Page 78 of Never Forget
The landlord stopped by while we were unloading the last of the bags. She was an older woman with gray hair and an apologetic expression.
"I'm sorry about the state of the couch," she said, gesturing toward the living room. "Previous tenants. I've been meaning to have it hauled out, but I haven't gotten around to it."
Jamie walked over to look. The couch was a disaster. Stained, sagging, one cushion torn open with stuffing spilling out like a wound.
"It'll have to go," the landlord said. "You'll need to get your own."
Jamie nodded. I watched her face as she added it to the mental list she was always carrying. One more thing. One more expense. One more problem to solve.
"Thank you," she said. "We'll figure it out."
The landlord left. Jamie stood in the middle of the living room, hands on her hips, staring at the ruined couch like it had personally offended her.
"I'll help you get rid of it," I said.
"Thanks." She exhaled. "I just need to find somewhere that sells furniture that doesn't cost a fortune."
The Carolina Furniture Depot sat on Savannah Highway, a sprawling warehouse with a parking lot full of cars and a sign out front promising the lowest prices in Havensworth.
Rosie was already straining against her car seat straps before I'd even cut the engine. I'd bought the seat a few days afterthe fire, when it became clear I'd be driving them places. I came around to help her out, and the moment her feet hit the pavement, she was pulling toward the entrance. Jamie caught her by the hand before she could bolt.
"Stay close," Jamie said. "This place is huge."
Inside, the store stretched in every direction, a maze of couches and sectionals and recliners arranged in little living room vignettes. The ceiling was high, the lighting harsh, and somewhere in the back, a radio was playing country music that echoed off the concrete floor.
Rosie lasted about thirty seconds before she started testing the merchandise. A loveseat, a leather sofa, a massive sectional that could seat ten. Each one got a verdict: too small, too hard, too big. The overstuffed armchair swallowed her whole, and she scrambled to get out. "I'm stuck!"
Jamie laughed and pulled her free. “Are you going to test out every one of them?"
"I'm Goldilocks," Rosie corrected. "I have to find the one that's just right."
She took off down the aisle, Jamie chasing after her, both of them laughing. I hung back and watched them weave between the displays, the two of them collapsing together in a fit of giggles on a deep blue couch near the back.
Jamie's hair had come loose from its braid. She was breathless, her cheeks flushed, her arm around Rosie's shoulders. Rosie was saying something about the color, about how it matched her favorite dress, and Jamie was nodding along like this was the most important decision they'd ever make.
This. This was what I wanted.
The thought landed in my chest and stayed there.
Them. The two of them, together, building something out of nothing. I wanted to be part of it. I wanted mornings withRosie's crayons on the coffee table and evenings with Jamie in the kitchen and all the ordinary moments in between.
I wantedthisto be my life.
While Jamie and Rosie debated whether the blue was more like the ocean or the sky, I looked around. It’s a habit every firefighter develops. You walk into a building and you assess. Note the exits. Clock the hazards. See what's wrong before it becomes a problem.
The store was old. You could tell from the construction, the way the roof sat heavy on walls that weren't designed to carry the weight. The building had been added onto over the years, sections tacked on like afterthoughts, the whole thing sprawling outward instead of up. In the back, past the showroom floor, I could see a loading dock. Probably where they stored the extra inventory. The aisles were packed tight, furniture crammed together to maximize floor space.
No sprinkler system that I could see. No fire doors between the sections. The exits were marked, but the paths to reach them wound through the maze of displays.
Something about it sat wrong in my gut.
"Uncle Sam!" Rosie was waving at me from the blue sectional. "Come feel this one!"
I walked over and sat down beside them. The cushions were firm but comfortable. It would hold up to a four-year-old's jumping and still be soft enough to fall asleep on.
"What do you think?" Jamie asked.
"I think Goldilocks found her couch."
