Housewarming

by Jennifer Bowen

  Housewarming

  A Novel

  Jennifer Bowen

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, historical events, or real locations are used fictitiously. Other names, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locations, persons living or deceased, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Jennifer Bowen

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (including electronic, photocopy, recording) without prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Published in the United States by Rosefall Publications,

  June 2019

  Cover design: Christopher Bowen

  Cover image: Amanda Carden/Shutterstock.com

  For Mom and Dad

  Contents

  Housewarming

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Hands held her down, forcing her just below the water’s surface. If she could just roll over and push up a few inches, she’d be able to breathe. But the hands were too strong. When she was first shoved downward, she had flipped right-side up and almost saw the face. But the water rippled each time she jerked against those hands, so she could never see it clearly.

  Let me go! she screamed, the cry a gurgle letting water in, filling her mouth and throat.

  She struggled, but she was growing weak. Her heavy eyelids drooped, pushing against the water as they started to close, exhaustion overtaking her. She stopped the fight and stilled, her hair fanning out around her. The hands relented too, easing their grip until they finally released. Her body drifted, sinking, close to the sandy bottom. She gasped, but there was no more oxygen left.

  Her eye wiggled at something black ahead. She watched it stupidly. The blob rolled in the water, lolling along the steadying waves. It neared her pallid face and then shot suddenly for a brief moment before dying there in front of her wiggling eye. She saw what it was.

  Feeling returned to her limbs then and she jerked away, screaming.

  “Mommy!” she cried, tearing her eyes open. The little girl sat up, flinging her legs over the side of the bed.

  Chapter One

  “Grace Township,” Desmond Howard nodded, clearing his throat for the tenth time in the last three minutes. “It’s a beauty of a town. The simple life, that’s what you’ve found.” He cleared his throat again, making Kara Tameson grumble inwardly, If this guy doesn’t stop doing that…

  As he paused to wipe sweat from his forehead with a tissue, Kara glanced at her husband, John. But John’s focus was on the printout in front of him: a black-and-white photograph of the house they were buying with its property description and a crude drawing of the boundary map below.

  “I like to encourage folks to buy when the opportunity presents itself. Owning property has been the American dream since America began.” Desmond’s wormy lips curled before he cleared his throat again.

  Eleven, Kara counted, trying to keep her smile in place.

  Desmond continued, his voice too loud for the boxy conference room, “I could go into facts about why purchasing is wiser than renting, but now, ahem, that you’ve settled on the house on Seter Lane…” He wadded up the tissue and dropped it onto the table, his eyes on John. “You know how unstable the housing market has been.”

  Glancing up at Kara, John said, “A little. I’m just happy we were able to get approved. The reason why we’re interested in this—”

  “In this house?” Desmond cut him off, straightening in his chair.

  “Yeah. The house is great, but I’ve—we’ve—been looking for some acreage.”

  Nodding, the real estate agent reached across the table and shook their hands. “You’ve found a wonderful property.” He backed up his chair, an ear-splitting sound as it screeched over the floor, and stood up. He placed two fingers on the printout John had been looking at and dragged it away, then put it into a fat folder that displayed the agency’s logo.

  “What’s the next step?” John asked.

  “Well, the bank has approved your offer, so next is inspection. I’ll set it up. I recommend an inspection for all houses, especially a bank-owned property like this one.” Desmond backed out of the room, telling them he’d be back with a copy of the paperwork.

  “Looks like we’re getting a house,” John said, tilting his head toward Kara.

  She grinned. “It does.” Her eyes drifted over the walls, sliding over a watercolor of pansies before settling on the black-and-white photograph of a nineteenth-century farmhouse. It was hard to tell because of the shading, but after studying it for a moment, she saw roses spiraled up the white façade. That’s the type of house I thought I wanted, she mused.

  There were plenty of older homes in downtown Cosgrove, Ohio where Kara and John presently lived with their young children, but they were either in great disrepair or beyond their price range. John was the only one working, and although he had recently been promoted to I.T. manager, Severs, Ltd. was a small company and his salary had hardly increased. They both carried student and car loan debt and had a couple high-balance credit cards. Their financial portfolio wasn’t quite brag-worthy.

  But over the last year, the economy had taken a nosedive and, with it, housing prices had dropped. Suddenly, owning a house was a reality. After having browsed a handful of real estate websites in search of an agent, they had settled on Desmond. There was no reason behind choosing him other than his site was just the first polished one they saw. Their house search began downtown near Severs and then in surrounding suburbs. Living in Cosgrove meant an easy commute for John and an area they knew well, but they soon realized prices near the city were too high.

  “You know,” John said one day, “we may be able to find something out in the country we can afford.”

  “The country?” Kara had her reservations. What did she know about cows, wells, and leach fields?

