Fly Away Home

Chapter 4

The sound of rainfall floods my thoughts with a deluge of unpleasant memories. The sea of tears shed throughout my life is already overflowing. I don't need any more. That's why I prefer radiant sunshine over those rain-soaked days during the stormy season.

I listen with piqued curiosity. The ping of each raindrop hits metal with a sense of enthusiasm. I absorb its unexpected and cheerful energy behind closed eyelids. It's nothing like the monotonous thud of morning showers falling on my roof shingles. Still protected by the darkness of sleep, my mind works through the confusion. I'm caught somewhere between bliss and misery, a vast expanse to navigate. Summoning the courage to face the reality of another dreary day, I open my eyes and smile.

In the cocoon of my car, water droplets trace a path down the passenger side window. The view couldn't be more beautiful. I snuggle into the crevice between my seat and the center console. I might usually moan and groan in discomfort, but not today. Are the tears blurring my vision from Mother Nature or me? It doesn't matter. My grin widens as the white farmhouse smiles back at me.

***

Pigeon Grove lives up to its namesake. Things fly here. For a small town, I never imagined it possible to complete a real estate transaction so quickly. In less than two weeks, all the necessary documents have been recorded. I'm the new owner of a quaint cottage nestled among rolling foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

The timeliness of the sale was astonishing. But it's outdone by the generosity bestowed upon me during the process. I was unable to find temporary housing on short notice. The real estate agent insisted I stay inside my future abode until the purchase was official.

It was a kindhearted gesture but immediately raised suspicions. Was this some way to manipulate me before I signed the paperwork? That level of graciousness from a stranger is unfamiliar to me. Despite my apprehension, everything worked out exactly as I had hoped.

The quiet community has been that. I've intentionally kept my travels confined to the neighboring town. It's best to keep a safe distance from folks nearby who might complicate matters. Even if that real estate agent's kindness was an unexpected and welcome surprise.

***

I gather some essentials from the grocery store: food and a few cleaning supplies. I work through the downstairs first, one room at a time. It's cathartic to clear away layers of dust and discover a hint of the sparkle hidden beneath each surface. The kitchen is my favorite spot and where I begin. It breathes an intangible sense of life into me. There is space to move around, but it feels intimate and private too. It reminds me of a place where new things are born from simple ingredients. Like sugar, butter, flour, and perhaps a small dash of hope.

The single window over the cavernous porcelain sink gets stuck when I try to open it. A little perseverance proves successful as the familiar scent of jasmine floats inside. I almost don't notice the unsightly field of overgrown weeds next door.

In due time, I'll find out who owns that property. It shouldn't be difficult to have it cleared. My practical mind taps me on the shoulder. Claire? Hello, there. Consider this your wake-up call. You have a finite amount of money and no job to sustain your long-term presence here.

It's something to worry about later. I lean against the counter, close my eyes, inhale, and appreciate the sanctity of my quiet refuge.

Knock, knock.

The jarring sound travels through the living room. It pushes that comfortable and intoxicating floral scent back outside the window. So much for peaceful silence. If I ignore whoever it is, maybe they'll give up and leave.