Seana Kelly - Welcome Home, Katie Gallagher

“Stop. You’re not paying my damn bills. I was the idiot who thought Alice loved me. The bills are a monthly reminder of why I shouldn’t trust women.” My hands tightened on the wheel.

“You don’t really think that, do you?” Pops actually sounded concerned about my sanity.

“I don’t know. I guess some of them are okay. Mrs. MacPherson, the old librarian, seems pleasant enough.”

Pops tsk-tsked in annoyance again, prodding a grin out of me.

“Well, you know that Katie—”

“Ran out on her husband? Yeah, I’d heard that. Apparently, she wasn’t considerate enough to realize that she just couldn’t before they got married.”

Pops gave me a disgusted look. “That was not what I was going to say. Nellie doted on her—”

“Yeah, and how often did she visit Nellie? I haven’t seen her since she was fifteen. You said she visited, but she was clearly never in town long enough for anyone else to notice. Hell, she didn’t even come to Nellie’s funeral.”

When I pulled up to his front steps, I turned off the engine, rolling my shoulders, to relieve the tightness. “Listen, Pops, I know you mean well, but, no. Stop, okay? I’m not interested in that one.”

“I’m not saying you should be. I’m angry with her for not being with Nellie more, especially at the end, but if what she said was true... Nellie loved that girl to the moon, and I think she’d be mad as hell at me if I didn’t try to help her.” He touched the door handle, but then turned back to me. “You used to be so sweet on her, you couldn’t take your eyes off her.”

“That was a long time ago. People change.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Kate

I WANDERED THROUGH Gran’s house. It was exactly as I remembered, but with a new horror-movie feel. Heart pine floors, tall windows overlooking the ocean and town, walls the color of butterscotch, furniture in blues and whites, but all of it was covered in a combination of dust, dirt, feathers and droppings. What the hell?

I walked through the tiny house, terrified of what was living in it. Chaucer sniffed everything. Although he wasn’t barking, he raced from room to room, ears twitching at every skitter and squeak. I prayed I wasn’t in immediate mortal danger. I found three windows that had been left wide-open, their screens chewed and ripped. I guess that accounted for the apparent influx of woodland creatures taking up residence. I closed the windows, but then worried that I’d probably just trapped them in with me.

When I made it back to the living room, I surveyed the mess there. “This is going to take forever.” I just wanted to lie down and sleep for a week. Judging by the beds upstairs, some of my forest neighbors had felt the same way. Looking warily at the couch, I approached it slowly, reaching out and carefully lifting a cushion. Something small and furry with a long tail raced across my foot and down the hall. Chaucer barked and bounded after it. I may or may not have shrieked. I found myself with my back against the front door, watching the room, terrified.

“We’re sleeping in the car!”

I eventually pried myself from the door and went in search of cleaning supplies. I swept and mopped, washed down walls, dragged chewed and soiled mattresses down the stairs and out the front door. The only bright part of my day was finding love letters Gran had exchanged with Mr. Cavanaugh. I had a flash of worry that they’d contain passages more graphic than I could deal with in relation to Gran. Luckily, they were charming and considerate, loving and funny. I sat in the middle of her bedroom, tears streaming down my face, so happy that Gran had had this man in her life, but hollowed out by my own inability to inspire that kind of devotion in another person.

By nightfall, I was sweaty, depressed and covered in substances best not to consider. My last task of the day was to clean the bathroom, and then take a long, scalding shower. I stood under the water, tension leaving my muscles, and I finally let go of what I’d been holding tightly in check. My Gran was dead. She’d called for me on her deathbed, and I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there to pray over her grave and say goodbye. I wasn’t there. Instead, I was feeling sorry for myself a country away because I’d chosen to marry a faithless bastard. I was a fuckup, plain and simple. I sobbed against the now-white tiles, drowning in self-loathing.

Cleaned, dried and wearing sweats, I walked back downstairs, Chaucer at my heels. I’d put out his food and water bowls as soon as I’d started cleaning, so at least he’d been fed. My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten anything all day. I found a plastic container of granola. It had been gnawed upon, but the rodent hadn’t made it through. I’d already thrown out all the boxes of foodstuffs. They hadn’t survived the critter-pocalypse.

I stuffed a few handfuls of cereal in my mouth and choked. I washed it down with tepid tap water, while dreaming of mashed potatoes. Maybe some baked mac and cheese. I needed comfort food, stat! Instead I ate another handful of granola and called it good. My stomach hurt. Apparently, it was disgusted with me, too.

I’d found some blankets in the upstairs linen closet. Gran’s water and electricity were still working, so I’d been able to wash them. I knew I’d freeze, sleeping in the car, without something to keep me warm. I considered sleeping on the living room floor, with Chaucer curled up next to me, but then I thought about all the creatures still hiding somewhere in the house, and me sleeping down where they’d have easy access to my face. Just nope.

Chaucer followed me outside. I moved the front seats as far forward as they would go. Chaucer took the back seat, as he had every time he got in. I felt bad making him sleep on the floor of the car, but I did put a blanket down first to cushion it. I lay across the back seat, one blanket cocooning me, while another served as my pillow. I fell asleep with a hand on Chaucer’s head.

Sometime later, I was jolted out of sleep by a bark and a bang. Again, I might have shrieked. A flashlight beam cut through the pitch-black. I sat up, plastered against the far door, the blanket pulled up to my nose. Chaucer’s deep bark boomed in the too-small car. The light spun and illuminated a hideous face. That time I knew I’d shrieked—I was aware of it at the time in a huh-I-didn’t-realize-that-I-actually-made-that-sound kind of way.

He put his fingers over the top of the flashlight and then pointed it at himself again. Without the under glare, he wasn’t hideous, just really freaking annoying.

“What the hell, dude? Is this your thing? Do you sneak up on people in the middle of the night, peeking in windows, trying to scare the crap out of them?”

“Why are you sleeping in your car? It’s thirty degrees, and this back window has holes in it.” His voice was a rumble in the dark, clearly audible through the cracked and broken windows.

“It’s brisk. Chaucer and I sleep better with an open window.”

He grumbled something I didn’t hear. “Katie, why aren’t you sleeping in the house?”

“It’s infested. Rodents, bats, who knows what else. I cleaned all day, and I’m not even close to done.” Wait a minute. “Why do you care? I’m on my own property.” I checked my watch. “And it’s four in the morning. Why are you even here, freaky stalker cop?”

More grumbling. I’m pretty sure I heard some cussing, too. “I’m not stalking you. I got into the habit of driving by Nellie’s house to keep an eye on it over the last few months. I forgot about you until I saw the car. Then I saw the mattresses and junk on the porch. I got out to investigate and saw you, sleeping in your beat-to-shit car.”

Humph. “A likely story.”

I think he was grinding his teeth now. Weird sound. “One more time. Why are you sleeping in your car? If the house isn’t habitable, why didn’t you go to a hotel?”