Page 21 of Room 4 Rent

“I’m so angry at him for this, and the worst part, he’s dead, and I can’t get answers as to what he was thinking.”

Nahla reaches for my hand and looks over at me as we stare at the bank in the distance. “Maybe it’s a misunderstanding.”

“Maybe the condom in his wallet was too.” There. I said it, and I’m not taking it back. You can’t make me.

“What?” Nahla whips her head around to stare at me, questioning brown eyes widen. “Seriously?”

“Yep. And, he had an entire box, opened, in the glove box.”

She sucks in air between her teeth. “What the fuck?”

I hold up the foreclosure notice. “Yeah, what. The. Fuck?”

I’ll admit, for the last week I’ve been bordering on fits of anxiety with a sprinkle of depression. Ordinarily, I’d chalk this up to life over twenty-five or the fact that my husband just died, but this is over the top.

Nahla places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. I don’t have to be looking in the mirror to know the blotchy spots covering my chest and my neck. It’s obvious my blood pressure is through the roof. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure this out. It could all be a misunderstanding. Please remember that until we get inside the bank.”

“Oh, suck a fart.” I reach for my bag on the floorboard of her car. “There’s no way this is a mistake given that I can’t use my cards, have no money, my cell phone was shut off, and this just in, about to be homeless!”

“I won’t let you become homeless,” she assures me, reaching for the door handle. “Let’s go talk to them.”

An hour later, it’s confirmed, I’m screwed. Our checking account is twelve hundred dollars overdrawn, and our mortgage hadn’t been paid since November. It’s March.

They give me the names of some financial counselors, express their sadness for their branch manager dying, and I’m actually surprised they didn’t tell me he was embezzling money at this point because what else could go wrong?

Word to the wise, friends, never say those words out loud because reality will straight up fuck you in the ass.

And here’s how it went from bad to being almost, literally, fucked in the ass. Actually, let’s back up about ten minutes. Tatum is standing in front of me, whirling her dress around while wearing her cowgirl boots she loves so much. “Can I go swimming?”

“The pool is cold, honey. Maybe we can go in the hot tub tonight,” I suggest, smiling at her because there’s no way I want her to sense my panic for what has become my life. I notice her boots—the ones with lace and diamond studs on them. Collin bought them for her a couple months ago when he was at a conference up in Sedona. I hadn’t seen Tatum wear them yet, but the fact that she is makes me smile.

I remember doing the same thing when my dad passed away, and my mom.

“Cool boots,” Sadie notes, standing beside her. It’s the first I’ve seen of her since I got back from the bank. Though she can tell by the look on my face I have news for her, we don’t talk about any of it around Tatum.

But here’s where I get fucked in the ass with no lube.

It starts with another knock at the door, and at this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the devil to welcome me to hell.

This time though, Tatum swings the door open, Sadie behind her, and says, “Who are you?”

No hello, no, would you like to come in? To the point and direct. That’s my girl.

With Sadie beside me, I wrap my arm around Tatum and look up at the woman standing before us. “How can I help you?”

The girl, she’s probably Sadie’s age, wearing a crop top and leggings, has her long blonde hair pulled up underneath a hat. Nervously, she bites her nails. “I was looking for Collin Greyson.”

Tatum takes off, running into the family room and lunges for the couch while yelling, “He’s in heaven!” There’s no anger in her words, and I can’t even tell you if there’s sadness. She’s just yelling to yell because that’s what three-year-olds do.

“I’ll go check on her,” Sadie says, walking away.

My focus remains on the girl. “She’s right. He… passed away last week in a car accident.” Despite my annoyance for him or the fact that he’d obviously been lying to me for months, tears sting my eyes the moments the words leave my lips. Why? Why does emotion and love do that to you?

“Oh. You’re his wife… aren’t you?” Now there are tears in her eyes.

“Yes, I am. Who are you?”

She holds out her hand to me. “I’m Remi.”

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