I Stand Before You (Judge Me Not #2)(22)

In the meantime, I have other things to focus on, like saving enough money this summer to finally get out of the hellhole in which I currently live.

Sadly, the only apartment I can afford is on the other side of town—the bad side—across the railroad tracks, not far from the closed-down glass factory. The building that houses my basement efficiency is a dingy yellow brick box of a structure. I pay rent month to month, shell out a meager amount of cash for a less-than-meager living space. A single rectangular room, a few pieces of furniture—left behind by former tenants—that’s what my money buys.

The centerpiece of the room I call home is a sagging sofa. It smells of decades-old sweat and stale smoke. It’s disgusting, I know. I’ve emptied innumerable bottles of fabric refresher in attempts to freshen the faded material, but the smells remain, which sucks, since the sofa doubles as my bed. That’s why I cover the flattened cushions with mounds of sheets. Too bad I can’t cover every corner, every nook, every crevice, as the rest of the place is just as bad.

On one side of the room there’s a sorry excuse for a kitchen, complete with an oven that quit working a month ago, a refrigerator that hums and rattles all night, and a sink that backs up regularly. The oven gave out—with a hiss and a dying gasp—the last time I made something for one of Missy’s bake sales. It remains broken, despite my calls to an indifferent property management company. The tiny bath area is a disaster as well. A plunger by the toilet is a must, and it’s a fortunate day indeed when the shower actually runs hot.

But all of those things I could live with, I could and I do. I don’t require fancy accommodations. I am far from high-maintenance. But what scares me, chills me to the bone actually, is the increasing number of junkies hanging out in the apartment parking lot. It’s gone from bad to worse in the past year. There’s no getting around it either; the whole area I live in is just plain bad news.

There used to be a Sparkle Mart grocery store, where I’d buy groceries every week, but it closed down last fall. Too many drug-related robberies, the manager told me the day I stopped in to see why they were moving inventory out instead of in.

That was six months ago.

I mark a steady decay every day I drive by. Someone tagged the side of the building in red and black paint, the name of some gang, I think. Weeds pollute the parking lot, growing right up right through broken cement. Directly next to doors that remain locked shut, a lone shopping cart lies broken on its side. Poison ivy tangles up and around the handle. And signs hang crooked in the few windows that remain unsmashed. Sun-faded and peeling: pumpkin roll, $4.90, we accept food stamps. Yeah, right. Not anymore.

I need to get out, I know this. Things are getting worse. The number of junkies congregating in the apartment parking lot has reached an all-time high this summer. I figure as long as I keep turning my head when I pass, they’ll continue to ignore me. At least, I hope they do. I just need to hold on a little while longer. Then, I’ll be up and out. By fall I should have enough money to move. I’m working extra this summer to ensure that I do.

The church secretary, Connie, is going on an extended cruise with her recently retired husband. Just last week Father Maridale asked me if I could cover her position this summer. A blessing, for sure, one I’d not expected. I’ll make more money covering for Connie than I ever could waitressing at Pizza House. And I won’t have to see Nick every day, since I always feel bad things didn’t work out for us.

But the best part is the money. The church offers a steady wage, and though it’s not a heck of a lot, it’s more reliable than tips, especially in this shaky economy. I start tomorrow, which is perfect. But it’s perfect for one huge reason besides the money.

That reason is Chase Gartner.

I mean, hell, the guy has had free run of the property for weeks. It’s high time someone starts looking into what he’s been up to. I snort as I sit thinking about it. I had hoped to keep tabs on Chase right from the beginning, but it was impossible to do while teaching. Kids require constant supervision; there was no free time. But in my new role as church secretary, I expect things will be far different.

First, the church office is located right inside the entrance to the rectory, centrally located and very convenient. Plus, I’ve noticed Connie always seems to have lots of downtime, I’ve caught her gabbing on the phone and doing her nails on a number of occasions. I expect it’ll be the same for me, but you won’t catch me chatting anyone up, nor will I be doing my nails. Nope, I plan to spend my downtime keeping an eye on bad-news Gartner, making sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. Like screw up…again. Despite Father Maridale’s unwavering belief in him, I am not completely sold on the idea of someone fresh out of prison traipsing around all over the church and school grounds. I mean, really!

Chase Gartner. I shake my head and continue to wait out the rain.

His story sure lit up this town four years ago. The news of his arrest, when it happened, spread like wildfire, along with a lot of other stories about the man. There were accounts of hard partying, illicit use of drugs and alcohol, fighting, and, of course, sexual escapades with women. Everyone in Harmony Creek ate those stories up; they devoured the tales of a once good guy gone horribly wrong. Chase was like some kind of beautiful fallen angel, but one with a far from holy reputation.

I hate to admit it, but I must be honest. I was equally enthralled by those stories. I guess Chase Gartner has always held my attention, though I’ve never met him and I certainly don’t trust him, especially now that he’s done time in prison. But he certainly is good-looking; I’ve never been blind to the obvious. And I sure remember the stories from four years ago, as clearly today as back when I first heard them.