What I also needed was to find another damn job.
And soon.
Frequently, I found myself wishing Mr. Anton was still alive. He’d been kind, and decent, and had paid me a living wage to keep his house clean and keep his yard mowed. And I tried to keep up his house like it was my own. I trimmed the trees and added flowers that I kept watered. I pulled weeds from his gardens in the backyard. They didn’t grow anything. Not since he went to live in the nursing home. But I still grew some vegetables every now and again, just to make him smile.
He was sweet to me, and it ached that he was gone.
I just missed him. I missed that thick Russian accent and his kind smile. I missed those beady eyes that were intimidating to most, but comforting to me. I missed his pep talks and his speeches. He sure did know how to throw a lesson at someone. There were times when he’d even let me stay at his big house on the hill when after Andy had kicked me out during our fights.
Just last month, he let me stay for a week and a half.
I walked up our front steps and heard Andy wailing away on his electric guitar. In fact, most people heard it, all the way from the damn street. The wrong chords and the riffs that made no sense. It was painful to listen to sometimes. Closing my eyes, I stood at the front door, debating on whether or not to go in. Even though Anton had passed, I knew that his front door would be open and I could crash on that bed he always let me sleep on. I could finish off the food in his kitchen and then keep it nice and clean until someone came to settle his estate.
Who was settling his estate?
Did he have family?
I looked over at our neighbor, Cecily, and she waved a courteous hand in my direction. She mouthed a particularly fond ‘good luck’ to me, knowing her voice would never be heard over the shriek of Andy’s guitar. I reached out and threw the door open, my ears assaulted by the wailing nonsense coming from our side of the house.
The stench of beer was thick in the air.
Stepping inside, my eardrums were already throbbing. And there Andy sat, shirtless on our couch and surrounded by empty beer cans.
I rolled my eyes and shut the door, wondering how I could smooth things over. Because he looked pissed.
What the hell did he have to be pissed off about? He didn’t work. Or cook. Or clean. Or do laundry. Or grocery shop. Or do anything except sit on his ass.
“Hey there, Andy.”
But instead of acknowledging me, he continued to riff away on his guitar.
Like I wasn’t even there.
Passing him without a second thought, I made my way into the bedroom. I needed to change out of my job search clothes. I slipped my shirt over my head and went to wiggle out of my pants, when suddenly a pair of hands came down onto my hips. Lips hit my shoulder and the smell of stale beer was putrid and thick. I felt Andy’s greasy hair on my skin and it made me grimace, causing me to pull away from him.
“What?” he asked.
“I’m not in the mood,” I said.
“I figured we’d celebrate your new job,” he said, as he came at me with his lips again.
I put my hand in his face and pushed him away.
“I said ‘no,’ and besides, they didn’t offer me the job.”
Andy rolled his eyes as I reached for my robe.
“How the hell did you blow it this time?” he asked.
Wrapping my robe around me, I scoffed.
“Me? I blew it? At least I’m out there taking interviews and trying to find a job. You haven’t had a gig in almost a month. And you’re not even out there trying to find any.”
“This isn’t about me and my gigs. People hire me all the damn time, but I have to stay behind and take care of your ass instead.”
“You know how you can take care of my ass? Do the gigs, Andy.”
“This isn’t about me. This is about you being unemployable. What the hell have you been doing all your lif