Chapter 10

I spent a few days thinking about what Rosita had said. I guess if I were being fair, I should say thinking about what my mother had said, since it was her original idea, but Rosita had put it into words that actually hit home.

True, I wasn’t planning on being here that long, but being in my parents’ house had my life stuck in cruise control. I’d basically stopped living the day that kid shot me and had just been existing instead. I still wasn’t sold on talking to Orville about a job, even one that only lasted the summer, but if I was conservative with my money, my severance would cover four months of rent without keeping me from moving to wherever I found a job next.

I think I surprised mom when I found her in the kitchen one morning and asked for the phone number of the guy subletting his apartment.

“So you’re going to do it?”

“Maybe. I just want to talk to the guy and see what I need to do to sublet it.”

“And you’ll call Orville about the job?”

“No. I’m still planning on going for interviews next month for a teaching job, and it’s not really fair to him to bring someone in that won’t last through the summer. He needs to be focusing on finding a new deputy long-term. I’ll just be a distraction.”

“You wouldn’t be, though. He’s been looking and he hasn’t found anyone yet, and it’s not like he’ll have to train you.”

“I heard all of your points already. I was serious, though, when I said I don’t want to be a police officer again. Just be happy that I’ve agreed to look at moving out. I’m sure Dad will be happy.”

“You know your father is just fine with you staying here while you get on your feet.”

We both knew that wasn’t true. Although he never said anything explicitly, he grumbled daily about any inconvenience my being there caused him. I knew he’d allow me to stay, if I wanted, because he wasn’t the kind of man to throw his kid out if he needed help, but that was the extent of it. He was very big on being ‘normal,’ and it wasn’t normal to have an adult child living with their parents, even temporarily.

Of course, I couldn’t really disagree with him, which is probably why I’d been in such a funk the last two months while I’d let my leg recover.

“I still think it’s best if I find a place to live temporarily, until I find my next thing. Now that my leg is better and I can get around just using the cane, it shouldn’t be a problem. Besides, the sublet is a perfect solution.”

“Okay, if that’s what you’ve decided. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t feel like we were throwing you out.”

“I don’t,” I said, patting her hand and limping my way to the phone.

It turned out it was more complicated than just calling up the guy renting the apartment and telling him I wanted to sublet his apartment. In West Virginia, the landlord, or their management company, has to approve any sublet, which meant I needed to talk to them before he could sign the apartment over to me.

I tried to call them, but they told me I’d need to come down and fill out paperwork. If this was New York City or some other major city with large apartment complexes, I’d get it. Places with hundreds, or even dozens, of tenants had to do things by strict policies, but those kinds of places didn’t operate in Buxton. Most of the apartments were houses converted into duplexes and a handful of buildings scattered around town built in the seventies, when coal was still big, that could house six to ten tenants at full capacity.

It was just my luck that the building Mom’s friend’s son was living in was one of these, and the owner apparently felt like they should operate by big-city large complex rules. Still, I needed their approval to get the sublet, so there was no reason to rock the boat.

I made my way down there and found the manager’s office, which also turned out to be their apartment. It was doubtful that the guy owned the building and, more likely than not, was also the building super, doing on-site repairs and such. That, at least, was familiar. The building Terri and I had lived in had the same setup. The family homes converted into duplexes were usually owned by single renters, who owned the one house, usually originally belonging to a relative, while these stand-alone buildings were usually bought up by someone from out of town looking to make a buck as a landlord. I’d actually been hoping for one of the duplexes, since those usually had better upkeep than these buildings with absentee landlords. It did explain the need for an application, though.

As soon as the guy opened the apartment door, I almost just turned and walked away. I didn’t know him, but I recognized him from Evan’s cookout. He hadn’t been one of the guys actively saying anything, but he hadn’t tried to stop any of them either, and the company he kept was enough to make me want to have nothing to do with him.

“What?” he said as I just looked at him for a moment.

It wasn’t clear that he even recognized me, which was encouraging. Besides, it wasn’t like I was actually going to have to deal with him regularly. He didn’t own the building, after all. He was just renting it.

“I’m here about subletting number four. They told me I’d have to talk to you first, since management had to approve any sublets.”

“You got a job?” he asked, which was another sign that he didn’t know who I was.

“No, but I have severance from an injury until the end of summer, which is when the lease ends anyway. I’m not looking for anything long term since I’m moving out of town around the same time.”

