Chapter 3
The following Saturday morning, Deniece was dropping her kids off at Jaclyn's house for the day so she could focus on getting the rooms ready for her new tenants. David clutched his favorite action figure while Wendy dragged her stuffed unicorn behind her, both children excited for a play date with Mason and Lily.
As Deniece handed over their overnight bags, Jaclyn leaned in close with a theatrical whisper. "So, you'll be all alone in that big house while Paul moves in? Just you and the chess master and all those... empty bedrooms."
"Pam is moving in today too," Deniece reminded her, rolling her eyes.
"Yes, but she's not coming until after three," Jaclyn countered with a knowing smirk. "Which gives you and Paul plenty of alone time for him to... position his rook properly."
"For the love of--" Deniece glanced at the children to make sure they weren't listening. "We will be assembling furniture and unpacking boxes. That's it."
"Mmm-hmm. Just remember, if he says 'checkmate' and winks, that's definitely code for something."
"You are impossible," Deniece hissed, her cheeks flaming despite her best efforts. "It's a strictly professional landlord-tenant relationship."
"Oh sure, very professional," Jaclyn agreed with mock seriousness. "Just like in those documentaries that come on after the kids are asleep. 'Dear Landlady, I seem to be having trouble with my bed frame. Could you come upstairs and help me tighten some screws?'"
"I'm leaving now," Deniece announced, turning toward her house. "Before my children learn things they absolutely should not learn from their honorary aunt."
"Just text me if you need an emergency rental contract clause about fraternization!" Jaclyn called after her. "Or if you need me to keep the kids overnight!"
Deniece responded with a gesture that was decidedly not appropriate for the children to see, Jaclyn's laughter following her all the way out the door.
******
As she approached the front door, a silver compact car pulled into the driveway. Paul stepped out smiling, looking boyishly excited in faded jeans and a university t-shirt. He waved enthusiastically before reaching back into his car to gather his belongings.
"Good morning, Mrs. D!" he called out, using the nickname they'd agreed upon during the lease signing. "Hope I'm not too early."
"Not at all, right on time," Deniece replied, watching as he began unloading his possessions.
Paul's belongings painted a clear portrait of his life: a weathered chess set in a handcrafted wooden box tucked carefully under one arm; a milk crate overflowing with dog-eared mathematics textbooks and spiral-bound notebooks; a desktop computer and monitor wrapped protectively in bubble wrap; and a guitar case covered in stickers from various chess tournaments around the country. From the trunk, he pulled out two duffel bags of clothing and a small box labeled "KITCHEN" in neat block letters.
Most endearing was the small potted plant--some kind of succulent--that he balanced precariously on top of his stack of books. It sat in a pot painted with mathematical equations that swirled around its circumference.
"Let me help you with some of that," Deniece offered, moving toward the car.
"Thanks, Mrs. D," Paul replied with genuine gratitude. "The rest can wait for a second trip. I travel pretty light--most of what I own fits in my car, except for my chessboard collection. That's coming with my mom tomorrow, if that's okay?"
There was something refreshingly straightforward about his possessions--no questionable items, no surprises, just the honest belongings of a dedicated student with clear passions and simple needs. As they walked together toward the house, Deniece felt a wave of relief wash over her. Maybe this new arrangement would work out after all.
******
Before they could move Paul's belongings into the house, a bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle pulled up to the curb. Pam emerged, her dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, wearing paint-splattered jeans and a vintage band t-shirt. She waved enthusiastically before popping her trunk, which appeared to be stuffed to capacity.
"Mrs. D! Paul! Perfect timing!" she called out, jogging up the driveway. "I thought I'd be fashionably late as usual, but the traffic was miraculously light."
Paul grinned at her. "I just got here myself. Haven't even picked a bedroom yet."
"Speaking of which," Pam said, turning to Deniece with a hopeful expression, "I was wondering if I could possibly have the blue room with the clawfoot tub? I have this whole vision of evening baths with candles and my sketchbook. Total design student cliché, I know, but..."
"That works perfectly for me," Paul interjected. "I'm more of a quick shower person anyway. Five minutes in, five minutes out."
Deniece smiled at how easily they worked things out. "Then it's settled. Blue room for Pam, gray room for Paul."
What followed was a choreographed chaos of move-in activity. Paul's belongings were modest and methodical--everything in labeled boxes, furniture limited to a desk chair and a small bookshelf that he assembled with impressive efficiency. His room was functional within an hour, populated primarily by books, electronic equipment, and his prized chess sets that he arranged on the bookshelf in what appeared to be chronological order of acquisition.
Pam's possessions, by contrast, were an artistic explosion. Her car disgorged what seemed like an impossible amount of items: rolls of fabric samples; art supplies in colorful cases; string lights and tapestries; framed prints and canvases; and several plants in ceramic pots she had clearly designed herself. Her clothing arrived in three large suitcases that she explained contained separate wardrobes for "design studio days," "client meeting days," and "creative expression days."
The blue room transformed under her touch, emerging as a bohemian studio space that somehow looked both professionally designed and comfortably lived-in. She hung lights around the vintage mirror, arranged her plants on the windowsill to catch the morning light, and immediately started sketching ideas for a small desk area that would "honor the room's natural flow."
Throughout the process, Deniece found herself moving between rooms, providing tools, answering questions about the house, and occasionally stepping back to marvel at how quickly these two young people were making themselves at home. There was something refreshingly natural about their presence, as if the rooms had been waiting for precisely these occupants.
By mid-afternoon, when they all took a break for the pizza Deniece had ordered, she watched Paul and Pam chatting easily about campus and their classes. She realized that her house suddenly felt fuller--not just with belongings, but with energy and possibility--in a way it hadn't since before Michael died.
Deniece led Paul and Pam down to the basement with the pizza box, each of them balancing paper plates and drinks as they carefully descended the stairs.
