The key slid into the backdoor lock with ease, but when Ashley turned it, it stuck. "Ugh, come on!" she growled as she jiggled the handle. She was forever grateful that her grandmother had left her this house when she passed, but sometimes owning the older home was a real pain in the rear end.
And right now her rear end was sweating in these nylons under her church dress. Easter had fallen late this year, and here in lower Alabama, it might as well have already been summer. But the young woman couldn't show up to Easter service with bare legs—her granny would roll over in her grave at such a scandalous notion. So sweaty nylons it was.
One more wiggle of the handle and a bump of her hip, and the lock turned just before the door popped open. With a sigh of relief, Ash jumped inside and slammed the door behind her. The window unit from the living room had cooled off the house back to the kitchen, for which she was grateful. She kicked off her white heels and begin pulling pins out of the floppy sky blue hat she wore, her pale blond curls falling free around her shoulders. Another silly tradition in her opinion—Jesus didn't come to save their souls only to criticize their fashion choices—but again it was a tradition her grandmother had insisted she keep. This was the first Easter since the older woman had died here in this house, and Ashley couldn't shake off the need for her approval.
Granny's last three years had been painful for the whole family as cancer conquered one organ after another. Ashley had given up college to be the beloved woman's caretaker, and losing her had spiraled her into a bit of a crisis. At twenty-three, her sense of purpose and identity had crumbled at her grandmother's death. What was she now that she didn't have someone to take care of anymore?
"Oh stop," she chided herself as she picked up her shoes and headed back to her bedroom. "She wouldn't want you moping! Besides, you'll figure out what to do soon." She hoped and prayed she would anyway. Sitting around the house watching soaps had lost its luster after the first month. Four months on, she was desperate for a new venture, some direction for her suddenly wayward life.
As she walked through the house, she frowned. Something felt...off, but she couldn't put a finger on what. Like someone else had been in here while she'd been out. The skin on her arms prickled at the thought, so she stopped through the living room and parlor to ensure the windows were still shut. Then she checked the front door. The chain rested in the lock where she left it.
With a chuckle, she turned to head back to the bedroom when her stocking foot landed in something wet and slimy. "Eeeeeewwww!" she yelped and jumped back. "Damn it, Chester!" The cat was nowhere to be found now that he'd barfed all over the foyer, which was typical. He was a temperamental cat, sometimes showering her with affection and other times pooping in her shoes. Or, in this case, puking where he knew she'd step in it.
Her little elfin nose wrinkled in disgust as she hobbled back to the bathroom on one good foot and only the heel of the other, trying not to compound the mess. At her room, she tossed her shoes and hat into it before making her way to the room across the hall. She propped her dirty foot on the lip of the tub. She ripped off the pantyhose and dropped them into the trash—not like she would wear nylons before Easter next year—then dampened a washrag and cleaned off the sole of her foot. The rag went into the trash, too, as she had no interest in ever using that again on her face.
As she went back across to her room, she unzipped the pastel floral dress. It was pretty in an old fashioned sort of way, with an A-line hem and chintz to puff out the skirt. She stepped out of it and hung it back up, not wanting to wrinkle it. Then she yanked out a pair of gray yoga pants and an old t-shirt before corralling her hair up into a ponytail. Despite the casualness of her new outfit, she still managed to look every bit the cheerleader she'd been in high school.
