EMMA
Another sigh escapes my lungs as I bring my car to a halt in front of Granny Louisa's house. I step out of the car and now I'm standing, staring at my old Ford Escort. It's a relic from my grandmother's era, a reminder of the life she lived.
'I need a change,' I think, gazing at the car.
Practically every valuable property I own belonged to her. She lived well in her prime. I open the trunk, and it creaks, the sound grating on my nerves. "I'm so out of it," I mutter.
"Emma?" a voice calls from behind me. I turn to see Elizabeth, Granny Louisa's neighbor, approaching with a familiar grin. "You really moved here?" she asks, her steps slow.
"Yeah," I reply.
"I heard you'd come back, but I didn't believe it. You really came back to this place," she says, her tone implying she's not sure I'll last.
"Granny Louisa would want me here," I say, trying to sound convincing. Not like I care about whatever she or the other neighborhood gossips think.
"Oh, Louisa, bless her sweet soul," Elizabeth says, her eyes sympathetic. She must notice my awkwardness; she wraps up our conversation quickly and heads off.
I drag my black travel box out of the car and onto the porch. The house looks worn and almost unrecognizable, an evidence to the eleven months since Granny Louisa's passing. My gaze wanders to the neighboring house, a stunning property I've never seen occupied during my visits here as a teenage kid. But I have more pressing concerns and couldn't be bothered by that now – unpacking and settling in is just my priority.
I take out a key from my purse and insert it into the lock to open the door. It creaks open, releasing an unfamiliar scent – the smell of an old, abandoned house. I sigh and step inside, flipping the light switch. The lights flicker, and a wave of nostalgia washes over me as I stare across the living room. But then the lights spark and go out.
"Fuck!" I curse under my breath.
Old house, old everything.
---
It takes me a couple of days to get the house back in shape – inside the house at least. I'm standing on the front porch once again, contemplating hiring someone to repaint the porch or do that myself. I'm too broke to have an option, so I end up buying the paint myself from the local mall downtown.
Lucky for me, I met a guy who claims to paint well while I was paint shopping. I opted for him because he's quite affordable. Now, we're both standing on my porch, figuring out where he should emphasize more.
It's not been a week since I moved in, and I can already see some people peeking at the house as they pass by. That's one thing I forgot before moving here – nobody minds their business around here. I watch as curious glances come my way, probably wondering what I'm doing with my life.
The painter guy gestures to the porch railing, discussing color schemes and finishes. I nod, trying to focus on what he was saying, but my mind keeps drifting to the nosy neighbors and how I'll cope with their nosiness. I signal to him to start work and I walk to where my car was parked trying to envision the creativity, but my thoughts are brought to a halt when I feel a splash on my body.
I gasp and the painter paused and turned to look at me, his eye ball suddenly bulging. I stare at my lower body to see splattered mud on my jeans and shoes. I glance across the road, a sports car – Aston Martin – zooms past me and stops in front of the iron gate close to my grandmother's house. Whoever was in that car had driven so recklessly that he kicked a massive plume of muddy water all over me.
Rage fills me instantly, and the painter guy could definitely see it from where he was.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
Obviously I'm not. I scoff and storm to the road, approaching the car before the gates could open. The gate only just started opening when I got to the driver's side of the car, the windows are tinted but it's not stopping me from what I'm about to do.
I knock gently on the glass window, three fucking times, before the lunatic decided to roll down the glass. Suddenly I'm taken back by the handsome features his face presented and for a split second I almost forgot why I was standing before him.
"I'm not taking in any workers now," He mumbles.
What a jerk!
"I would never work for a lunatic. You ruined my jeans and shoes and nearly ruined my grandmother's porch because of your reckless driving," I scorn. Only then did he remove the sunglasses on his face, and I'm almost bewitched by his beautiful eyes.
