The visitor, p.1
The Visitor, page 1
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author. All trademarked brands and brand names mentioned in this fictional book are protected by their trademark and are referenced without infringement, dilution, tarnishment, or defamation.
Copyright © 2022 C. D’Angelo.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted in any form or by any means stored in a database or retrieval system, or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.
Printed in the United States of America
Cover design: JRC Designs/Jena R. Collins
Developmental editor: Lisa Fellinger
Copy editor: Jenn Lockwood Editing
Internal formatting: Qamber Designs & Media
Print edition ISBN: 978-1-7372624-3-5
Digital edition ISBN: 978-1-7372624-2-8
www.CDAngeloAuthor.com
To my grandma, Mary, love forever from your doll.
Author’s Note
This story contains references to hate crimes, which may be triggering for some readers.
Chapter 1
How can this be? My heart sinks in my chest, and my mouth drops open as I turn over this letter to find the correction for its message but only see a blank white abyss. Where’s the punchline to this must-be joke? The “Ha, ha, I got you”?
But no. My sweaty, shaky hands grip horrible words from some stranger stating that the building where I live and work is going up for sale. I fall back onto the stool behind me and look around my flourishing New Age store I created from a whim of a teenage idea twelve years ago.
Who will be my new landlord? When I left my parents’ home at eighteen, I was determined not to go to college, like most of my classmates, so I could start my life as soon as possible. The Bumbys offered me the lowest rent I could find—and in the French Quarter of New Orleans, no less. I’m forever grateful to them for paying their past fortune forward to me, since someone gave them a break when they were young and hungry for their own business. Now I have everything that surrounds me to treasure each day.
They’ve never even talked about selling their properties…have they? I mentally scan our conversations. No, never. All of those times over the years when I came to Betty with my boyfriend issues to gain her wisdom or how she told me all about her grandkids’ adventures plus her and Dale’s hopes and dreams never once led to, “Hey, Mary. We’re going to leave you in the dust someday. Okay? Great. See ya.”
Alright, I know my imagination is running wild, and they don’t deserve that, but come on. I just thought we had a closer relationship than maybe what they feel. They’re in my small circle of trust. If I had needed to leave this location, I would have given them warning, and not through some cold, impersonal letter. How could they have not told me—or any of their other renters—that they’re selling their properties? I consider them family, and family doesn’t blindside family.
Now that I think about it, they have seemed distant in the last few months. We’ve called each other less, but I just thought we were all busy. And when I tried to meet Betty last week for lunch so I could get her opinion on my newest relationship disaster, I was given a list of reasons for why she couldn’t join me, even when I offered alternative dates. She always wants to hear the gossip, so the realization should have hit me over the head. Wow, my intuition must be on the fritz.
Tears begin to well up in my eyes as more thoughts flood my now throbbing head, but I try to hold them back. “Mary doesn’t cry.” I drop the letter on the counter in front of me like I’m ridding myself of a bomb.
The Bumbys have kept my rent ridiculously affordable, but who knows what a new owner will charge. I’m sure they’ll want to raise the cost as high as possible for this desirable area. Who in their right mind wouldn’t? I don’t scrape by, but I also don’t have much disposable income, even at this monthly price.
So, wait. If I can’t swing the new fee, I’ll have to move. No! I can’t imagine living and working anywhere else, especially with the returning customer base I’ve gained. Not only do the tourists sustain A Healing Hand, but my locals are the heart of my dependable profits. Plus, the customers who attend my classes have come for years. I don’t know if they’ll continue their yoga, tea leaf readings, or any of my other offerings at a new site in God knows what part of the city. It would be like starting over again. And I’d miss them.
A tear escapes down my face. Damn it. Stay strong. Don’t think about the worst circumstance. I’ll be alright. Maybe if I tell myself that phrase enough it’ll be true. I squeeze my eyes shut, press my fingers to my temples, and mentally repeat the statement a few times.
Shaking my head to get myself together, I breathe in and breathe out as deep as my body allows. You know, recharging all my chakras. Yes, keep that vibe going, Mary.
Okay, I’ll just have to talk to the Bumbys tomorrow. It’s too late to contact them at this hour, and I need to close the store for the night. Plus, it’s dinner time for Mr. Grayson, who I definitely can’t tell about this letter tonight. Oh, he’s my cat. He’ll be displeased enough to be hungry, but to learn this news, too? Forget it. I expect a turned-up nose and a veering head as a full-on cat protest if I tell him these words. See, he loves to roam between my—I mean, our studio apartment and my store. If I have to move and the store doesn’t have living space above it, there goes his freedom. I may as well prepare for attitude for months. No thanks.
I snatch the letter and stuff it into my satchel under the counter. Maybe I’ll leave that energy down here tonight. No need to let it enter my safe space upstairs.
