The Hero's Redemption

Erin both craved sleep and dreaded it. The oblivion called to her, but the nightmares always took her back to the worst moments.

The screams, metal and human. She would never forget.

Be happy? Really?

Unfortunately, she was alive, which meant she had to pee. Aching, moving as slowly as an old woman, she pushed herself to a sitting position, swung her feet over the edge of the mattress and looked for her slippers. The wood floors were chilly. Plus, she kept thinking she’d get a splinter. Those floors needed stripping, sanding and refinishing as much as the interior of the house needed painting. The exterior, too—but it would have to be scraped and pressure-washed first.

Sometimes she wondered if Nanna just hadn’t seen the deterioration. Maybe her vision had been going. She’d lived here most of her life, and in recent years, she hadn’t gone out much. If Erin’s dad was still alive, he would have seen to the maintenance, but Erin had been too far away to be aware of how badly Nanna needed someone.

“I’m sorry, Nanna,” she whispered.

Thank you, Nanna, for leaving me this house. She had no idea what she would’ve done if she hadn’t had this refuge waiting for her. Familiar, filled with memories and an occasional moment of comfort that felt like the touch of a small, arthritic hand.

Once recovered from her injuries, she’d returned to her classes, sticking it out until February, when she and her department head realized at about the same time that she couldn’t stay on at the college. She’d been at Nanna’s house now for…almost three weeks? Made meaningless by grief, the days ran together.

In the bedroom again to pull a sweatshirt over her sleep tee, Erin said aloud, “I’ll start today, Nanna, even if it’s only one project. I promise.”

There was no answer, of course, and yet Nanna felt more alive to her than—Nope. Not going there. Couldn’t go there, not if she was going to be able to choke down a piece of toast and actually accomplish something like pulling a few weeds.

And she did manage, although she had trouble believing she’d lived for no reason but to save her grandmother’s hundred-year-old house from being bulldozed so some new structure could be built in its place.

Over my dead body, she thought, and wished she could laugh.

* * *

A MONTH LATER…well, she was taking better care of herself, which was something, and had painted the parlor, the library and the downstairs hall, as well as the small bathroom tucked under the stairs. She’d stripped the fireplace surround, sanded until her hand and arm ached, and finally stained it and applied a Varathane finish. It looked really good, if she did say so herself. Too bad the molding and floors still looked so bad.

But in early April, spring could no longer be denied, and today she was going to assess the tools her grandmother had owned, and what needed to be done to get the yard in shape. Of course, she took her life in her hands every time she went down the rotten porch steps. She didn’t think the siding had rotted, except the porch skirt, but couldn’t be positive.

Erin was acquiring a library of how-to books, since she had zero construction experience and didn’t even know how to replace a washer in a dripping faucet. She’d never refinished a piece of furniture—or floors—and barely knew a dandelion from a peony. She could afford to hire some help, but right now she didn’t want workers in and out of the house, blocking the driveway, wondering about the young woman who probably looked like she’d been rescued from a life raft that had drifted in the Pacific Ocean for three months.

To get to the detached garage, she couldn’t cut across the yard because it was, well, a thicket. Fortunately, the driveway had been asphalted at some point, although the cracks in it allowed grass and weeds to send down roots. The garage had been updated more recently than the house, probably when an upstairs apartment had been completed. Of course, that was something like forty years ago. There’d been a time when her grandparents had rented out the garage apartment for extra income. Erin remembered from visits when she was a child that a young man not only lived in the apartment but did yard work, too. After Grandpa died, though, Nanna had quit renting it out. Maybe she hadn’t liked the idea of a stranger so close. Erin hadn’t thought to ask.