Fireball (Cheap Thrills 1)

The sad thing was, Mom died not knowing about Jose. The results had come in two days after she’d taken her final breaths, ones she’d taken while I lay curled up beside her on her hospital bed, begging her not to leave me, while at the same time praying for her pain to end.

Jose and I had started out chatting online, then by text, and then by phone and Facetime. Somehow we’d gotten close quickly, and when I’d said that I couldn’t live in the house Mom had owned and that I was selling it, she’d screamed at me to move near her.

It was like it was all kismet. I’d put our house in New Jersey up for sale expecting it to take a while to sell, when in fact it had only taken two weeks. Once the sale had closed, I’d moved into my friend’s spare room and then applied for a job as an art teacher at Piersville. The Principal and two members of the school’s council had interviewed me via Skype and had offered me the job on the spot. I’d never even heard of that happening so it had been a total shock, but I had a good resume, my background checks had been done after they’d received my application and were clear, and I had a degree in Art and English so I’d be able to help out in multiple departments at the school.

Jose had sent me the link to a beautiful house with a small pool that was up for sale five minutes away from hers, and I’d fallen in love. It was a one-story three-bedroomed house, painted white on the outside with dark blue shutters on the windows, and a dark gray tiled roof. The garden at the front was like something out of a fairytale with a little path leading through the grass, bordered by flowers, and rose bushes under the windows. The pool was in the back garden and wasn’t too big for me to look after so it wouldn’t take too much of my time. The flowers and roses had continued back there and added an extra layer of privacy to the tile patio that led off the kitchen. Inside it was all tile and wooden flooring with white walls, modern, fresh, and perfect for me to move into and make my mark on. I’d made an offer, the offer was accepted, and it had closed quickly because the owners had moved to Florida to be closer to their daughter.

And this all led me back to where I was now, lying on the floor in a pool of my own sweat. Well, maybe not quite a pool, but it felt like it.

I needed to go to the store, but to be honest I was so tired and hot that I had no interest in ever moving again, and going shopping would involve me doing a lot of that and leaving my new home. That might involve me needing to be social if someone struck up a conversation too, and I really didn’t have that in me. So, instead, I was going to bring in my stuff from the car, inflate my air mattress, drink a ton of water, and watch something on Netflix thanks to the data package that I’d had the smart idea to buy so that I could chill until my internet was connected. Netflix, floor, water, and chill.

Then again, maybe I could just open up the windows and back door, let some air in, and then return to the cold floor instead? I could do the other shit later, once I’d gotten some energy back.

That sounded way more appealing than walking back and forth to the car to bring stuff in.

DB“Then, she drug me…” Mrs. Keating started to explain, but was cut off by her nemesis Mrs. Bane.

With a dramatic groan, she rolled her eyes and sighed loudly “It’s dragged.”

The other old woman’s body tightened visibly, and she pointed an arthritic finger at Mrs. Bane. “You see, that’s what she keeps doing. I’m shook I tell you, shook!”

“You can’t even get that right. It’s shaken,” Mrs. Bane argued back,.

I’d gotten a call about two women fighting, and when I’d arrived they’d been rolling around the grass trying to get the other one in a headlock. That wasn’t that unusual, until you took into account that one was eighty-six and the other was eighty-eight. Oh, and that we were at a retirement home surrounded by old men cheering them on and placing bets.

“I speak English, ok?” Mrs. Keating yelled, storming up to Mrs. Bane. “I don’t need you to correct me or tell me I’m not speaking it right.”

“I said it because you’re not,” Mrs. Bane snapped, poking her in the chest.

“This is Texas, and excuse me if I’m wrong, but we still speak English in Texas, do we not?” she argued, giving her a prod right back.