Clandestine

thirty nine

Do I really have much of a choice? I don't think I can live here for a year. Sure, Marcia Quintana is taking care of my finances. But what about the groceries? Or cleaning? Or the landscaping? Or parties? It's too much work for one person.

Besides, if it is horrible, he said I can leave anytime.

I take a deep breath and walk back downstairs. I say, "I guess I must have packed my computer already. I'm sorry about that."

He shrugs, "It's no problem. Are you ready to go?"

I nod.

I get in the car and he talks about his wife, an accountant, who he describes as the most lovely and beautiful lady in the world. He says his son won't be home when we arrive at his house because he has a thing with friends, but he should return so that I can meet him.

I wonder how the son will respond to a person living in his house. Will he get mad at me for taking away some extra space in the house or that I'm taking some of his parents attention from him? What if he's actually nice? What if he could be just like a brother? I'm sure having an almost sibling would irritate the Assembly even more since they're have made more than one child illegal.

We arrive at his house. It's not nearly as grand as mine and I'm glad. I don't want anything to remind me of the life I'm leaving behind. The front yard is dotted with cute bushes and sprawling trees. It appears to be two stories tall. Where will my room be?

He leads me up to the front door. He unlocks it with his key and ushers me inside. A smell of baking bread and fresh spices wash over my nose.

The wife must consider this a big thing if she's willing to cook for me. My father and I rarely had home cooked meals. That took preparation and work and way more cleaning. We both prefer the frozen meals. The only time I had something freshly made was for my father's parties, where it was too much to try to ever enjoy it fully as a meal.

Andrew calls out, "Kristy, my dear, we are here."

A woman hurries out of the kitchen, a pink apron secured around her small waist. She grins and stands beside her husband. She holds out a hand and I shake it.

She blabbers, "I'm so happy that you are staying here. It is no trouble at all, so don't you worry about it for a second. Anything that you need, you come find me, okay? I'll always be here for you."

I blink and thank her.

She says, "Well, supper is going to be ready in about twenty minutes. Andrew, you can give her a tour and give her time to start unpacking. Josh said he would be home around eight, so there's no point waiting up for him."

She gives me another bright smile, "I'm just so happy you are here, Diane." Then she mutters something about the sauce burning and hurries back into the kitchen, her long brown hair flying behind her.

Andrew says, "She's a bit stressed right now, but it's nothing to do with you. She'll calm down. Tour?"

I nod and he leads me through different parts of his house. It's all soft colors and artsy decorations. It's nothing like my own home, but it's still beautiful. Andrew carries my suitcase for me upstairs as he shows me my room. He points out the bathroom across the hall before opening the door.

I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this. It's a large room with beautiful purple walls. A neat black comforter adorns a large bed. There's a dress in the corner and a closet in the far wall.

I thought maybe I would get the cupboard of a room. That small room that you don't have any use for so you throw a bunch of different things in there. Maybe a tiny cot shoved against a wall.

Not a real bedroom. A beautiful bedroom.

I turn to Andrew, "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Andrew beams at me, "We can help you get a few more decorations in here. We weren't sure what you liked, and we didn't want to add anything that you wouldn't want. We decided to let you decide for yourself."

Tears spring into my eyes. These people don't know me, yet they are willing to open their home up to me.

Andrew says, "I'll leave you to start unpacking. I'll find you once Kristy is done with supper. Sound good?"

I nod and thank him again. He closes the door behind him and I'm alone.

In my room.

In a stranger's house who is willing to care for me.

I kick off my shoes and hesitantly lie on the bed. It's softer than my one at home.

I stop my thoughts.

This is not my home. This is a house. This is where I will live until I turn eighteen. This isn't where I grew up.

This isn't where my father lived.

This is not my home.

It's just a house.