After Jenny's question, Charlie had handed her a package of five dollar bills. Jenny had protested, but he'd insisted, so she stuck it in her backpack.
What would she do with the money? She didn't need any Bibles. Jenny guessed she could make Princess another chicken breast. Princess loved cooked chicken and Jenny loved to cook for her. Princess had been old when Jenny got her - the former home owner had rescued her several years ago.
"She was fixed" Mrs. Jones had said, moving her tobacco chaw to the other cheek. "So she had a home." She spat. "Some shithead left her in my yard. I won't be dumping her just 'cause I'm going to hospice. If you buy my house you're buying the cat for life." Jenny had looked at Princess, purring in the old lady's lap.
"Of course I'll take her." She'd had to reassure the old lady she wasn't an "idiot" about black cats, she had experience with same, and would feed the cat before she'd feed herself.
Mrs Jones had consented to the sale - owner finance, and everyone had been happy. Jenny had taken great pains to mail photos of a happy Princess to Mrs. Jones until her death, and had attended the funeral. She made her payments to the estate now.
Jenny knew her home had some serious problems. She'd seen the way Charlie had looked at her bathroom. She was scared to scrub the tub enclosure due to the falling tiles - everytime she cleaned she lost more tiles! She'd felt some wierd spots in the floor, and dropped items always rolled off to one side. She also had alarmingly high water bills.
She had problems - serious problems. She'd known she was buying an old house. "Used". "As-is". "Handyman Special". She'd secretly hoped Charlie would come back and fix them, naively dreaming he'd show up anyday now.
He hadn't. She couldn't afford the kind of work she needed. She couldn't even afford the demolition; much less the purchase of a new (to her) mobile home and placement on the property.
She'd wanted Charlie to save her. He hadn't.
She had to save herself; and she couldn't.
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