Amateur Hour

The knobs and locks on the old rectory weren’t new, but they had been oiled and well worked by the cleaning crew that the Realtor had recommended, so the key slid in easily. The knob wobbled a little, but at least it didn’t come off in her hand. Lisa had to bump the door with her shoulder; it had swollen from several day’s worth of wet weather, but it didn’t resist too much. She flipped the switch next to the door. Nothing happened.

“Well, shit,” she mumbled, with a scowl. The power was supposed to have been turned on, two weeks ago. Then, she noticed the dim light above her, to her left and breathed a sigh of relief. Wrong switch. Groping a little more to her left, she found another switch, and flicked it. The small foyer lit up, and she dragged her wheeled suitcase across the threshold.

The place was clean, there was no denying it. Clean and bare as hell. It wasn’t a big house, having two bedrooms and one bath, but denuded of furniture, it seemed huge. The linoleum was faded, even cracked here and there, but she could smell the lingering scent of various household cleansers, and floor wax. The linoleum would have to go, because she had no intention of waxing floors. Lisa didn’t wax, or iron. She barely cooked, which was too bad, because she was starting to feel hungry, and wasn’t too keen on the idea of yet another Big Mac.

Against the wall of her new living room, on the floor, was a small black box, plugged into the wall. Good– the internet had been installed, too. Turning on lights as she went, she found the kitchen to be scrupulously clean. Someone had taken pity on her and had placed a tiny gate-legged table in the dining area, with two mismatched but functional chairs. The fridge was working, and there was even ice in the two trays in the freezer. The stove was gas, which gave her pause. Next to it was a box of large strike-anywhere matches. She had never operated a gas appliance, in her life, and she sent up a small prayer that the water heater and heating system didn’t rely on gas, too. And, was there even gas? Probably not– she hadn’t ordered any.

“And that’s what you get, for buying property from photos, Lisa,” she remonstrated with herself. She shrugged. It was a speed bump, that was all. She’d figure it out. Then she chuckled softly. She was so domestic, she should consider herself lucky it wasn’t a wood stove. “You’d be in a pickle then, wouldn’t you?” she thought.

What was not a speed bump, was the puddle she found, in the hall, and the water stain on the ceiling above it. So, the roof wasn’t quite intact. The Realtor hadn’t been sure, and had said as much. This wasn’t as easy to shrug off, and she’d have to deal with it, ASAP. She hoped the sanctuary roof was in better shape, but of course it probably wasn’t. She had to live here, but her livelihood was to be generated there.

She stepped over the puddle; it wasn’t large. The rest of the hall was dry. The bathroom light revealed pink tile, and Lisa pulled a face. Not her favorite color. There was no tub, just a shower stall with some tiles missing and others that looked hazardous to the feet, being broken. Like everything else, though, it was clean, and the taps at the sink worked. The septic tank had been completely replaced– she had seen to that, when she was arranging for power and internet, but it was starting to seem that, for everything she had thought of, there was another that she hadn’t. Well, if it hadn’t been for her parents’ advice, there would have been more, so there was that.

They had been pleased and surprised to hear that she was buying property, at long last, after having been a lifetime renter in Central Florida. She’d have to remember not to bitch, too much, when she called them, later. Besides, she agreed with their overall point about ownership versus renting. It had just been her poor luck to have been born in a place where no one could afford to buy property, by the time she had become an adult. One could buy a house, in Orlando, but precious little property. It had become the land of zero lot lines.

The largest of the two bedrooms was unremarkable. It had been remodeled with cheap dark paneling, at some point, which seemed to swallow the light from overhead, but otherwise, it was just a big, empty room, with some set in stains on the linoleum. The stains were faint, but still unsightly. Yes, the lino would have to go. Lisa devoutly hoped they weren’t indicative of another roof leak, but since there was no sign of a puddle, it wasn’t too worrisome. The whole roof would probably have to be replaced, at some point, anyway. She might get away with having the roof over the hallway patched, in the short term. Dad would be able to give her some advice about that, she was sure.

There was so much to do, before she could even go to bed, tonight. She flirted with the idea of getting a motel room, to avoid having to drag in the air mattress, then rejected it. The penny pinching might as well start now. As it was, she’d have to drive five miles or so into Bainbridge, if she wanted to eat, tonight. She also had to cal–

Her back pocket began to vibrate and ring, nearly startling her out of her skin. She plucked out her phone, nearly dropping it, and answered.
“Hi, Mom,” she said.

“Hi, honey– where are you?”