"You should know better than to stand in the way of people who own the road, it isn't a public road you can loiter on"
That comment definitely takes me off guard because I didn't realize he left me jaw dropped. I wasn't even loitering, what is this crazy jerk saying?
He brushes his car past me and drives through the big gates. I catch a glimpse of the building before the gate closes, and even in my rage I could admire good things when I see one.
"You shouldn't have approached him, some people think he's crazy. A sociopath, maybe" The painter's voice resounds behind me, and I couldn't argue less. I didn't realize he had been watching our drama.
I turn and walk back to my house, still in rage but not as much as I was before I was met with that surprisingly stunning face of his.
'The face of a psycho,' I mentally remind myself.
•
I stare at the big clock on the wall across the living room, 8:26PM. Almost immediately my phone rings, I get up from the couch and race to the kitchen counter to get my phone.
"Hello," I say, once I place the phone over my right ear.
"Emma, how's it going?" I recognize that voice immediately and grunt.
"What is it, Josh?"
"You're at Grandma's?" He asks.
"You know that, what is it?"
"Nothing, nothing. I just wanted to be sure your moving in was successful"
"Get to the point Josh," I half grunt again.
"Could you send me a few bucks? I promise I'll refund you this time"
"Are you kidding me?"
"I'll pay you back, I'm serious" He said, trying to sound convincing.
"I just moved Josh, I've spent a lot and you should know that. Where do you expect me to get a 'few bucks' to give you?"
"You're not giving me Emma, just borrow me"
I'm not convinced, "Sort yourself out," and I end the call.
I walk to my room, toss my phone on the bed and make a heavy sigh. I sit on the edge of the bed, my palms pressed to my face. The silence in this house is different; it doesn't comfort me like it used to when Granny Louisa was alive. Back then, this silence felt warm, like a blanket wrapped around me after a long day. Now it's just… hollow and empty.
And suddenly, it feels like I could hear the walls groan softly as if they, too, are trying to remember her laughter. I stare at the faded wallpaper and wonder if I made the right choice coming back here. Maybe I should've stayed in the city, struggling, yes, but at least surrounded by noise and some distractions.
I lie back and stare at the ceiling. I try to imagine what she would say if she knows I feel so horrible about myself, 'Don't be so hard on yourself, Emma.'
A bitter smile tugs at my lips. "I'm trying, Granny," I whisper to the air and I get no reply.
My stomach growls. Right, I hadn't eaten since morning. I drag myself to the kitchen and open a few cupboards; mostly empty. A can of beans, some noodles, and instant coffee stare back at me. I sigh and settle for the noodles. As the water boils, I glance through the window facing the neighbor's mansion. It's dark now, except for a few faint lights behind tall glass windows.
I suddenly remember the owner of that house, the arrogant and crazy jerk that almost knocked me off the road.
I tell myself to forget him, but something about his face flashes through my mind again; those sharp eyes, the emotionless but coolness in his voice. 'You should know better than to stand in the way of people who own the road' What kind of man says that?
Probably someone who's never been told no in his life.
I eat my noodles slowly, half-lost in thought. Outside, the wind picks up, carrying the faint creak of the old porch swing Granny loved so much. I make a mental note to fix it tomorrow. Maybe sitting out there again would make the place feel less strange.
When I finally crawl into bed, sleep doesn't come easily. My phone lights up again—Josh, of course. I flip it face down. He'll survive. He always does.
The night drags on, and I drift between thoughts and dreams of my childhood days until a sound wakes me—a car door slamming shut outside. I tap my phone beside me. 11:43 p.m.
Sleep washes off me and curiosity wins over fear, I walk to the window and peek through the blinds. My grandma's wooden fence wall is so short that I could see inside the compound of some of the house across. The mansion across the street is dimly lit, but I can see someone—him—standing near his car, talking to another lady. They seem to be arguing. She gestures angrily, then storms toward a parked lambo truck, leaving him alone in the driveway.
For a moment, he looks up - right at my window.
I freeze.