Page 47 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys

Jan had to assure me it wasn’t personal. Boy, had it felt that way. A detailed list with photographic evidence of every flaw in my grandparent’s house seemed like salt in a wound that already refused to heal. They were picking apart my favorite place in the world, the last place I had left. A sanctuary I was currently signing away…

Jan and I were in the living room, both on the old sofa. I had my legs tucked up beneath me as I stared down at the report and the buyers’ requests. My realtor was reading the bullet list out loud, all the things the buyers decided were egregiously flawed.

“Rotting deck boards. The hot water isn’t working in the upstairs hall bathroom. Loose handrail needs to be brought upto code. The cracked window in the kitchen needs replacement, and the attic fan motor is broken.”

“Can you stop. I’ve heard enough.” I picked at the knee of my yoga pants, the stretchy material snagging on a broken nail. To make myself stop making the problem worse, I crossed my arms.

“This is normal, Nelly. An inspector’s job is to find these things, and buyers will naturally try to get them repaired. It’s not always a deal-breaker if you refuse. We can negotiate.” Jan smiled at me soothingly, her hand wrapping around my knee. Her own fingernails were painted a jarring hot pink. They were expertly shaped, buffed, polished. I looked down at my own unkempt hands, fingers curving over my upper arms just above the elbows. I felt sad that I just didn’t care about my appearance these days.

“Let’s just get it fixed. My grandparents would want the house at its best before someone else moved in. They loved this place.” That was a lie. Grandpa had, in no uncertain terms, instructed me to fix nothing and sell the house as-is. I just… couldn’t.

“Great, I’ll let them know.”

The last few weeks in my home, instead of being peaceful, had been a parade of handymen causing noise and dust and chaos. But now it was done. I'd managed to sign my name on every highlighted line. I’d verified the banking details. I could never walk back into that house again.

Was this feeling in my body the feeling of leaving everything behind?

Hollow, empty, chilly. I felt like I’d never be warm again.

The Beta in the suit slid a copy of the closing documents into a folder embossed with the title company's logo.

"Congratulations, Miss Shaw," he said, extending his hand. I shook it, feeling nothing. "You've officially sold your home. Thebuyers wanted you to have this.” He held up a sealed envelope next, setting it atop the embossed folder.

“Thanks.” It was all I could manage.

I stood up, gave a perfunctory goodbye, and then began walking. I made it out of the conference room and nearly to the front door of the title company before Jan caught up.

“Nelly, wait a minute,” she moved around me, nearly blocking the exit. “Can’t let you leave without a parting gift.” Jan lifted one arm and brought a gift bag into view. It had a bottle of wine sticking out of its top.

“I don’t really drink,” I mumbled, eyes on the merlot. It was an ungrateful, rude thing to say.

“Oh, sorry about that.” Jan quickly snagged the wine and tucked it under one arm. She’d yanked crumpled, glittery tissue paper halfway out of the bag too, but didn’t seem to notice. “Still though, you’ve got a candle, gourmet chocolate, and a complimentary keychain. I’m not sure why you seem so down, Nelly. This is a great thing. You’ve made good money to start a new life with. No more worries about rushing to find a job.”

She wasn’t sure why I seemed down?

I’d told her more than once that I didn’t want to sell the house. That if it were just about money, I would keep the place. I had enough to get by for now. If I ran out later and hadn’t found a job, then I’d figure something out. But this was never about the money. My sick and dying Grandpa wanted me to sell it. I couldn’t keep it after that. Couldn’t go against his wishes.

Parting from the house was killing me.

“I’m not down,” I finally lied, “just out of sorts. Almost everything I own is in storage now and I’m living out of a few bags in a hotel. This would probably feel different otherwise.”

“Right,” she smiled sympathetically, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m so used to clients selling in favor of a bigger, better house. I forgot that?—”

I only sold it because my dying grandfather asked me to.The words scorched through my head, pressing against my teeth, begging for release. I bit them back.

“This is definitely less fun than that option.” I shrugged.

“Well, still.” She handed me the bag. My hand jutted out to take it automatically. “Put a nice movie on tonight, light the candle, eat chocolate, and tomorrow will be a new day.”

I wanted to tell her I wouldn’t eat the chocolate either, I had no way to light the candle, and the chances of me using the key chain to give her free advertisement was lower than zero, but I just forced myself to thank her in a vague way. “You didn't have to do this.”

“Of course I did!” She grinned. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” She asked, head tilting and eyes crinkling a little. I wondered what she wanted me to say.

Can you rewind time, so I haven’t signed and tear apart the paperwork?

Can you find the cure for cancer?

How about Alzheimer’s?