Paper-Thin Walls

by Melanie Jones Brownrigg

  After calling a few places, I was shocked at the monthly rental rates, especially for the gated communities which I preferred. For the same price, I might as well stay in my home and kick Ryan to the curb. It occurred to me that he might end up moving in with Shannon Lowry anyway. Then again, if he did, we’d need to sell the house to split the asset.

  Lowering my housing expectations, I made inquiries at a few moderately priced apartments, only to discover, without a recent job history, combined with a pending divorce, I wouldn’t be approved for a lease.

  Going down another notch in quality, I wheeled into the Woodlands Pointe Apartments. My heart sank, taking in the rundown appearance of the two-story complex. I had imagined a quaint living environment nestled within a forest, giving it a cabin-like feel. Instead, there was only one elm tree, and it was rather sparse. The place more resembled an abandoned red-brick schoolhouse that had been converted into housing units. The windows were tiny, most missing screens, though a few were still dangling by a screw or two.

  Location wise, it wasn’t far from the Engineering Building which would make commuting to work a breeze. And too, the units were entered through the main lobby. At least that made it a bit safer.

  From the interior of my car, I watched the residents for a while, trying to get a feel for the neighborhood. There were quite a few elderly residents, causing me to wonder if I’d happened upon a retirement center. Double checking the website again – which lacked any detailed information – I didn’t find any restrictions on children. Then, much to my happiness, a car pulled in beside me and a woman piled out with three kids, one appearing close to Adam’s age.

  Hopping from my car, I called after her. “Excuse me. Do you live here?”

  She turned and glared at me. “Do I know you?”

  “No. Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Hailey Sinclair. I was considering renting here and wondered if this was a nice place for children?”

  “Oh, yeah, it’s great. There’s a playground in the back and the pool has a safety fence around it. You’ll love it here.” Her tone was a bit confusing, indistinguishable between genuineness and sarcasm. I couldn’t tell which.

  “Okay, thanks,” I said, watching as she took her children inside.

  Reaching back in the car for my purse, I strolled across the oil-soaked parking lot, down a cracked sidewalk and entered a dimly lit lobby. The leasing office was to the right of a peel-and-stick tiled entrance and to the left of what sounded like a rec room.

  Poking my head in the doorway, I was met with a cloud of smoke. Behind an extremely untidy desk, an overweight, fifty-something woman with a streak of blue eyeshadow and a piled-high hairdo was flicking her cigarette into an overfilled ashtray, right next to a “Do Not Smoke” sign. She was dressed in a loud floral-printed shirt of glaring reds, bright yellows, lime greens and bold blues. Large gold hoop earrings dangled from her earlobes and three of the fingers on her right hand were weighted with large costume-looking rings.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, taking in a deep drag, then releasing a stifling puff into the air.

  “Yes, my name is Hailey Sinclair and I’d like to find out more about your available apartments. I tried calling, but no one answered.”

  “If I’m with someone, I let the phone ring,” she explained. “Come in. We’ll go over the options.”

  Making my way through the gagging vapor, I took a seat in the only available chair, sitting on a lump of padding that had erupted through a crack in the seat.

  “How many bedrooms?”

  “Two … for myself and I have a small boy.”

  We went through a series of questions regarding furnished versus unfurnished, first floor or second, smoking or non-smoking, and finally what my income was.

  When I told her my anticipated salary, she bunched up her painted-on brows and glared at me. “You do realize this is low-income housing, don’t you? You make a lot of money compared to our other residents.”

  “Yes, but I was only hired this afternoon. I called several other places and they frowned on the idea I hadn’t yet worked a single day.”

  She grunted a few times, causing her cigarette to bobble around against her ruby-painted lips. All the cigarette butts were marked by the same color of lipstick and a tube was laying on her desk as if she used it regularly. She let out a long sigh. “Yeah, I get it. Look, this place is more for those who are down and out on their luck. But seeing as your problem ain’t so much money related, as it is circumstance related, I’m gonna cut you some slack. I’ll let you rent a place on a month-to-month basis, and you can give your move-out notice at any time. I’ve got a unit available on the second floor. It’s on the very north end, so you’ll only have to deal with neighbors on one side. But as soon as you’ve established yourself at your job, you need to move outta here. Deal?”