  “You’d get used to it pretty quick.”

  But before they had really discussed it, Desmond had called, offering to show them a new-on-the-market, turn-of-the-century American craftsman close to Severs and in their price range. Touring it, they thought it could be The One. It was adorable. The yard was modest, but it was green space the kids didn’t have in the apartment. Kara and J
ohn practically bounced on the eight-by-ten patio, not minding the tall blades of grass sprouting through cracked concrete. But then Desmond warned them an older home needed constant upkeep. Using his fingers as counters, he proceeded to list all of the ailments a house more than a hundred years old could have: black mold, lead-based paint, outdated plumbing, no central air conditioning…

  Kara zoned him out when he turned to his second hand to rattle off more potential problems. She no longer admired the lilac bushes lining the white picket fence; the beauty of old-time elegance had already wafted away. They went home crestfallen. Ironically, six months earlier, they had been complacent living in cramped quarters above a parking garage, but it was all somehow different now, as if they had always planned on buying a house.

  They had continued searching, but there was always an issue: this house had an iffy foundation; that one was in a rough neighborhood; this one was too close to railroad tracks…

  Eventually, John called Desmond, telling him they were pausing the hunt; they’d try again in a couple months.

  Desmond interrupted, however, apprising him of a pocket listing. “It’s a bank-owned property, not yet advertised for sale. Ever hear of Grace Township? Something special is coming on the market.”

  That was the day they saw their dream home.

  Grace Township, a place John and Kara had never heard of, was an hour southeast of Cosgrove. It was charming with its small community of shops, churches, and schools. Just a mile from the town square, on a tree-lined road, was the house Desmond was anxious to show them. The French country two-story sat at the summit of a hill. The property was seven acres, surrounded by woods on three sides. It was only a year old and had never been lived in. Desmond explained the house wasn’t perfect: the builder had been foreclosed on before completing all of the rooms. It was because the bonus room and den were down to their studs that the house was being priced far below fair market value.

  “Better act now. A deal like this won’t last,” Desmond had warned.

  There was nothing to discuss. John’s commute to work would take nearly an hour, but he said he wouldn’t mind—not if he could have this much acreage. The trade-off was worth it.

  Presently, in the stuffy conference room, Kara traced a finger over an elm towering in the foreground of the framed photograph. There were trees like those on her new property. She smiled, envisioning nine-year-old Jack and four-year-old Lilah climbing them. Maybe they’d even build a tree-house.

  “Ahem!” Desmond popped into the room, handing John a folder. “Your copy of your financial statements. I’ll be in touch about the inspection. If all goes well, you should close in a few weeks.”

  * * *

  “Hey, John—” A car honked, making Kara flinch. Reflexively, she grabbed the already-unstable lotion bottle that had been balancing on the mattress before it could spill. The noise had jolted her, but she was used to the sounds of traffic rising up to the apartment a floor above. It would only get worse as the night progressed. “Where’s the packet from Desmond? Have you looked at it yet?”

  John sat beside her on the edge of the bed and grabbed the opposite leg of the one she lathered. “Need any help?”

  “Already did that one,” she laughed, pulling away.

  He went to the bedroom window and twisted open the blinds, looking out. Vehicles in the parking lot below pulled in and out, moving as if they had choreographed their turns. It was Friday night and downtown was bustling, but inside the two-bedroom apartment, the whir of the pedestal fan covered much of the city nightlife.

  “John?”

  He turned away from the window and went into the bathroom, flipping on the light and starting the shower. Popping his head out, he said, “I think the packet’s on the nightstand. It has coupons, stuff about the town. There’s a school enrollment packet. You’ll be very interested in that, I’m sure.”

  He wiggled his eyebrows as she sarcastically replied, “Great.”

  “Oh, and there’s a brochure or something about the strip club in town. Maybe for date night?”

  Kara rolled her eyes, setting the lotion on her nightstand. “What a quaint town.”

  He laughed, closing the bathroom door.

  She crawled to his side of the bed, plucked up the folder, and scooted back, resting against the body pillow that served as a headboard. As she flipped open the folder, she reflected on seeing the new house for the first time.

  “I love how it’s tucked back from the road,” John had said to her in a hushed, almost reverent, tone. Desmond had stood back, letting them wander on their own. The house felt enormous, wide and towering. They were ridiculously giddy walking through it.

  It’s perfect, Kara thought, smiling, paging through blank school registration forms.

  But perfect harmony was rudely broken.

  “Mommy!” The cry penetrated through the paper-thin wall.

  Kara groaned. Lilah’s nightmare phase had been going strong for the last couple weeks. The child called out nightly and usually, her yelps woke her brother, who shared her bedroom.

