Chapter 1

The cream-colored Lexus RX suv pulled around the corner and headed down the tree-lined street. A nasty, mid-summer storm had swept through the area the previous night and littered the streets with leaves and fallen tree branches. Carolyn was anxious as she waited for a slow-moving landscaping truck to navigate around a larger branch strewn across the winding lane. As soon as it passed, she pulled around and headed up the street. She had an appointment for a potential buyer on her Melody Lane listing. It had been five months since she got the listing and she knew the seller wasn't the type to extend their agreement. She had to get this one sold. And she had a showing later that day. She pulled into the drive of the "spacious updated ranch" and opened the door to her car and stepped out. The car had been a gift to herself. She needed it if she were to impress her clients and potential clients she had told herself, but she was barely earning enough to justify the lease payments. The for sign on the lawn had blown over. She strode across the grass and stood it back up again. "For Sale," the sign read "Griffin and Warner Realty." Her name, Carolyn Hooke wasn't on it, as personal signage was a reserved perk of the highest producers in the office. She surveyed the outside of the home: nothing major had hit the house, no major branches on the roof. It might take an hour of quick work to clean it up, she estimated. Dressed in clean khakis and an untucked white blouse, she held off on cleaning anything just yet. She punched in the code for the small keysafe attached to the door handle, retrieved the key and braced herself for what she might find inside. She opened the door and glanced around. Nothing out of the ordinary. It was unfurnished; the owners had moved out and left nothing, save a couch in the living room and a table and chairs in the kitchen. She went to the kitchen and saw the blinking clock light. It made her nervous. It meant that the power had been interrupted the previous night and that could only mean trouble. She glanced at her watch and re-set the clock to 9:09. She turned and headed for the basement door and peeked inside. A faint musty odor, she noticed and nervously reached for the light, snapping it on. She crept down the stairs and glanced around. Her suspicions were confirmed: a small pool of water near the utility closet had meant that the sump pump had failed the night before when the power went out in the storm. She walked over and realized it was working again, but the rug along the closet had become soaked. It would have to be removed, lest the clients were to think the house were prone to flooding. It would likely kill the deal. She glanced at her watch again, she figured she could probably get this cleaned up within an hour and, with the outside another hour, she'd still be able to show the property today. And this was the perfect potential buyer: from out of town, they'd see a few homes, and make a decision quickly.

She quickly ran back upstairs and began searching for cleaning supplies. Nothing. They'd taken it all. "Damn it!" she said to herself. I've got to run out and that'll only add to the time. Gathering herself, she thought of solutions. Her head filled with possibilities: she could haul out the carpet herself, over to the store, mop up the area and air it out, then get started on the lawn, race home, change and be back in time to show the house.

She headed back downstairs, her white tennis shoes padding along the stairs. She was still very much in shape, her juice-and-smoothie-filled diet kept her figure trim and able to hustle throughout her day. She prided herself that she could still fit into her wedding dress before donating it to charity two years ago. Today was no day for dresses, however. She gathered her auburn hair into a bun and literally rolled up the sleeves to her white blouse, knelt down and began pulling up the wet carpet. Fortunately, it was only about four feet wide and ran about 15 feet down a walkway between the wall and the closet. Unfortunately, it was soaked and smelly. After about 15 minutes, she had it off the tiled floor and rolled into a log, ready to be carried up the stairs. It took just about all her might to drag it to the base of the stairs and get it upright. She tilted it towards the stairs and it came crashing to the floor, knocking her backwards in the process. There was no way she'd be able to get it up the stairs, she realized. Not by herself, at least. Her hands covered in musty dirt, she wandered, defeated back upstairs to wash them. Standing in the kitchen, staring out the window, she pondered how she'd be able to get that thing out.

Her answer walked right through her line of sight.

He checked his watch. 36:29. Over six minutes a mile he thought to himself. He walked slowly down the sidewalk with his hands on his hips, head back, sweaty, exhausted. It had been over a month since he missed qualifying for the state meet. And he was angry at himself. He'd started out so promising, always among the fastest kids, he went out for cross country when he began high school three years ago. It wasn't like he was going to make it at any other sport: at his weight, he'd be little more than a tackling dummy on the football team and he was nowhere skilled enough to make even the soccer team, except maybe to fill the water bottles for the starters. But in his three years on the cross country and track teams, he'd shown very little beyond his promise. A "mid-pack" runner, barely able to keep up with the top runners even on his team, let alone able to score points. In his defense, he had grown six inches since he began high school and was now at five-foot-nine, enduring awkwardness every inch of the way. First the legs grow, then the arms, then the feet. Nothing fits and nothing makes sense. He was fit as his long legs stretching out from his shorts would attest. As he stood on the sidewalk, wiping his curly mop of dark brown hair he thought to himself: what am I going to do for work this summer?"

His answer called to him from across the lawn next door.

"Excuse me?" called the voice. He looked around trying to place it. A woman stood in the doorway of the house next to his. He didn't recognize her. It wasn't the previous owner, they'd left several months ago. Maybe it was the new neighbor.

She braced herself. Be assertive. You need this done, don't give him a chance to refuse. She stepped out of the doorway and crossed the lawn.

"Excuse me, I need your help for a moment," she began, "I have something heavy that I can't lift," careful not to tell him what it was exactly lest he refuse.

"Ah, ok, sure."

"Thank you," she smiled. "It'll only take a second," not letting him get away. Plus, he was already in his workout clothes, ready for work.

She led him back to the house, he followed. So simple, she thought to herself. A little assertive, and you get what you need.

"Hi, I'm Carolyn," she said, extending her hand, smiling broadly.

"Oh, hello," he said, taken back by a woman introducing herself by her actual name and not a "Mrs" something.

She continued "and what's your name?"

"Oh, ah, Caleb."

"Hi Caleb," thanks for helping me. I just have a little something to haul up the stairs and it's a bit too heavy for me, "but probably not for you," she added, smiling.

She led him through the front door, and down the stairs to the basement. Amazingly simple she thought to herself, priding herself on her problem-solving.

"If you could grab one end, I'll take the other and we could get this out to the garage."

He headed for the base of the stairs, lifted the rolled-up carpet, and it immediately slipped from his hands.

"Sorry, it's a bit wet," she squatted low and pulled one end. He took his cue and quickly grabbed the other end and began backing towards the stairs. The load was wet, smelly and hard to maneuver up the stairs. The wet roll brushed against them as they inched it out the back door and into the garage, dropping it in a thud on the far side of the floor.

"Great work," she said brushing her hands off, "you're a big help."