Chapter 3: Packing Up

“Okay,” Reese told Gran. “This place is a wreck. In good conscience I can’t let you and the girls live in this firetrap. We’re going to have to move you out of here.”

Gran looked stricken. “Firetrap! Why is that?”

“Well, the biggest thing is the bad wiring. You’ve heard about the problem with aluminum wiring in older mobile homes, right?”

“No,” Gran said. “John always took care of things like that. I don’t recall that he ever mentioned it.”

“Simply put, the aluminum wiring isn’t safe to use when connected to standard copper outlets or connectors. It causes corrosion between the two, and that causes overheating where they connect. Many fires have resulted from that.”

“Fires? From the house wiring?”

“Sadly, yes. And when I changed out the elements in your hot water heater I saw very bad corrosion, so bad that the wire connections had over-heated and nearly burned through. Then I checked your main power panel and the same problem is showing in the connections there. I hate to tell you, Gran, but this old trailer is too dangerous to live in because of the old wiring. And it’s not worth re-wiring. The cost of paying a licensed electrician for labor and materials would be far more than this old trailer is worth.”

Gran slumped down, her head hung in defeat. “Okay, so the wiring’s shot. What else?” she asked.

“The hot water heater needs replacing. The siding is in bad shape. The roof is leaking in several places and there’s signs of water damage to the inside walls. If I start looking more closely ... well, there’s nothing good to say, Gran, and I don’t want to beat you down about it. It’s just ... well, I can’t just walk away and let you think it’s safe to keep living in this trailer. Especially not with the girls.”

“So what do we do? This is my only home. We can’t possibly afford to move. We have nowhere to go. And there’s my job, such as it is. Although after all the days I’ve missed I probably don’t have a job.”

“What was your job?”

“Night manager at the convenience store on the south edge of town. But they’d been cutting my hours back to 16, 18 hours a week.”

“That’s not a job!” Reese protested. “That’s ... that’s nothing more than employee abuse! How could you live on that?”

“I wasn’t after they cut my hours back. We’d been robbed a few weeks before. I was working the night shift alone and I’d asked for someone to work nights with me so there’d be two of us to discourage a holdup. But management refused. So one night I was coming from the stock room and a guy grabbed me from behind. He put a knife at my throat. He got $37.50 from the register and some beer, and he ran.”

“Thank God you weren’t hurt!” Reese said.

“Yes, thank God. So I told the manager we had to have better security. And the next week my hours were cut back. I’m training a younger worker now. I think she’s my replacement.”

“So you really don’t have a job to worry about, then.”

“No. And now with the girls I don’t see how I could work and take care of them. Anything I’d earn would be spent for daycare so I’d be hauling them back and forth and working and I’d come up short.”

“If you’ll trust me, I can offer you and the girls an alternative, some breathing space,” Reese said.

“Breathing space? What are you talking about?”

“I’m not without means. I have property in the Idaho mountains. It’s a big lodge with many rooms and I live there with my caretaker and partner who has his own cabin, actually. I’d really like for you and the girls to come with me and visit there. If you find it suitable, we can make it more permanent.”