  Kara hurried into the bedroom next-door, hoping Lilah hadn’t wakened him.

  “Mom, she won’t shut up,” Jack muttered, clamping a pillow over his head.

  She whispered, although now there was no need to, “I know, Jack. Go back to sleep.”

  Lilah clung onto her mother as Kara carried her into the master bedroom. “What’s wrong, Lilahbean?”

  “Bad dream,” she replied babyishly, pressing her face against Kara’s neck.

  Kara, her arms wrapped around the child, sat down on the bed and leaned against the pillowed wall. “Aw, honey, what’re we gonna do about your dreams?”

  “I dunno,” Lilah whimpered.

  Kara rested her cheek against Lilah’s dark, knotted hair. “You’re okay now,” she soothed. She pulled the covers over them before reaching for the nightstand to turn off the lamp. “Did you have fun with Tracy today?” She was thankful her friend, Tracy Poresky, had stepped in to babysit, as she had done several times during their house hunt.

  “Uh-huh,” Lilah mumbled, already starting to doze.

  Kara snuggled with her, closing her eyes, relieved Lilah’s breathing had slowed. Calming her down after a nightmare wasn’t always so simple. John was better at it. He usually asked for details, somehow making it seem less frightening. However, oftentimes, Kara disappeared into another room to bide her time just so she couldn’t hear. It was as if the recounted nightmare would infiltrate her dreams. She blamed her imagination for that, seeing or hearing things that weren’t always there.

  After his shower, John climbed into his side of the bed. When he noticed the small lump beside him, he asked, “Nightmare?”

  “Yes,” Kara replied, quietly.

  “Was it the same dream?”

  “Don’t!”

  He chuckled as she admitted, “I didn’t ask. If we were good parents, we’d probably take her to a specialist.”

  “Not for a kid’s nightmares. She doesn’t have much interaction with kids her age. It might be a good idea to get her into a playgroup once we’re settled in the new place.”

  “What’s that have to do with it?”

  He yawned. “Stress? It can’t hurt.”

  She let the thought stew for a moment. Lilah didn’t have any real friends; she’d made no long-term bonds playing with random kids at the playground. Pre-K was probably something they needed to start anyway. Kara was about to tell John she agreed, but he had fallen asleep.

  She listened to the traffic and voices outside. After a while, she sat up, her eyes finding the sealed cardboard boxes beneath the open window. She had already started to pack, labeling them, “knickknacks,” “photos,” “blankets”…

  Even though she only saw a partial outline of the dresser, she located the top drawer, visualizing the white box inside. Her thoughts scattered immediately when a car emitted a series of short honks, pulling her back to the present. She went to the window, pee
ring out. Vehicles drove in and out of the well-lit parking lot and every so often, people walked past as couples or groups. She imagined John had once been part of that nightlife, living in the same apartment they now shared as a family, before he had met her anyway. She had been a single mom with toddler Jack when they had started dating; there had been little time for clubbing then.

  She closed the window and returned to bed, her movements making John shift to his back. Lilah didn’t move, her relaxed face aimed at the ceiling.

  Chapter Two

  “I don’t know why you decided to move all the way to Grace Township,” Margaret Sadler said, haughtily. “He did it on purpose, you know.”

  Kara sighed, readjusting her grip on the cellphone as she maneuvered the ageing sedan onto the freeway. Following the rented moving truck that carried John and Jack, speaking with her mother wasn’t how she wanted to kick off moving day. But she knew by answering the call, she’d be met with her familiar tone. Margaret never sugar-coated anything; she was no-nonsense, always had been. Kara assumed it was a defense mechanism her mother employed, started when her father skipped town so long ago Kara had no memory of him. Growing up a latchkey kid, Kara had spent most of her childhood alone at home, while her mother had worked to make ends meet. But even when Margaret had been home, she hadn’t been one for coddling. She had always been matter-of-fact, even to the point of harshness, and there had certainly been few terms of endearment.

  “Did what on purpose, Mom?” Kara asked, glancing at Lilah in the rearview mirror. The four-year-old’s head bobbed as she rifled through toys in her tote bag.

  “He wanted to get you all away from me.”

  “Yeah, John’s master plan finally worked.”

  “Here we go again.”

  To Margaret, no man was good enough. Even though John had never let Kara down, there was apparently nothing he could do to boost his rating on Margaret’s invisible scale. It didn’t help matters that Kara’s ex had abandoned her when she was five months pregnant with Jack. That had been a college romance gone wrong—he decided not to come home one day and Kara hadn’t seen him since. Margaret must’ve thought the pattern was inevitable: men always skipped out on family. And maybe that was Margaret’s truth, because that’s what the immediate three that came to mind had done: David, Kara’s father, her grandfather—all of them had abandoned the family one day without warning.