The Trouble with Evie

Chapter 3

School after school, I left a trail of sadness and diminishing contact. By the time I was getting close to my seventeenth birthday, I'd given up. Brad suggested that we do something fun for it. I told him not to bother because I didn't know anyone that would want to turn up. He seemed a little puzzled by the statement and pushed me for information. Once I'd relented, he then urged me into socialization groups. It was one of many failures. So, with those events in mind, I decided I would not make friends.

By the time this year was up, I would be eighteen and could remain here if I wanted, but there was something strangely familiar about Brad. It had only been three years, but we'd created a bond. It was odd, but it was us. We were family, and we were all that we had in this world. I will not remain in this town without him, and that is why I will not make any friends. In a year, we will not be living here, and I do not want the disappointment of saying goodbye yet again.

At least, I hope that we will not be here after a year. There was something strange about Brad's mannerisms when discussing the subject that made me think that this move was permanent.

I heard the brakes squealing long before the truck appeared at the end of the driveway. One of the drivers got out to assess it, and Brad was on his feet and out the door at record speed. After a quick conversation, Brad turned back and began to climb the driveway. I don't think they wanted to carry the furniture up the steep slope, but getting that truck up the driveway while avoiding the large trees would not be easy.

They were determined. Clearly destroying a few branches was better than lugging the furniture up the driveway. Brad narrowed his eyes at me.

"Don't," he grumbled. "They'd be blocking the street if they stayed out there. This is for the best."

"Sure."

Brad helped me move the boxes to one corner. We didn't have a lot of furniture, just a few essential pieces that followed us from town to town.

I hated packing. I despised my life being in a box for several weeks while we moved, then tried to find a place. There was no plan, no searching the internet to find a home before we arrived in the town. Brad was not the kind of guy to dive into a situation like that. I think that the lack of information and timelines from his employer made him like this.

"Try to get the washing machine and dryer off first. If we can get it set up, I can put our bedsheets in and have them ready for tonight."

"Good idea. Let's hope they packed the truck the way that the storage shed had been."

Brad sauntered out of the house while I searched for the box that had our linen in it. We had a set each, and I'd stuffed the linen into the box at the last minute. I usually tried to wash everything so it would be clean, but we ran out of time, and Brad's boss was getting antsy at every minute we were delayed.

The worn-out boxes were all labeled from the first town we moved from. They were far better than the bags we used when leaving Brad's apartment. We kept the boxes, knowing they would be used again. To make life less complicated, I used them for the same items. The linen was in the box marked last minute, which meant that it was all the stuff that I'd crammed into the box on moving day.

Dumping the linen onto the bay window seat, I looked out the window and saw Brad talking to the driver. It was a three-man team. The other two were starting to unload the truck. Brad didn't seem overly impressed, turning back to the house with a heavy frown.

Something was wrong. I walked to the door to meet him as he stepped up the few steps to the front porch.

"Why aren't they bringing that stuff into the house?"