He looked down at my cane and said, “We ain’t got no accommodations for cripples.”

“Okay, I guess,” I said, pausing slightly. “I’m recovering from surgery, not crippled. I can make it up and down the stairs and don’t need accommodations. Are you saying the apartment can’t be sublet?”

“No, I just don’t want to deal with any bullshit.”

It didn’t surprise me that he was kind of an asshole from the company he kept. It had become pretty apparent that any friend of Evan’s wasn’t someone I’d want to get to know.

“Then don’t. I’m just looking to sublet the place for a few months. If you don’t want to, then fine, I’ll find somewhere else to stay. I don’t know if the owners care if you keep apartments at full capacity or not, or if this guy is going to break his lease because he’s moving, but I’d assume the least amount of bullshit would be making sure you kept the place rented so the owners don’t hassle you.”

“Hey, don’t get your panties in a wad. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to expect some kind of special treatment.”

“All I’m expecting is a roof over my head and to be left alone until I move out.”

“Fine, I guess. I’ll grab the application, since we gotta have that on file and we’ll move the lease over to you starting next month. Are you taking it over at the end of the month, or what?”

“This week. I was going to pay him for that part of the month since he already paid rent, and then start paying the rent to you next month.”

“Whatever. I’ll get the application.”

He shut the door in my face, which was kind of a dick move, but it seemed about right for him. It didn’t matter. I wouldn’t have to deal with him much and at least I’d have my own place again.

Another couple of weeks went by, and I was starting to settle into a routine. The new apartment was working out and I hadn’t run into the manager once, which suited me. The guy I’d sublet from hadn’t wanted to move any of the furniture except the TV, so I’d given him a hundred bucks for all of it, which saved me having to find furniture.

I did have to go out and buy odds and ends, since I’d sold most of what Terri hadn’t emptied out of the apartment before I moved, but that didn’t cost a lot, since I went cheap. I wasn’t planning on taking any of it with me when I moved, so I settled for the bare minimum across the board. It did remind me a little bit of how I lived in college, but at least it was a step above living with my parents. In a way, I was on the same progression I’d been doing ten years before, from my parents’ house to a cheap apartment, or a dorm when I was in college, but this wasn’t that different. At this rate, I should be back to being a full functioning member of society in another year. A depressing thought, but at least I was making progress.

Other than that, everything else was the same. I’d sleep in until late in the day, walk around town to work out my leg, and end up at Rosita’s where I’d sit and talk to her for hours while she worked, occasionally helping with tasks when she got busy. It worked out for her, since she got free labor when she needed it, and I got to spend time with my friend.

My leg was feeling stronger every day, and I was having to rely on the cane less and less. I had an appointment with Doctor Thompson in a week and, hopefully, I’d be able to ditch the cane altogether. I could probably do it now, since I could walk with a limp, although not run, without it. The only reason I hadn’t was because I didn’t want to put too much weight on my leg and slow down my recovery.

I’d convinced Rosita that, if the doctor gave the go ahead, we could go hiking the next week. It hadn’t taken much convincing, actually. Rosita had been completely on board the moment I mentioned it, even mentioning a trail off the property her brother had left her where she was planning on building her house. She’d been so busy since she’d moved to town, she hadn’t really had a chance to explore it properly and thought it would be a fun excursion for us.

It was just another area Terri and Rosita differed. Rosita was as girly as they came, but she wasn’t afraid to get dirty and be out in nature. Terri’s idea of roughing it was staying in a bad motel, and she wouldn’t be caught dead out in the woods. Even when we were kids and everyone would go up to the lake, she wanted to stay by the cabin and refused to go mudding or any of the other stuff everyone else wanted to do.

The thought of getting off the cane and approved for more physical activity had me up and doing my physical therapy every morning. It was grueling and I ended up covered in sweat from what were very basic exercises, which was a little humbling, but I was willing to go through it if it got me back to normal.

Although my routine was just about the same every day, I did make one change once we’d agreed to go hiking if my leg got better. Instead of borrowing my mom’s car and driving down to her shop, I walked to the taqueria in the late afternoons before things at the restaurant picked up and Rosita drove me home each night. Of course, there was a practical reason beyond just getting strong enough to get off the crutch, since I’d have to walk further to get to my parents and get the car, or convince them to come get me, which was a call I’d never make. It was the thought of getting out and spending the whole day with Rosita that kept me walking when my leg was really feeling sore.