Growls & Greeting Cards

Part 6

JULIET

"Mine," I announce to myself. There's no one around to hear the declaration, but that's fine. This decision was all for me.

My life finally feels like it's for me again.

The thing that is mine is a small house set far back on this seemingly abandoned street. At least it's paved, though the asphalt is cracked and bleached from long sunny days. I'm not sure how well my station wagon would do on rocky dirt roads often found in small mountain towns. The vehicle had a hard enough time getting me to Pine Falls. But that was mainly because I used back roads every chance I could for my escape.

Paranoid? Maybe. But after living in a town run by werewolves, it's hard not to think that they could have eyes anywhere. Including on traffic cameras.

But I made it out, and now I'm a homeowner.

Take that mister surly werewolf. Just try to shoo me out of your town now.

The thought has me smiling to myself. Maybe it's not healthy how much I enjoy pissing off that guy Roderick. But I doubt anyone would blame me if they knew what I've been through.

Although maybe some part of my reaction is healthy.

By all rights, I should be running away in panic whenever I'm near a werewolf. But with Roderick, I stood my ground. Multiple times. Even when he was getting growly with me.

So, yeah, maybe not the best choice for keeping me physically safe. But I've got to say, my mind feels a little bit better.

Less cowed. No longer terrified of my own shadow. Or the monsters that lurk in others.

Okay, I'm still scared.

But in that moment, I didn't let it rule me.

I'm a work in progress. Just like this house. Just like my life.

Anyone else moving into a new house would probably have a U-Haul truck, or at least a trailer, parked out front. They'd take hours, lugging in all of their belongings, and then spend days unpacking.

I, on the other hand, only have what's in the trunk of my car. Same as the day I left Bear Valley, and the day I arrived at Pine Falls. Even though my compact lifestyle makes moving a lot less cumbersome, the knowledge suddenly has me feeling unsettled. For the first few months here, I was comforted by the idea that I could pile all my belongings into a car and take off.

But that thought is born from anxiety. The need to be able to flee at the first sign that Cory discovered where I am. And I hate the idea that he still has control over my life.

My life.

So now I own a house. And as I carry my few keepsakes over the threshold, I mentally map out the pieces of furniture I want to buy to fill the place.

The house is small. One bedroom, one bathroom. But it has decent sized windows and a fireplace. Plus, there's a backyard. The fence around it is rotting away, but that can be fixed.

I want a dog. I've always wanted a dog. For a short time, I thought I'd adopt one once Cory and I moved in together.

Then my ex started leaving bruises on me.

No way would I subject an innocent animal to that kind of treatment.

But now I have my own house, my own yard, and no one around who's going to hurt anything I love.

Staring out the back door at the grassy space overrun with weeds, I grin wide.

"Mine," I say once more to myself. A reassurance. A promise.

As I return to my car for the final box, I spot headlights down the way.

My neighbor.

That term can be applied loosely, seeing as how their house sits over a block away. Close enough for me to see, but far enough that I'd have to hike over to them to hold a conversation.

The house itself is at least twice the size as mine and much better maintained. The home is a mixture of dark green siding and heavy gray stones. Orderly plants cover the property, while vines twine up many vertical surfaces.

The place is lovely and has me wondering who lives there.

Now, I'll get my answer.

The car pulling into the drive looks expensive. The body of it is all sleek angles that screams luxury. It's something I'd expect to see a businessman in the city driving around. Not normal fare for small Colorado mountain towns.

But then the occupant steps out, and I have to admit, they seem a matched set. If only from a distance at least.

Squinting my eyes, I make out a well-dressed woman in man-killing heels. A cloud of blonde hair falls to her shoulders, and a large bag that looks like it could be a designer purse, dangles from her arm.

Once she stands from the car, I can tell her attention shifts my way. But unless I want to shout at her, or jog a ways, there's no way to make a casual introduction.

So, I leave my people watching for now, hefting the box with my paper crafting supplies up my front walkway. When I drop it on the kitchen counter, the rustling inside gives me an idea. Pulling the flaps open, I dig out a smaller wooden box. Inside, I have my finished projects.