1
Klara
The car door slams closed behind me, and I’m left staring in disbelief, standing in the middle of the cul-de-sac. No wonder I questioned myself the entire drive about whether or not I actually wanted to do this.
The houses in front of me are…run down, to say the least. I didn’t remember it this way. In my memories, ours hadn’t been the nicest house, or even in the nicest neighborhood, but it was average. What I’m looking at right now is the kind of place that you’d quickly drive past. The kind of place that you quietly ignore and warn your kids to avoid.
Has it always been this way? I’m honestly not sure. But there’s definitely a part of me that realizes that there’s no way a cul-de-sac can degrade this much over five years. That I was definitely blind to the truth of it when I moved away.
The day I turned eighteen I moved out and never even thought about coming back. Nothing was more important than getting the hell out of Reject’s Corner. That’s what this place was called by everyone. But this is so much worse than I remember.
Slowly, I turn in a circle and take everything in. All five houses. My parents’ house definitely seems to be in the worst shape, and I understand why the city has given them an ultimatum to fix it or else they’ll condemn it. I mean, my parents haven’t even lived in this house for a few years, that should have tipped me off that things were pretty bad. There aren’t many signs of life from the other houses, a big difference from my childhood when we’d all ride our bikes around and play ball in the street. Why do they want to fix up this place? Why not just let the city raze it, or just sell it? Thank goodness that everything I need to repair the place has already been ordered, otherwise the task in front of me would be impossible. Hell, I haven’t even looked inside yet and already I doubt I have the skills and the time to save my parents’ house.
And then there are the other houses…
Dad, looking for an investment to fund his and Mom’s retirement, bought the neighboring houses for a steal, hoping to turn this shabby cul-de-sac into some sort of shabby chic cul-de-sac getaway. As if.
I actually made a promise never to come back here, to the dusty little town of Affliction Creek, a few hours away from Austin. There are beautiful parts of it—including the depressingly named creek itself. But this neighborhood certainly isn’t one of the beautiful parts.
And the town knows it.
Over the past couple of years they’ve been trying to change their image and capitalize on its strange name in order to turn it into a tourist destination. And that’s why I’m here. My parents called me, desperate. The city is moving forward with a fancy consultant to change Affliction Creek, and my parents are in no shape to work on the houses themselves. Dad’s just recovering from a hip replacement and Mom’s recovering from another round of chemo. The deadline for this little project of theirs is looming, and they can’t get it done without me.
I sigh and rub my temples, glad that there’s no one here to see me. An audience would make cursing loudly into the air and stomping my feet a little awkward.
Looking around one more time, I try to comprehend the true size of what I agreed to. In my head, when I said I’d come and polish up the houses on this cul-de-sac to create a little vacation community, I was thinking that I’d be taking some trips to Pier One, doing some painting, and in general, doing my interior design thing.
That’s…not what’s happening here. These houses are falling apart. Probably plumbing and electric, too. I’m in way over my fucking head. Dad better have a plan for some contractors to help because I don’t think this can get done otherwise. Based on the budget he’s trying to stick to, I don’t feel confident.
I grab my suitcases and pull them toward my childhood home. Even without Dad’s injury, how was he planning to get this done? It’s a hell of a lot to fit in two weeks. God, I’m fucked.
Dropping the bags on the porch momentarily, I head around the house to grab the spare key, hidden under a conspicuous fake rock. Back here, I see a mess of cables that are draped over the neighboring fences as well.
Are those power lines?
Dread seeps through me. Are you fucking kidding me? Please, tell me that those aren’t connected to this house. Or any of the houses. It’s a total coincidence. Yeah. Absolutely.
I try to convince myself as I head back to the front door.