Locking the front door and turning off the last set of lights before I go upstairs, my awareness is altered by the vigorous aroma lingering from the candles I blew out pre-letter. Closing my eyes and breathing in sweet air from what seems like days ago, my body relaxes another notch. Ahh, nothing like lavender to greet the night and loosen my shoulders. The scent sparks images of fields bursting with the bright-purple plant and—
“Ow!” I stub my toe on the stairstep that protrudes from its edge and grab my foot to ease the pain. My flip-flops give unwanted access to my piggies way too much. “It’s not cool to kick me while I’m down, Universe.”
Asking the Bumbys to replace that board always slips my mind since, nine times out of ten, I hit my toe as I climb to my apartment for the night, then forget about it until the next night. I must remember about the defect, because it’s worse than ever, but how can I remember when there are a million other tasks on my plate? Plus, one more concern now. I tap my forehead a few times and say, “Remember.” So much for the relaxing lavender.
My favorite little buddy is waiting for me at our apartment door when I push it open, just as I expect. His yellow eyes shine as they look up at me past his short gray fur, but I’m not fooled. That shine isn’t a total happy-to-see-me look. He has a hint of annoyance in those squinting eyes since I closed the apartment door today. I know my guy.
“I was protecting your tiny pink ears, not punishing you, Gray.” I pat him on his soft fuzzy head. “There was a drum circle, and that’s too loud for you.”
He fully closes his eyes for a moment, forgiving me as far as I can tell.
As soon as I walk over to the cabinet and reach for his dry food, he dashes over and rubs against my leg.
“Here you go.” I pour the mix into his bowtie-shaped food bowl and fill his top-hat-formed water bowl.
He yawns and lies down in front of his bowls to feast as soon as I put them on the floor. No need to waste all that energy standing when he can relax while he eats.
Taking his lead, I plop down on the floor next to him and stroke his back. “Oh, Mr. Grayson, what are we gonna do?”
I turn my head and notice a gleaming silver fork laying under a barstool. Looking back at Mr. G., I ask, “What did you do when I was gone?”
He doesn’t stop eating, leaving me to guess what cat antics he was up to during the day.
I giggle. “You’re always knocking things off the counter.”
But I guess company’s coming my way. It’s an Italian superstition that always comes true. I wonder who will visit me.
Chapter 2
Knock, knock, knock.
Come on. Answer the door, Bumbys. I’m practically in a sweat from speed-walking over here in the humid morning air as early as is respectful. I grab my long hair and fan my neck. Come on, come on, come—
“Mary!” Betty gasps as she opens the door.
What’s going on? I’ve dropped by a million times, and she’s always welcoming, never shocked.
I remember to smooth my brow, smile, and muster up the words, “Hi there. Do you have a few minutes to talk?” I know something’s awry. Betty’s warm beige face is as pale as if she’s seen a ghost.
“Get on in here.” She comes to life again and moves her open palm toward the parlor. “Have a seat. Can I get ya some sweet tea? You look parched.” She runs her fingers through her curly short brown hair, the same chestnut color as my straight locks.
“No, thank you. I’m here because of a letter I received yesterday.”
I’m left in outer space, dangling and wishing for solid ground. This couch will do for the moment, so I take a seat. At least I wore my bloodstone crystal necklace for courage.
Dale makes his way down the stairs, slow and steady. He doesn’t change his serious facial expression when he notices my presence, his typical bronze glow remaining.
Huh? He’s usually smiling ear to ear when I see him.
“Hi, Mary. How are you this lovely Tuesday mornin’?” He comes to the parlor and sits across from me on his recliner. His short legs extend outward, crossed at his ankles.
“Hello.” My tone matches his flatness. I reach into my crossbody satchel for the letter to hold it up and show him. “I got this letter yesterday that states our building is being put on the market. For sale. This isn’t correct, right?” A girl could hope.
My place has been there since, I don’t know, 1940 at least—or some other year ages ago. The Bumbys probably have owned the beautiful brick structure that takes up most of the block since before I was born, and I’m the big 3-0 now. Who would want to buy an ancient building when they can have their pick of newer ones in other parts of New Orleans? Selling it doesn’t make any sense. Buying it makes even less sense. Nope, no buyers for the building. It’s settled.
And I’ve been there so long now that I can’t imagine residing or working in a new location. I’ve only lived in my childhood home and this one. That building is my whole life now.
What feels like eons of time pass until I see Dale’s lips start to move, like the slow-motion video setting for the camera on my phone. “It’s true.”
The Bumbys exchange a glance with a glimmer of empathy.
I feel like I’m watching a movie instead of experiencing this life-changing news. Two little words have changed my world from the comfort of my successful store and familiar home to the unknown laying ahead for me and Mr. Grayson.
Swallowing hard before being able to speak, I mutter, “I don’t understand.” Much more information is needed, busters, so start spilling.
