Page 12 of Sing Sweet Nightingale

This was the right choice. This is what I need. It’s what my soul needs.

“So? What do you think? It’s pretty perfect, isn’t it?” Ginger asks, stepping up to my side. I realize how tall she is.

I look up to her. I’m five feet eight inches and she’s a few inches taller than me. She has to be close to or even six feet tall. I figure starting our relationship by gawking at her height isn’t the best thing to do. So, I decide to wait to ask her exactly how tall she is until we get to know each other better. Instead, I answer her question.

“Yes, it is. Absolutely. Freaking. Perfect.”

“Okay,” she claps her hands and rubs them together like a cartoon villain. “Let’s get your stuff inside, and I’ll give you a tour.”

We circle around to the back of my new-to-me silver Nissan. I bought the car at a used dealership on the outskirts of Las Vegas. Thanks to my many years of distrust and forced financial dependency, I had taken steps to establish a secret bank account. Taking money out of the account where my monthly allowance was deposited—that my mother had access to—and moved it to my secret account, as well as stockpiling cash in a hidden safe.

As of last week, when I left Las Vegas and separated myself from everything I’ve known for the past decade, I am physically and financially free to do as I please. There’s no one watching over my purchases and transactions, telling me I should be shopping more, or asking why I withdrew so much cash and what I did with it. There’s only me. And with how much I’ve squirreled away in a town like Snowberry, I’ll be set for years. If I so choose.

Ginger effortlessly pulls my large suitcase from the trunk, followed by the smaller one, and looks at the minimal luggageand lack of…well, anything else. I didn’t even stop to get groceries.

“Is this it?” She looks from my luggage to me questioningly. “I thought you were staying for three months?”

“Oh, I am. I just packed light. And I wasn’t able to bring much, as you know.”

Luna and I had to come up with a story to tell Ginger. Without giving too much detail and leaving it extremely vague, we simply said I am trying to escape an emotionally abusive relationship and require complete social separation and secrecy to start over.

None of it was a lie; my mother has emotionally abused me over the years in her obsessive need to control my life and profit from my hard work. I just didn’t specify what type of abusive relationship I was escaping. Or who I really am.

“Of course, I understand. If you need anything, let me know. Anything you can’t find in town can be shipped in. It may not look like it, but we do get mail here,” she jokes, giving me a wink and elbow bump, lightening the mood. “Not Amazon Prime, but snail mail? We’ve got you covered.”

My chest lightens and I laugh, “I will definitely let you know. But I’m really looking forward to a bit of simplicity and quiet. My old life was very . . . loud, and busy, and complicated. I had a lot of material possessions, and very few of them made me happy. Don’t let anyone ever convince you that money buys happiness. I’m proof it doesn’t.”

I didn’t mean to turn our first conversation into a sharing moment, but I feel I have to start off right this time. I don’t want anyone to think I’m vain and materialistic. If I can, I’d even like to make a few friends to experience what it’s like to make a connection with another person without the underlying fear that they’re only my friends because of my fame and money. I’ve had enough of those people in my life; I don’t need any more.

With Ginger easily carrying my two suitcases, I can pull out the Polaroid camera I bought to take a quick picture of my new home. I saw it in the old Radio Shack-type store I stopped in to buy a prepaid cell phone and just had to have it. I wanted to be able to take photos of my journey that were just for me. No one can hack in to access them; they won’t be posted on social media sites or edited and photoshopped to perfection. Because they are already perfect in their one hundred percent authenticity.

Holding the camera up to my face, I peer through the viewfinder and snap the photo just as Ginger enters the frame, her back to me, long auburn hair swaying behind her. You can’t see her face in the photo, and somehow, that makes it even more special.

I tenderly slip the photo into the notebook I’ve been using as a scrapbook and journal before shoving it and the camera in my bag. Slinging it and my purse over my shoulder.

Before I forget, I take out my new cell phone, which has only one number programmed into it, and pull up my messages. I type out a quick but unspecific message to Luna.

Lottie:Made it. Everything looks great.

Luna:Good.

I didn’t expect a long response. Before I left, we discussed the less we said in texts, the better. That kind of thing can be discovered if someone really wants to. Phone calls can be more elaborate, but even those we keep to a minimum. Contact is only made when absolutely necessary.

By now, my mother has no doubt made the connection that Luna helped me. I’m sure she’s watching her every move and action. It wouldn’t surprise me if she hired someone to hack into her phone and try to track her calls and texts.

I slip the phone back into my purse. Ignoring it for the most part. It’s nice not to check social media and news sites every hour of the day. They stress me out sometimes. All the constantpressure to keep up with trends and post the right thing at the right time. Not to mention the trolls. I hate those fuckers.

I catch up to Ginger, who’s already opened the front door and is stepping inside.

I only have a moment to take in the large front porch before entering the cabin. There are two rocking chairs to one side that look well used, and the front door is painted a tranquil shade of soft blue. Everything else is bare wood. Looking as if the planks were pulled directly from the forest surrounding us.

Inside, the cabin is far nicer than I would have expected for a cabin in the woods. It’s modern but rustic; still a cabin, but with updated appliances and amenities. A small but clean kitchen lines the right side of the space, with a petite dining table and four chairs. To the left is a cozy living room with a plush couch and stone fireplace. As I take in the space, the wooden floorboards creak quietly under my footsteps.

I don’t immediately spot a television until I realize the framed photo above the mantle is a flatscreen in disguise.

“The TV has most of the streaming services loaded on it. No need to log in; it’s all ready for use. There’s also a collection of movies on the digital drive.”

Ginger continues her tour, not waiting for me to catch up. Speaking over her shoulder as she moves through the living room and down the short hallway.

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