This Olde House Part 2

Maisy and Jared have breakfast

This Olde House  Part 2

By Stan Morris

Copyright 2013

 

“Your gas line is fine.  I pressurized it and waited twenty minutes.  No leaks.”  If they had lived in a city, the man would have been wearing a uniform instead of jeans and a cheap t-shirt with a cracking logo on the pocket.

Maisy emitted a sigh of relief.  The house was in bad enough shape as it was.  In country this dry, they did not have to worry that much about termites, but the wind, rain, and sun had taken their toll on the old house.

“Can you fill the tank?”

“Sure.  Do you have an account with us?”

Maisy shook her head.  She had never had to set up an account with anyone other than her cell service provider.

“Well, now I don’t mind setting up an account for you, but I need half payment in advance.”

Maisy’s heart sank, but Jared stepped forward and said, “I’ve got the money.  Will you take cash?”

“We love cash.”

Jared opened his wallet and counted out the bills.

“I’ll start filling it now.”

Maisy did not know what to say.  She and Jared had not spoken about money yet.  In fact, they hadn’t spoken much at all.  They had chosen separate rooms last night and had retired to bed.  This morning they had woken to the knock on the door by the man from the gas company.  He knew Maisy’s father, so he came to test the gas line, even though it was Saturday.  The gas man walked out the door, and Maisy turned to Jared.

“Thank you.  I have a little money in savings, but it’s in the bank.  I’ll get some and repay you.”

“No need.  Is there anything to eat?”

“My mother stocked the frigerator.  Let’s see what we’ve got.”

The old refrigerator was noisy, but it was cold when Jared opened it.  It contained an unopened gallon of milk, margarine, several partly used bottles of condiments, and other odds and ends.

“See any bread?” he asked.

“No, but we have pancake mix and maple syrup.  Why don’t I make us some pancakes?  We can go to the bank and the store later.”

“Sounds good.”

Jared sat down at the old yellow Formica covered metal table.  The serviceable metal chairs matched the table, but the seat pads were worn out.  Their vinyl was cracked and torn, and cotton stuffing was showing.

“What should we do today?” he asked.

“I wish I knew.  Make a list of things we need.  Do you have a job?”

“I work for Roach Construction.”

Maisy gave him a half glance as she searched for a frying pan.  “That could come in handy.  This place will need a lot of work.  Are you a carpenter?”

“No, I haul stuff for people.  Do cleanup.  That kind of thing.  How about you?”

Maisy reddened involuntarily though he hadn’t asked that in a way meant to be demeaning.

“I used to work at Woody’s Grocery until…”

“Oh.”  Jared’s face reddened also.

An uncomfortable silence followed.

“I guess you heard.”

“I might have heard something,” he said evasively, trying for tact.

There was another uncomfortable silence, and then Maisy blurted, “I didn’t know he was married.”

Jesse couldn’t think of anything to say in response to that, so he wisely kept his mouth shut.

“He told me he was searching for the right place to build a call center.  He said small American towns were best, because people spoke better English.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“Yes, I do.  We’re married, even if it is a sham marriage.  I want you to know the truth.  I thought he was going to marry me and take me to California.  He claimed that he lived in San Francisco.  That’s how I got to be the town…”  She could not make herself say the last word.  It didn’t matter.  Other people had said it for her; lots of people.”

“And then we were found in bed together...”  Jared didn’t finish.

“That’s how I got here.  How about you?”

“I got busted for selling dope.”

Maisy’s eyes widened.  “You’re a drug dealer?”

“No!” Jared hesitated only a second before continuing.  “I was a freshman at BYU.  I was in a club that had a lot of students, and I met this graduate student.  He was popular and friendly, and one day he asked me if I could get him some marijuana.  He claimed he needed it for his glaucoma.  I asked around and bought him a couple of joints.  When I gave it to him, he pulled out a badge.  I got arrested and kicked out of school.  The judge gave me probation, and I was sent home.  Now the government wants me to pay back the money it loaned me.”

“That was the only time you sold drugs?”  Her voice was filled with suspicion.

“That was the only time.”

“Okay then.  I mean, I know a lot of people who smoke.  I imagine you do too.  I don’t mind it.  But I don’t want to be married to a drug dealer.”

Maisy sprayed Pam on the frying pan and set it on the gas stove.  She poured milk into the bowl containing the pancake mix and stirred it.

“Did your grandmother leave you this house?”

Maisy shook her head as she poured the mixture into the frying pan.  Seconds later it began to sizzle.  “She left it to my daddy, but he promised that he’d sign the title over to me.  There’s no mortgage, but we’ll have to pay the property taxes.”

A thought struck her, but she flipped the pancake before she turned to fix her stare on him.  “Do you plan to stay married to me or get out of it?”

Reviews

[Nevtry]

Well, at least being in situations where they were manipulated gives them both some common ground within the marriage. And I was wondering if anyone would bring up the idea of staying the marriage or getting out.

This story's interesting so far, and I look forward to seeing where you take it.

- N