  “Yes, ma’am. That sounds great,” I readily agreed, thinking the second floor was also safer. “Thank you so much—"

  “Gladys. Gladys Hawkins, you can call me Gladys.”

  “Thank you, Gladys.”

  After a short tour of the proposed rental apartment – a place that was filthy and smelled terrible – we returned to her office. She plopped her large butt back in her chair, the chair groaning in return. She leaned forward and rummaged through a bottom drawer, coming up with some paperwork. After payment of one-month’s rent and a required deposit, I signed my name on several dotted lines. She separated the perforated form and handed a copy of the lease over the desk to me.

  “Welcome to Woodlands Pointe,” she said, presenting me with a set of keys.

  And, just as she did, a cold shiver ran down my spine.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hailey

  Woodlands Pointe was a sleezy place and I should’ve kept looking. But if I were only obligated for a month’s stay at a time, I could look elsewhere for a better place in the meantime. And I could take my time about it and not feel rushed.

  Adding the key to my keyring, I ventured back to my car and called my dad. “Did Mama tell you I’m filing for a divorce?”

  “Yes, honey. I’m sorry about you and Ryan. The whole thing just blows my mind. He’s always been nothing but a loving husband and a wonderful father. It’s hard to wrap my head around it.”

  “I know. I can’t believe it either.” My heart ached inside at the thought of mine and Ryan’s marriage being over. “Listen, I’ve just rented a place and was wondering if you could bring your truck over to the house and help me move a few things. I won’t be taking much … just the necessities.”

  “Of course. I’ll be on my way over.”

  After stopping for boxes, I found my dad already backed up to the front porch when I arrived. While he dismantled the spare bedroom suit, I hauled out my clothes and personal items, placing them in piled-high stacks in my backseat. Once my side of the closet was bare and my personal hygiene products were gone, I packed up half of Adam’s clothes and half of his toys, making sure I had Trumpet with me.

  “Come help me,” Dad yelled from upstairs.

  Together we hauled out the guest furniture and the loveseat. I took a card table and four folding chairs to be used for dining. After adding my laptop and tablet, a few pots, pans and dishes, along with several other kitchen items, I left everything else.

  “Give me your new address in case we get separated,” Dad said after tying everything down, then stuffing the vacuum, a box of cleaning supplies, and a container of toilet paper and paper towels into the backseat of his truck.

  “I’ll see you there,” I called out after giving him directions and climbing into my packed-to-the-gill car.

  Pulling into the apartment complex, I came to a stop. As soon as I crawled from my car and met up with my dad, he scrunched up his thick gray brows and glared at me. “This is it?” He stared at the building and surrounding area and frowned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “It’s only for a month,” I softened. “By then I’ll have a
job reference and a pay stub and can move to a better place.”

  “Dang Hailey, I hope so. This place … it’s … well, you’d better not bring your mother over here,” he concluded.

  I sighed. “Come on, let’s get to it.” I reached into his truck and grabbed the box of cleaning supplies while he hauled out the vacuum, the mop and broom, and a load of other stuff.

  As soon as we stepped inside the building, he coughed. “It smells like smoke in here,” he complained.

  We made our way through Glady’s cigarette smog and climbed the staircase. After rattling my key around in the latch and then pushing against the sticky door, I stepped inside the living room. To the right was a small dinette area and behind it was a tiny kitchen.

  My dad followed in behind me, immediately scrunching up his nose. “What’s that smell? Is that rat’s piss? Jesus, Hailey. And to think I was complaining about the cigarette smoke. My God, this is terrible.”

