Page 19 of Space Oddities

What have I done?

I let one small revealing fact about my family out to the girls, and it’s like I’ve opened Pandora’s box, and everything is escaping.

When my classmates sat down with us, I thought might just slide under the table and slither away. It was a mixture of shell shock and engrained southern hospitality that left me unable to move. I swear, a serial killer could invite me in for tea and I’d go willingly to my death just to avoid being rude.

And now Ian knows about my real job. The side hustle that evolved into a full-time career. And me going to college. All under a fake name.

Luckily the girls don’t know it’s a fake name, and Ian was nice enough not to ask in front of them.

Actually, Ian was nice about everything. About listening to three co-eds gossip and giggle, about some of my secrets being revealed without asking a million questions.

He only asked if theothergirls knew—Rose, Jackie, and Jules.

When I shook my head no, he simply nodded and helped me into the car.

Where I promptly fell asleep on the drive home. I guess the day had taken its toll.

I woke five minutes ago but have been feigning sleep. I’m a coward like that.

“Who’s that?” The tone in Ian’s voice pops my eyes open.

Blinking, I see we’re already at Ian’s, pulling into the driveway. And at the end, right in front of the open garage where my trailer is parked, is a man in a white button-down and khakis.

Isn’t that what Jules said the private detective was wearing?

I thought leaving the garage door open so my generator didn’t have to work so hard would be fine. Ian’s garage is set back far enough that you can barely see it from the main road. The neighborhood has a security gate, code, and rent-a-cops that drive by on nightly patrols. I thought I was safe.

But there’s someone standing outside the garage looking at my trailer. My heart is beating a mile a minute. “I—”

Ian stops halfway up the drive and unbuckles. “Stay here.”

Ian calls out to the guy, who turns, clipboard in hand.

Clipboard?

Squinting, I get a better look at the man. He doesn’t pull a badge when Ian reaches him. So that’s good. No gun. Even better.

The heavy layer of fear lightens. Taking a deep breath, I force myself out of the car. Though I may have a history of running from my problems, I’ve never let someone else deal with them for me.

“Is there a problem?” I ask the men, the southern syrup in my tone hiding my nerves.

“You could say that.” Ian points to the guy. “This is Charlie, from the homeowner’s association.” He crosses his arms and glares, making Charlie squirm. “Why don’t you tell her what you just told me?”

Stepping away from Ian’s glare, the man clears his throat. “You see, ma’am, there’s been a complaint to the HOA about someone living in a mobile home on the property.”

“The HOA?” I repeat, making sure it’s okay not to be ready to run.

“Yes, ma’am.” He looks at his clipboard. “See, in section fourteen, part B, the HOA agreement states that although you may store a boat and/or mobile home on the property, it must be completely enclosed in the garage. And, of course, unoccupied.”

Fear turns to annoyance. “Does it now?”

He nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And may I ask just who complained about this?” I glance down the road, expecting to see three women in bright shades of spandex taking in the show. Not even a wisp of bottle blonde blows in the breeze, but I still know who did this.

Back to looking uncomfortable, Charlie dips his head back down to his clipboard. “I really couldn’t say, ma’am.” He pulls a sheet off his clipboard and hands it to Ian.

“What’s this?” Ian asks, reading over the paper.

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