There is nothing wrong with moving for an amazing career opportunity.
There, see. I’m a problem solver. I talked myself down from the metaphorical ledge like a boss.
If only I could mentally make myself into a locksmith.
I tug on my aforementioned towel, wedging the flimsy material firmly underneath one arm and clamping my opposite arm across my chest. When I survive this, I’m going to purchase plush linens. This’ll be the last go-round for this towel.
The final thread.
Literally.
I roll my eyes at myself. “Focus, Poppy.”
Glancing over my shoulder, I confirm that the other half of the duplex is quiet. No signs of life. Maybe the person who lives there isn’t home. Or maybe he or she isn’t awake. Either way, I’m counting my lucky stars. But I need to work fast. Circumstances could change in a second. Best to stay on my toes.
I glance down at my bare feet and cringe at the layer of grime coating them. The deck has seen better days. There appears to be some sort of algae or fungi coating the worn planks, and now it’s coating the soles of my feet.
Never mind that. I’ve never been one to complain about getting my hands dirty—or feet, as it were. I need to focus on what’s in front of me. Namely, this self-locking door.
I jiggle the handle, and it turns.Thank goodness.My heart rises in my chest. I was panicking prematurely. I push against the door, expecting it to open, but instead, I get a bruised shoulder, and the resounding thud from my contact sends some birds squawking.
Then again, maybe the panicking was warranted.
But wait a minute. If the handle turns, then the door isn’t locked. It’s…stuck?
Stuck closed.
I grit my teeth. I wish I could say I’m surprised, but honestly, since last night when my sister, Rose, and I got to this place Holland set up for us, I’ve been having minor heart palpitations about the state of things. Sure, we’re getting to stay here for a steal. Two hundred bucks a month for rent? That’s unheard of. For that price, I can overlook almost anything. And I’m going to have to.
There’s a slow drip from the kitchen sink. The wallpaper in the bathroom has seen better days. Rose stepped through one of the front porch steps. We’ve already been over the air conditioner situation and the fungi deck. And now this. Some sort of trick door.
I prefer my tricks on Halloween and only Halloween,thankyouverymuch.
Holland warned me the place was a fixer-upper, but I still didn’t expect it to be such adowner. That’s what Rose and I have taken to calling our humble abode.
The Downer.
I think it has some gravitas, yeah?
We’re used to making the best of things, so it’ll be fine. Everything will be fine. I just need to get back inside.
I ram myself into the door again. “Come on. Come on. Open!”
It’s not listening to my whispered pleas. It’s not budging. I’m still sweating, and my half-wet, half-dry hair is plastered to my forehead and my bare back. Time is dwindling as the front-porch-in-a-towel rendezvous becomes less of a sassy, bad idea and more of a reality.
“Rose,” I hiss, pressing my full weight into the door and trying to get my sister’s attention. She was sound asleep while I was showering, and she doesn’t rise before the hour of ten, so I’m not holding out much hope here, but I’ve got to at least try to wake her up.
“Rose. Open the door.”
I’m walking a fine line here. I want to get Rose to wake up, but I certainly do not want to draw the attention of my new neighbor. Can you imagine what kind of first impressionthatwould make?
“Rose. Can you hear me?” I pitch my voice a little higher. I’m like a mom in the library who is trying to scold her kids but also trying not to make a scene. I’m getting screechy and clearly don’t have the mom cred required to pull this off. I’ve never been a mom…just a pseudo-mom, so I guess that tracks.
“I’m naked out here, Rosie. I could use a hand. The door is stuck.”
I start kicking the base of it at this point because nothing else is working. My algae-covered toes are going to pay for this, but what’s my other option? I know for a fact the front door is locked. I triple-checked it last night before I went to bed. Part of my pseudo-mom duties.
“Rose, if youareawake and you’re hearing this and not rescuing me, I swear on our last name that I will—”
