Page 13 of Dream House
When she steps inside, I close the door on the sticky September evening. I turn and find her taking in Nanna’s gleaming white staircase with the glossy banister that wraps its way all the way up to Pen’s attic. I’ve always thought the entryway was grand. Even growing up knowing this place doesn’t make me immune to its majesty. Judging by her posture, this girl is gobsmacked.
She whirls on me. “W-was the ad wrong?” She looks a little panicked and shakes her head. “It said $350 a month for a bedroom in a shared house. That can’t be right. Not here.”
“Well—” I start.
“I’m sorry,” Pen launches in. “I posted the ad too soon.”
The girl’s face falls. “So it’s more than $350.” Her disappointment borders on despair.
“No.” It’s suddenly important that I reassure her. “The price is right. It’s just that the room isn’t ready yet.”
“Oh.”
Her shoulders sag. In fact, all of her seems to sag, as though her spine can’t possibly hold her upright. If I wanted to reassure her, I did a crap job of it.
Despite the fact that she looks like she can’t take one more step, she turns and aims for the door. “I’d better go then—”
“Wait.” I reach out and grab her wrist. Not hard, I swear. But she hisses in pain and I let go, wide-eyed. “I’m so sorry. I—”
“No, it’s nothing,” she says, but she clutches her wrist to her chest and her face goes red. She looks away, her stringy hair hiding her eyes. “Just… I’ve got to go.”
I have no idea who this girl is, but I know in my bones that I can’t let her walk out Nanna’s door.
“Do you have somewhere to go?” I ask, my voice gentle but clear.
With the slightest tilt of her head, she peeks at me from behind the shelter of her hair but says nothing.
I take two steps back as though I’m trying not to spook a baby deer. “Please come sit down.”
I gesture toward the sitting room to the right of the stairs. The space is snug, especially with Nanna’s rocker recliner, the overstuffed, doily-topped loveseat, and her oval cherry coffee table crowding the floor space.
Taking in the options, our surprise visitor chooses the rocker and sits on the very edge. I’m actually a little afraid she’ll slip off. Pen and I sit side by side on the loveseat across from her.
“I’m Stella. Stella Mouton,” I say. “This is my friend Penelope Harper—”
“Call me Pen,” she blurts.
When the girl says nothing—just stares at us like we’re trying to talk her into a threesome—I prompt her. “What’s your name?”
“Christina—b-but everyone calls me Nina for short… Nina Lemoine.”
I stoke my courage and just go for it. “Looks like you’re having a bad day, Nina.”
Even though I’ve spoken gently, her head dips and she brings a hand to her forehead, shielding that god awful eye.
“I’m sorry,” I say in a rush. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
The sound of her swallowing, gulping really, is her only response.
“When did that happen?” I ask because I don’t know what else to ask.
This time, Nina doesn’t hesitate. “Last night.”
Jesus Christ.
My tongue feels useless. I have no idea what to say.
My silence must prompt her to lower her hand. “I need to find a new place to live,” Nina says as though she’s asking for a two million dollar loan. “Someplace I can afford.”