  “No, Dad, it’s not rats,” I vehemently denied. “The landlady said the place has been vacant for a while. It’s just stuffy. As soon as the air gets going and I’ve had a chance to clean, it’ll be fine.” I hoped.

  “Dang, you’d better hope so,” he said, coughing and spluttering like the smell had lodged in his throat. “Well, let’s see what we’ve got here.” He proceeded to give himself a tour of the small apartment, sniffing the air as he went. He stuck his head in the first room down the hall and to the right. “Holy moly,” he cried out when he saw the common bathroom. “Hailey, this toilet is filthy. Good Lord. And that tub needs to be scrubbed, too. This place is disgusting.”

  “I know Dad,” I said, following along with him. “I’ll clean it.”

  Next, he came to Adam’s intended room. He grunted and then moved to the opposite side of the hallway and worked his way back toward the living room. Turning in the next doorway to enter the master he made another disapproving noise, then poked his head in the attached bathroom. “Oh, for the love of God. Well, I hope you brought quite a few cleaning supplies,” he bluntly remarked, bunching his brows together and glaring at me. “You start vacuuming and I’ll get everything out of your car. Give me your keys. In a place like this, if I leave the car unlocked, there won’t be anything left by the time I go for a second trip.” A thoughtful expression landed on his face. “Why don’t your mother and I help you out? We can get you a better place … somewhere safer.”

  His proposition was tempting. But I wanted to stand on my own two feet. “Thanks Dad. If this doesn’t work out, I’ll take you up on your kind offer.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You’re always stubborn as a mule.” He let out a resigning sigh. “I’ll get started.”

  After multiple trips he had successfully unloaded my car and made his last trip up the stairs. By then, I had the carpet vacuumed, the vinyl floors swept and mopped, and was working in the bathroom.

  “Hailey, come help me with the big stuff.”

  Once we brought the loveseat in, my dad remarked, “You might think about steam cleaning the carpet and getting some air fresheners.” He inhaled the air once again and frowned. “I say that’s rats.”

  “Fine, I’ll rent a steam unit,” I acquiesced.

  After heaving in my bedroom suit and the last remaining items, we stacked everything in the dining room since it was a vinyl flooring that resembled wooden planks.

  “Home sweet home,” my dad grunted with a sour attitude. “I hope you don’t get yourself killed by living here. Poor Adam,” he added, making me feel awful.

  “Dad, there are several elderly residents living in this complex. Surely if they’re safe here, Adam and I can manage.”

  This place was perfect for people on fixed incomes. And while I was originally worried about moving into a retirement home, I was now glad most of the occupants were over the hill. Perhaps it would lessen the chances of being murdered. I hoped.

  “Thank you, Dad,” I said when we were finished.

  “We’ll keep Adam again tonight. You need to work on cleaning this place up before you bring a child in here.”

  After more fatherly advice, my dad left, and I went back to cleaning. It was hours later before it felt like I’d made any progress at all. Feeling hungry, I broke to go get something to eat. While I was out and about, I stopped by a furniture store and purchased a twin bed for Adam, scheduling delivery for tomorrow evening. Then I ran by Walmart and bought a TV, some groceries and a truckload of air fresheners. And I rented a steam cleaner.

  After unpacking the groceries and plugging in the air deodorizers, I powered up the steam unit and went to town on the renter-grade, threadbare carpet. Much to my surprise and happiness, the carpet turned from a dull brown to a beige color.

  On my way out to return the cleaner, I ran into my first neighbor.

  “You must be new here,” the elderly lady commented, coming out from two doors down from me.

  “Yes, Hailey Sinclair,” I introduced myself.

  “Mable Henderson,” she said, fiddling with a hearing aid hidden behind wiry gray hair. “That smell is rats,” she said, gazing at the steam cleaner. “You’ll hear them scurrying around at night. I caught a big one behind my dresser. Beady-eyed varmints, that’s what they are.”

  “Oh,” I said, already hearing my dad say, I told you so.

