Chapter 5 - The New Horizon
Two weeks later, the moving truck arrived—not to take my things away, but to bring a new life into the neighborhood.
The Hendersons—a retired architect and his wife who taught botany at the local college—turned out to be the kind of neighbors Robert and I had always dreamed of having. They didn't want to gut the Victorian or tear out the stained glass; they wanted to restore the wrap-around porch and plant heritage roses in the garden.
And as for me? I wasn't moving into Cedar Grove.
Instead, Martha Reynolds had found me a gorgeous, sunlit penthouse apartment in a historic brick building downtown, just three blocks from the community library where I had volunteered twice a week for twenty years. It had high ceilings, large windows overlooking the river, and—most importantly—no stairs for Stuart to storm up when he wanted to demand my money.
My bank accounts, bolstered by the full cash sale of the house and Robert’s hidden investment portfolio, sat safely behind cryptographic trusts that required my physical fingerprint and a dual-signature verification from Mr. Vance.
Stuart and Jennifer had hit rock bottom faster than even I anticipated. Without the equity of the Victorian to bail out Stuart’s failing landscaping supply business, the creditors had moved in within days. Their leased BMW was repossessed outside a budget motel on the highway; Jennifer’s designer handbags were pawned off for pennies on the dollar; and Stuart had been forced to take a job working the night shift at a 24-hour shipping warehouse just to pay for their single-room efficiency apartment.
They had tried to visit me once at the new apartment building, waiting downstairs in the lobby like desperate panhandlers. The doorman—a retired marine named Marcus who took his security duties very seriously—had politely escorted them off the premises before they even reached the elevator bank.
I watched them from my fourth-floor bay window, standing out in the December drizzle. Stuart looked smaller, his shoulders hunched under a cheap, thin jacket. Jennifer was shivering, hugging her arms against the cold, staring up at the windows with an expression of pure, unadulterated disbelief.
They had tried to budget an old woman out of her existence, and in the process, they had budgeted themselves out of everything that mattered.
May you like
The phone on my desk chimed. It was an email from the local university’s continuing education department. My proposal for a twelve-week seminar on Victorian literature had been officially accepted for the spring semester.
I smiled, closed the laptop, and walked over to the kitchen counter where a fresh pot of coffee was brewing.
