Chapter 4 - The Noon Awakening
At 12:15 PM, 414 Crestview Lane was just beginning its day.
Richard woke up with a dry mouth and a throbbing headache behind his temples. The house smelled wrong. Usually, by noon, the kitchen was rich with the scent of roasted garlic or brewing coffee, the washing machine humming its steady rhythm in the utility room, the morning paper folded neatly at his place at the dining table.
Today, the air was dead and cold.
He pulled on his bathrobe, annoyed, and walked down the back stairs into the kitchen.
The sink was empty. The coffee maker was bone-dry. On the center island, beside his car keys, sat a neat row of six amber plastic pill bottles with Evelyn’s name printed on the labels, accompanied by a single sheet of lined notebook paper.
Richard picked up the paper, his mouth tightening into an angry, familiar line.
Evelyn’s cardiology appointment is today at 2:15 PM with Dr. Aris. Her blood pressure medication needs to be refilled by Friday. The pharmacy phone number is on the bottle. I have left a fourteen-day supply on the counter.
Do not contact my clinic. I have resigned.
Richard scoffed, crumbling the paper in his fist and throwing it into the trash can.
"Drama," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "Absolute drama."
He assumed I was sitting in the waiting room of the urgent care center, nursing my swollen wrist, waiting for him to call and offer a grudging apology so I would come home and make lunch. That was the script. That had always been the script.
The front doorbell rang—sharp, three loud chimes that resonated through the quiet house.
Richard walked through the dining room, adjusting the belt of his robe, ready to tear into whatever delivery driver had dared to ring the bell instead of leaving the package on the porch.
He pulled open the heavy oak door.
Standing on the limestone steps was not a courier from Amazon.
It was a tall, burly man in a brown uniform with a county badge pinned to his chest, holding a thick manila envelope sealed with red legal tape. Beside him stood a woman carrying a clipboard.
"Richard Vance?" the process server asked.
"Yes. What is this?"
"You are being served with a Summons and Complaint for Dissolution of Marriage, a Notice of Lis Pendens, and a formal Thirty-Day Notice to Vacate Real Property issued on behalf of the sole titleholder, Renata Vance."
The man thrust the envelope against Richard’s chest.
Richard didn't take it. The packet fell to the welcome mat, slapping against the stone with a dull, heavy thud.
"What did you just say?" Richard's voice was barely a whisper. "Notice to vacate? This is my house. My family has lived on this land for forty years!"
"The recorded deed on file with the county recorder says otherwise, sir," the process server said, checking a box on his tablet. "Service is executed at twelve-twenty-two PM. Have a good day."
Richard stood on the porch in his bathrobe, his chest heaving, the cold autumn wind whipping the hem of his robe around his bare legs.
From the top of the interior stairs, the sharp, tapping sound of Evelyn’s cane began to echo.
"Richard?" her thin, petulant voice drifted down. "Who is at the door? Where is my tea? My eleven o'clock pills aren't in the tray!"
Richard turned around, his face pale, and looked at the long staircase where I had lain bleeding twelve hours earlier.
The dark, rusty stain of my blood was still there on the runner.
Nobody had wiped it up.
He pulled out his phone, his thumb shaking as he dialed my number.
"The number you have dialed is not in service. Please check the number and dial again."
He dialed the rehabilitation clinic where I had worked for twelve years.
"Good afternoon, Tri-County Physical Therapy."
"Let me speak to Renata. Now."
"Mrs. Vance is no longer with the practice, sir. Her resignation was effective at midnight. May I direct your call to the clinical director?"
Richard hung up.
His phone buzzed in his hand. A notification from his banking app:
ALERT: First National Bank Visa card ending in 4108 has been DEACTIVATED by the primary account holder.
A second notification:
ALERT: Joint Checking Account ending in 0921 has a balance of $14.12.
The blood drained from Richard's face until he looked like a corpse.
Upstairs, the door to Celeste’s room flew open. Her bare feet slapped down the hallway as she leaned over the banister, clutching her phone, her eyes wild with rage.
"Richard! What the hell is going on? My Pilates membership just bounced! My Equinox card was declined! Tell Renata to fix the account right now!"
Richard looked up at his sister, then down at the red-taped envelope lying on the welcome mat.
For the first time in forty-five years, the world was not arranging itself around Richard Vance’s convenience.
May you like
The engine of the house had stopped.
And the walls were closing in.