Betty takes the limelight for a moment. Keeping her voice airy, as if overcompensating for the blow, she says, “Oh, dear. The realtor told us this was the best way to handle it, but I knew we should have told all y’all.” She bites her lip. “See, we aren’t gettin’ any younger, and we’ve been tossin’ over a few options for our later years,” she adds. “We’ve been in this parish our entire lives and want to get out and explore the world a little.” She looks at her husband with heavy eyes.
Dale helps her by chiming in. “We’re planning on an around-the-world cruise. Our ol’ pontoon boat isn’t cuttin’ it anymore for our travelin’ hearts, so we need the money from all of our properties, including this house.” He moves a thin strip of gray hair farther back on his head.
They’re selling e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g? “What do you mean? You’ll be leaving New Orleans completely? Like, for good?” My eyes squint as if it’ll allow me to hear different words.
“That’s right, dear.” Betty’s posture relaxes as the big news releases into the room. “We’ve worked our entire lives, and it’s time to enjoy the fruits of our labor. Once we make it around the world, we’ll choose a place to settle down. Isn’t it excitin’?” Her face glows from the light in her eyes and the huge smile on her face.
I get it. My mouth shifts to the side, along with my head. These sweet people have been kindhearted to me for my entire adult life. How could I be angry with them for wanting to start their next Chapter? And seeing the joy they’re trying to suppress lets me know they don’t want to hurt me. They simply want to have the time of their lives. And they should.
“I’m happy for you both. Really, that sounds like an amazing opportunity.” I’m not lying. I am happy for them, and I do want them to have a terrific retirement. I do. But…
“We were goin’ to meet with you store owners in person, but the realtor insisted on sending those letters first, as a legal thingamajiggy.” Betty looks at her husband with raised eyebrows, signaling help. She’s not as direct as me and usually depends on Dale for most business concerns.
I butt in before he comes to her rescue. “Don’t worry about it. I know now. That’s what matters. You’re doing what you need to do and are taking action as you were advised.” Maybe I do mean as much to them as they do to me.
“Oh, thank you, dear.” Her voice gains strength. “I knew you wouldn’t take it personally.”
Uh…
Dale continues, “It’s because we needed somethin’ in writing so that we gave proper warning for your livelihoods. That was the decent thing to do, after all. And especially for the few of you in our buildings who also call ’em home. We want to give you plenty of time to get your affairs in order.”
“I thank you for that, and I know my neighbors will as well.” I’m trying to sound like my usual tough self while I push down building tears, now at least only because I’ll miss them. Viewing their current smiles, I think they’re buying my act. Maybe.
“It’ll probably take some time to get all of the properties sold, so you have a bit,” Dale adds. “We have this home, your building that has three businesses and homes, and our two other structures with two businesses each in them. I’m sure it’ll take a long while to get them all out from under us,” he reassures.
“Oh, yes!” Betty quickly tries to emphasize this likelihood, shaking her head and enlarging her eyes.
“Okay, well, that’s comforting to hear.” I smile, contributing more to my act. The grip on my now wrinkled-to-death letter loosens, and I stuff it back down into my satchel.
Dale rises from his chair, walks over to me, and puts his hand on my shoulder. “We will keep you updated on the status of your building. We also plan to have a town hall meeting with all of our renters next week so we can answer all the questions at once.”
I place my hand over his and squeeze it. “Thanks.” Looking up at him, then toward his caring wife, I say, “I won’t take up any more of your time today,” and walk to the door.
They both escort me out, and Betty reassures me once more, saying, “All will be fine, Miss Mary.”
I believe they believe what they’re saying, but this may be the first time in my life that I don’t relish the lack of certainty about my future. I don’t like this pit-of-my-stomach ache. This heavy chest sensation. This…fear?
Chapter 3
I need a minute to gather myself, so I better text Ada, who’s holding down the store this morning.
Mary: Sorry but my errand is taking longer than I thought. Be back soon.
She texts back a few moments later in her typical Ada way, which always makes me chuckle.
Ada: K.
She has a flip phone—yes, in this decade, I know—so she texts as little as possible. Punching one button three times to get to the letter C, for example, isn’t going to happen often, so she’s as brief as possible in her messages.
I amble over to a bench by the glistening Mississippi and sit down. Watching the barges float by on the river, all on their way to far-off destinations, soothes me. Tiny boats, especially in comparison, sail by as well. The iconic riverboat is getting ready to leave for her day journey as excited passengers talk and take pictures in the meantime. Looking up farther, I notice the stunning blue sky, full of bright-white puffy clouds. The heat is building by the second this morning, but those tourists will have a good day I bet.
Just breathe in the beauty, Mary. Deep breaths, eyes shut.
Breathe in, 2, 3, 4.
Hold, 2, 3, 4.
Breathe out, 2, 3, 4.
Again in, 2, 3, 4.
Hold, 2, 3, 4. Out, 2, 3, 4.
One more time. In, 2, 3, 4.
Hold, 2, 3, 4. Out, 2, 3, 4.