  We chatted for a bit and then I lugged the machine out to my car and back to the store, where I bought some glue traps, five spray bottles of Febreze, and two fans to help dry the carpet.

  Upon returning to the apartment, I set up the fans and turned on the apartment heater to help dry the damp flooring. At first, nothing happened at all. After waiting a few moments more, I pushed the lever on the ancient thermostat to a higher setting. After another prolonged passage of time, I worried there was something wrong with the heater. Then suddenly, there was awful rumble, like a jet taking off. A vibration shook the wall in the hall closet as the furnace kicked on. Immediately a gust of air came blasting through each of the floor vents, along with particles of lint and small pieces of trash erupting in the air like a confetti machine. A burning smell and a cloud of dirt filled the air, followed by a stench that had me gagging. Thank goodness I hadn’t turned on the heat while my father was here.

  After a few moments, the burning smell ceased, and the heater seemed to settle into a steady rhythm. But the stench kept growing to the point I feared I was breathing in some sort of toxic fumes. Using a screwdriver that I had brought for putting the bed together, I went from one room to the next and removed the fasteners from each floor vent and ran the vacuum hose in as far in each direction as it would go. Then, wearing a pair of industrial-strength gloves, I sprayed a cleanser inside the hole and wiped the duct work as far as I could reach my arm inside. I was down to the final vent in the master bath when I shoved the vacuum hose inside and felt something being sucked to the end of the hose that was blocking the flow of air.

  “EEEEEEEKKKKK!” I screeched after pulling the flex tubing out and finding a big old dead rat sucked up to the end of the hose. Leaving the appliance running, I tore out, running to the kitchen to retrieve a trash bag. Holding the rat over the opening, I turned the suctioning off and let the filthy, dirty, stinking rodent fall into the bag. My father’s “I told you so” rang in my ear, making me beyond glad he hadn’t been here.

  Throwing on my coat, grabbing my keys and locking the apartment, I held the bag at arm’s length and headed for the dumpster out back. The air was chilly with a bit of moisture in the air and there wasn’t a single light in the back area of the complex. It was dark and creepy, causing me to hurry. By the time I tossed the critter into the bin, I wasted no time in getting back inside. Then I went right back to cleaning the vents and the rest of the apartment.

  By the time I finished cleaning the carpet and bathrooms, the place looked decent and smelled fresh and lemony, the pleasant fragrance completely overtaking the odor of rat poop, or in this case dead rat. Exhausted, sweating profusely and unable to make it anothe
r step, I plopped my rear down on the loveseat and admired the freshly cleaned living room carpet from the dining room where the loveseat was jammed up next to the card table and my mattress and box springs.

  Taking a swig from a nearby water bottle, I pulled my feet up and dropped my head down on a throw pillow, taking a much-needed break. Moving sucked. Cleaning sucked. Especially when it came on the heels of mine and Ryan’s separation, my soon-to-be ex-husband.

  It had been the longest day of my life. I’d lost a husband. Found a job. And moved to a new home. But it wasn’t over yet, because my phone was ringing, and from the familiar ringtone, I knew just who it would be.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ryan

  Ryan had followed Hailey to the elevator and tried to stop her, but she wasn’t in the mood to have a rational discussion. She had not only caught him talking to Shannon, but Shannon had said some stupid stuff about his facial hair. Hailey had it all wrong, but he knew she was angrier with him than she had ever been. There was no use attempting a conversation, not until she had time to calm down.

  “Why did you say that shit about my beard?” Ryan asked Shannon after returning to the reception desk.

  “Because I did talk you into it.” Shannon smirked. “I told you it would look good on you and maybe even help you get the promotion, didn’t I?”

  “But you made it sound like I grew it for you,” Ryan snipped.

  “I did not. I said it took a lot of convincing on my part to persuade you into growing your facial hair, but you finally gave in. I can’t help it if your wife took it the wrong way.” Shannon gazed upwardly at Ryan from her desk chair and smiled coyly. Ryan wanted to slap her into the next century.