“In my new bedroom.”

“Well, you made pretty good time. I was going to hold off a while, on calling you, but your Dad said we were talking about Lisa Leadfoot. I guess he was right.”

“Thanks, Daddy!” Lisa deadpanned, knowing he was listening in. Sure enough, she could hear him chuckle, in the background.

“So, how was your trip?” Mom asked.

“Soggy, once I got up around Tallahassee. It’s stopped raining, though.”

“How’s the place?” This, from Dad.

“It’s a mixed bag. Everything works, as far as I can tell. I have a roof leak, though, and I haven’t even looked at the sanctuary, yet. That roof is probably holey, too– and not in a good way.”

“Puns,” Dad began.

“Are the lowest form of humor– I know, Dad. But I’m pooped, so…”

“I’ll bet you are,” Mom said. “Have you had dinner, yet?”

“Not yet. I should probably make my bed, first, so I can crash, when I’m ready. I should pick up some things, too, at the store.”

“Toilet paper!” Dad chimed in, again.

Lisa laughed, and so did her Mom. That was Dad, ever the practical one.
“Go on, laugh,” he said. “If you forget, you’ll be making it your ring tone.” He affected indignation, but it was just that—an affectation.

This set the women off, again. But, of course, he was right, and Lisa moved the item to the top of her mental shopping list.

“Well, honey, we’ll let you go, then. We just wanted to be sure you got there, and that you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, Mom. Glad to be off the road.”

“Call us, tomorrow, and we’ll talk more.”

“Okay. Love you, both.”

“We love you, too, Lisa. Good night.”

“Good night.”

The soft booping sound signaled Mom’s hangup. Lisa was still smiling, picturing Earl and Sarah Miles sitting in their cozy living room. Dad would be lounging in his recliner, enjoying his “mindless time” in front of the TV. Mom would be on the sofa, hard at her latest Tom Clancy novel. It wasn’t hard to separate Dad from the TV, but it almost took an act of Congress to get a book out of Mom’s hands.

Lisa sighed, realizing that the brief conversation had been all about her. She hadn’t even thought to ask if they had heard anything from Liam, her own twin. “Brother Liam” was as unlike Lisa as it was possible to be. Where her hair was mostly dark brown, Liam had always had auburn curls with blue eyes to match. Her own eyes were moss green. Lisa was considered the “doer” of the twins. Liam was the reader and thinker. She deeply suspected her brother of being a writer, as well, though this was unconfirmed, so far.

She grinned to herself. Wouldn’t it be a hoot, to find herself peddling a book or two of Liam’s, one day?

Lisa made her way back to the front of the house, barely glancing at the smaller of the two bedrooms; the one that she planned to turn into her home office. She could see enough, without turning on the light to determine that it was just another very empty room, smaller than the other bedroom.

She was shocked at how chilly it had gotten, when she stepped out into the early evening air. At least the wind had died down, she noticed. Her jacket was in the car, of course, along with her bag and wallet. She rubbed her arms, and hot-footed it to the car. She had warmed up, a little, by the time she located the full sized airbed and dragged it in. The bedding, fortunately, was in a box near it, but it took two trips; the mattress was too heavy to carry with anything else, and the bedding box, too bulky. As it was, the battery operated inflator had done half its work, by the time she returned with the sheets and towels box.

It was full dark, when the bed was made, at last, and the pole lights scattered around the churchyard had kicked on, shedding a white glow that deepened the shadows outside their reach. She was reluctant to climb into the SUV and drive around an unfamiliar place, at night but she was also famished.

Bainbridge wasn’t Mayberry, but it wasn’t obscenely huge, either. Lisa’s first stop was Walmart. As a rule, she avoided superstores, but she needed a little of everything, and a superstore was the place to get that. She picked up some instant coffee (not her favorite, but who knew exactly where the coffeemaker was), an electric kettle, to heat water, bread, sandwich meat, instant soup, and a few other necessities including toilet paper, mentally adding Dad’s exclamation point. Dinner was carryout pizza from chain restaurant. She’d find out, later, where the locals liked to eat.
Back at the rectory, she dined in deafening silence, with a pen and a notebook, working on several lists at once. Things to do, calls to make, items to investigate tomorrow, when she had the whole day to reconnoiter the property. It seemed so much, and her head was full of plans, ideas, and problems to work out. It felt like she’d never sleep tonight, if she didn’t get some of it on paper.

It was nearly 10 pm by the time she fell into bed. She was asleep in thirty seconds.