Page 44 of Huge Dynamite
“I’m Clea. Your agent.”
“Right.” Trying to calm my breathing, I shake her hand.
Releasing my hand, she glances at me sideways. “You okay?
“Yes, uh, yes.” Catching my breath, I smile. “Fine. Thank you.”
“Where’s your car?”
A logical question. “I parked down the street.” I point behind me. “I wanted to walk around the neighborhood.”
Nodding, she raises her eyebrows. “Be careful. Well, it’s nice to finally meet you in person.”
“You as well.”
“I’ve known your parents for a long time.” She nods. “They’re wonderful people. They’ve done so much for the community.”
“Have they?” I ask, tilting my head.
“Well, yes.” She furrows her brow. “The donations they made last year to the Fourth Street Collective—”
“They bought laptops for a small group of kids going to college.”
“Yes.” She raises an eyebrow.
“And made a tax-deductible donation.”
“I suppose.”
“And let me guess, you’re on the board of the Fourth Street Collective.”
“I am.” She nods.
This was the reason I didn’t want to work with Clea Saunders—because of her connection to my parents. I’d never met her before, and when I scheduled the appointment, I didn’t know who she was. It wasn’t until I gave her my name that the connection was made. By then, I was already in love with the building and it’s her exclusive listing.
Besides, there’s no way she’ll rat me out to my parents and risk them talking me out of it. She’s not going to want to give up this commission.
Looking up at the building, Clea uses her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. “You sure about this one, huh?” Turning to me, she shrugs. “I have some great listings in the suburbs if you’d like to see something there. Most people, when they hear Greenville, think it’s different from this—”
“No.” Cutting her off, I’m louder than I mean to be. “No suburbs.” The thought of the suburbs covers me in a blanket of depression, but I refuse to get caught up. I grew up in the suburbs, in a five-thousand-square-foot house with a pool and everything I could ever want—and I never want to go back.
Clea nods. “I get it. Just thought you were making a move from the big city. Anyway, you’re thinking about a clinic here?”
Looking up at the three-story brick building with plywood covering the windows, I focus on the stone arch above the front door. Closing my eyes, I imagine the words “All Are Welcome Here” painted above that door.
“Yes,” I answer. “I’m opening a clinic here.” My words are a whisper as I soak in the moment. This is the fulfillment of my lifelong dream.
“Well.” She climbs up the stone steps and slips a key into the lock that turns. Then she does the same with two more locks. “Let’s see if you like it first.”
Pushing open the door, she motions for me to step in before her. As I do, I’m immediately struck by the cold air that smells like dust and mildew. My heart feels like it drops out of my body.
“Were there mold tests run?”
“Yes, absolutely.” Letting the door close behind us, Clea fishes through her bag and pulls out a flashlight.
She clicks it on and shines it above us. Preparing to crouch and run from bats flying at us, I chuckle when I realize the only things greeting me are cobwebs and dust.
“The place has good bones,” Clea tells me as she steps into the space. She knocks against a column in the middle of the floor.
