Secrets in a Still Life, Kari Ganske [best fiction books to read .TXT] 📗

for rain. Or a tornado. Or the apocalypse. Anything to get me out of moving. Moving meant commitment and permanence.

It meant defeat.

Even my stupid ankle felt a lot better so I couldn't use that as an excuse.

"Even though I’d prefer you stay, we couldn't have asked for a better moving day!" my mother exclaimed happily when I finally dragged myself out of bed and toward the inevitable.

"Don't remind me," I mumbled around a mouthful of cereal.

"Now, Peanut, if you don't think the loft is right for you, you can always stay here. Your father and I have loved having you home again, especially after so long away."

And there it was—the rock to match my hard place. If I didn't move, I'd still be stuck here. I loved my parents and had missed them equally as much. Staying at their house also meant the added benefit of my mother's cooking—not good for my waistline but perfect for my appetite. But being a thirtysomething living out of my childhood bedroom screamed failure even more than moving into a Piney Ridge apartment. I ought to take out a neon sign that read "Pathetic."

"Thanks, Mom," I said. "I really appreciate it. But Lash needs more space. She's fiercely private, and us sharing a room isn't working."

As I threw the last few things into a box, I reminded myself it had been less than two weeks since I'd been back in Piney Ridge. I couldn't actually expect to put my entire life and reputation back together in that short a time. Not to mention that I'd been dealing with other problems—a wrecked sign, a hurt ankle, a murder. You know, the usual.

When I heard the beep outside, I grabbed the box from the dresser and met Colleen as she was coming up the walk. True to her offer, she'd managed to borrow a truck. Colleen took the box from my hand after we exchanged greetings, and that started a sort of assembly line for the rest of the boxes. Luckily, I hadn't unpacked much since I'd been home, so it was only a matter of moving the already full boxes from the garage into the back of the truck.

"Where's the rest of it?" Colleen asked after my corner of the garage was emptied.

"That's it," I said. If I thought looking at my belongings stuffed into the back of the Fiat was bad, looking at it taking up just over half of the truck bed was even worse. The "Pathetic" sign blinked on and off a few times in my mind, just to remind me it was still there. I thanked my past self for not calling Linc to help; this was one embarrassing moment he wouldn't be privy to.

"Gah, I wish I had the willpower to have so little stuff. My house is so cluttered, I'm about to classify myself as a hoarder."

"This is going to look absolutely ridiculous in that large, gorgeous space," I said forlornly. I hugged Lash's bowl a little tighter to my chest.

"Are you kidding? This way you can always see the amazing woodwork. It won't be covered in junk!" Colleen said. I looked in awe at my friend, wishing I could bottle some of her optimism.

"We do still have the bed frame and mattress. That'll take up a little more room," I said. But only a little. I was using my childhood twin bed until I could afford an adult-sized one.

"We'll follow you over there, Peanut," Mom said, shooing my father into their car. "We can't wait to see it! The way Nana K talks, it’s an oasis."

"Come on," Colleen said, bumping my shoulder. "I'll bet once you have these boxes unpacked, you'll fill more space than you expected."

The unpacked boxes did not fill a lot of the space at all. Nearly all the kitchen cupboards were empty. My clothes closet remained only half-full. The entire place echoed from lack of furniture as we talked. The only upside? We finished in less than two hours.

My parents went out to get some lunch and groceries as Colleen helped me unpack the last few boxes.

"These are really great," Colleen said as she unpacked some framed photos. "I really need to remember to print more photos. All my recent shots are in phone jail at the moment. Or on social media, scrolled through and forgotten."

"As are most of mine. Although not on my phone, but on my computer." I walked over to pluck a frame out of the box. It was an eight by ten of the sunset over the Saharan sand dunes. I'd always meant to print it larger and hang it over my bed, but once I moved in with Rick, I'd never gotten around to it. He preferred signed football memorabilia and generic art prints to my work. That should have been red-flag number one that our relationship was doomed from the start.

"I forgot to ask if I could hang pictures," I commented now. "It almost feels like sacrilege to hammer a nail into this wood."

"I'm sure it's fine. It adds character, right? And you could always fill the holes in later. Make this place your home, Alex. Even if it is temporary."

I smiled at her. "I missed you, Colleen."

"Missed you too."

We were interrupted by a knock on the door. "Hello?" a voice called. "It's Mrs. Anita."

"Hi, Mrs. Anita!" I called. "Come on in."

I smelled the fresh baked apple pie before Mrs. Anita even rounded the corner. My mouth salivated.

"I've brought a welcome-to-the-neighborhood pie. I hope you like apple," she said, presenting the most perfectly browned apple pie. The top crust boasted a lattice-work pattern with a little capital A in the center. I carefully took the offered pie with the potholders Mrs. Anita brought. Good thing because I didn't have any. I added them to my mental shopping list.

"Thank