​Chapter Thirty-Seven
Rochelle

Seven months. That’s how long I’ve been waiting.

It took only a day to find a small rental in White Smoke with a landlord that’s only slightly creepy. Glenn wires me the money monthly, and I call to confirm I received it. The machine always picks up.

I go to church. It’s the same one I used to take Wren to, tucked away in a metal building in the woods; some of the people don’t seem right. It’s like they’re part of the building, pieces to a set. No growth. No change. I’ve helped twice with the end of the month dinner and went to bingo once. Every time, I get hard stares, and I think it’s because I wear lipstick. I feel Jesus on the edge, where the trees line the building, watching. What He’d have to say to these people.

I haven’t gone back in two weeks.

I got a job. It’s not much, but it fills my time and gives me a little extra spending money on top of what Glenn sends me. I’ll have to find something more permanent once the divorce goes through. I’ve tried to bring it up, but I can hardly ever get Glenn on the phone, and when I did that once when I first got to White Smoke, he brushed it off, said it was “too premature.”

“What do we need to wait for Glenn? Kimber got any sisters moving in?” I said it light-heartedly because that’s the way I feel about it. It no longer eats my heart, but by the way Glenn answered with a guttural mumble, it sounds like it’s still snacking on his. 

It’s at a Hallmark store, my job. I man the cash register which took a few days to get right. I stock the cards and dust the doo-dads they sell there. It’s a mom and pop operation, Pop having been long dead for ten years now. But Mom’s nice. Her name is Gladys and she looks like something that should be sold in the store. I glossed over my existence. “My granddaughter lives nearby,” is all I said when she asked why I moved from Texarkana. That was good enough for her, which is one of the reasons I like her so much.

I’ve spent my evenings trying to find them. I’ve scoured the phone book. I mention Natalie in passing to strangers who scrunch up their faces and shrug their shoulders. I spend too much time at the Piggly Wiggly that smells like a bag of pork rinds exploded and at a gas station called Floyd’s where people seem to congregate regularly. But to no avail. Jesus, why did you bring me here?

I give up. I think about packing everything into my small suitcase and moving in with Ann and her husband, Marty, who only seems to exist in glimpses. He’s not the kind of guy to care if a random woman starts living in his house. Kind of like Glenn, only less questionable.

I’m thinking these thoughts when the doorbell rings. The heater’s gone out. Perfect. But at least Creepy Landlord Lester is on top of it. I have an uneasy feeling that if I said jump, he’d ask how high. I go to let the repair man in. When I open the door, he’s wearing a bomber jacket over his uniform which consists of shorts. In February.

“Hi, I’m Jerry!” he says with a big smile on his face. He offers me his fleshy hand.

I’m not sure what it is, but there’s something about this man I honestly like.