Hoisting her butt off the top step, where she collapsed with an arm full of purchases—she really
needed furniture—she began emptying out her loot. The coffeepot was an easy setup, and she used the
box as a trash can for now. Stacking all her linens in the corner with her pillow, she carried her
toiletries to the bathroom.
As the apartment dimmed, the sun retreating for the day, she dug out her box of light bulbs and
searched for an outlet. She’d found a lamp at a secondhand store for four dollars. She frowned once it
was plugged in, realizing she had nowhere to put it. Using a large bag, she dumped in the trash from
the coffeepot box and, instead, used the box as a makeshift end table.
“That’ll have to do for now,” she mumbled, admiring her handiwork.
The knock at the door startled her. Carefully walking down the steep, narrow steps, she opened the
door a crack. A man in a blue jumpsuit stood with a clipboard. “Evelyn Keats?”
“Yes.” These must be the bed people!
“I have a delivery for you.”
She peeked out the door. The alley was dark. There was another man standing behind her mattress,
which was now wrapped in plastic. “Come on in.”
She waited anxiously at the top of the stairs as the men maneuvered the mattress up the steps. Good
thing she’d opted for the smaller variety. A bigger bed never would’ve fit.
“Where would you like it?”
She pivoted and considered the space. The bathroom and closet door took up one wall, while the
kitchen took up another. The partition from the stairs made up the third, leaving only one choice.
“Right there by the window will be fine.”
They perched the mattress against the wall and left to get the box spring and frame. In a matter of
ten minutes, she was signing for the delivery and saying thank you. Anxiously, she shut the door,
locked it tight, and rushed back up the steps. Her feet didn’t stop until she propelled herself into the air and crashed on her bed. It smelled new and she liked it.
Smiling, she sighed and rolled off. Making the bed up was a quick task, having much experience
with such chores from keeping house at Patras. With considerable pride, she placed the pillow at the
top. Beautiful.
The blanket was soft pink in the fuzziest material she’d ever felt. Despite all the luxuries she’d
experienced while living with Lucian, her own things, purchased with her own money and by her own
hands, meant so much more.
It complicated things, seeing Lucian yesterday, but it also felt better stipulating a loan on her
conditions. By doing so she’d altered their relationship to a business one. The two hundred thousand
he’d left in an account for her was tainted and tied to their intimate past, which was why her pride
refused her to touch it.
Breathing out a pleased sigh, she gazed at the roof over her head. It amazed her that she’d already
accomplished part one of her plan. Part two would require a bit more research, but she’d talked to
some people at the library and they explained a great deal to her as well as given her some phone
numbers they had on hand.
It felt wonderful to take responsibility for herself again. Lucian wasn’t opposed to her
independence, but as a man who had always been in control, he’d never truly understand what it meant
for her to stand on her own two feet.
It wasn’t about proving something to him. He was in her past. This was about proving something to
herself, creating her own future.
***
Glancing at her watch, she noted it was only a little after six. After straightening up some of the
mess, she bagged up her trash and walked it to the cans she’d noticed in the alley. Her belly grumbled.
For dinner, she made a can of chicken soup. The pot was a dollar find at the thrift shop. She washed
her dishes and tucked everything away neatly in its proper place.
She bathed in her little tub and brushed out her hair. Using the sink, Scout rewashed her uniform by
hand and hung her clothes from hangers on the doors. And it was time for bed.
Her feet slipped beneath the soft covers, and she pulled the sheets to her chest. Reaching out, she
shut off the light and stared at the ceiling. Home. This was home.
It was a very intangible moment. She was satisfied, yet something was missing. Her mind knew
what it was, of course, but had done a wonderful job of not thinking beyond her independence that day.
And at night, when the world slept, that was the easiest time to get wrapped up in regrets and swept
away by depressing thoughts.
Her conscience fought to hold on to the peace steering her all day, but memories were slowly
pulling her down. Sighing into the dark, she stared blindly out the window.
Where is he right now? Who’s he with? What’s he doing?
She shut the door on such questions and tried thinking about work. Nick was working tomorrow,