, you’d tell me to.”
He chuckled and nodded. “I appreciate that you respect that, though. You’re Valerie, right?”
I nodded. “I am Valerie, our street’s good doer. I just felt badly I hadn’t offered to do your steps along with everyone else’s. I guess I should apologize for not having introduced myself properly sooner.”
“There’s no need to feel badly. The fact you did all that work by yourself in less than a week is phenomenal. Those stones weigh at least forty pounds each. And don’t worry about not introducing yourself. I could have introduced myself at any time and hadn’t.”
Well, that was a good way to look at it. Determined to ignore my misgivings over my unintentional rudeness, I posed and showed off my bicep. “Not bad for a paper pusher!”
He raised a brow. “You’re a paper pusher? After watching you work this week, I was certain you were a stone mason. You did a wonderful job on the steps. You even bothered to level everything. The rails took me by surprise. Those are new.”
“That is my small present to everyone, as I’ve tumbled off my steps a time or two because of the lack of a rail. Not this time. Sure, the rails will become debris next year, but for a year, I will not be falling off my steps.” I rolled my shoulders, and I winced at the various creaks and pops. “This paper pusher is going to be spending the next two days soaking it off before having to go back to work.” The last day before returning to the grind, I would lounge around and read books, hoping nobody bothered me.
The next two days, I would be too sore to enjoy doing anything.
“It’ll take me at least a few days to replace the bed and get the soil before I can do some planting. Are you going to be available next week? We could go to the garden store then.”
A week and a few days would give me plenty of time to settle back into work and poke my nose where it didn’t belong. “I should be free. I work the late morning shift and get off work at six, and I’m usually home by seven.” After a few weeks, I’d put some thought into picking up the first evening shift to pad my bank account, especially if a move to Moonriver or elsewhere might be in order. The thirty-two hour days made working two jobs feasible if I timed it right.
I functioned fine on twelve hours of sleep a day separated into two six hour sessions. However, only having four free hours a day, excluding transit time to and from work, did a number on my mental health.
This year, if at all possible, I would not be working two jobs.
I needed to live for me for a change, and if I did abandon Stonecreek for Moonriver, I’d likely make a decent profit on my home. The changes I made would last—and people in the city-state understood the importance of protection during the floods.
It was the transient population, including the refugees, that were at the highest risk.
The thought that the life of every refugee came with a price tag, the one my city-state could profit from, sickened me.
“I’ll give you a call to set up the day and time. Maybe taking someone with me means I escape with a sane number of flowers this year.”
Having seen his garden and his enjoyment of flowers, albeit from a distance, I wished him the best of luck with that. “We shall see, Joel, but I make no promises. Maybe I’ll indulge in some frivolous spending for a change and get some flowers for my yard.”
My frugal nature would cry, but I could use a few luxuries that served no purpose other than to be beautiful, and if I grew them in a container, they could come with me if I left.
“That way leads to darkness, a crying wallet, but a pretty yard,” he warned me. “That’s how it always begins, with one plant at the garden store. When you end up surrounded with flowers, know that I warned you.”
I laughed. “I shall do my best to be wary against this most dangerous enemy, the pretty flower.”