As he sat in his hotel room contemplating the end of his twenty-three-year marriage and what he needed to do next, Jim decided that he would stay close to his daughters and spend as much time with them as he could before they left to begin their own lives. He wasn’t about to miss any more of their high school years than he had already been robbed of. Jim was very active in his daughters’ lives, and that was something that he was not willing to give up. It was the last thing that he had to grasp to that was keeping him sane. Bonner County had been a disaster for him, and he felt the urge to be elsewhere, anywhere.
A temporary abode was needed, something simple and non-committing. Something from which he could leave in thirty seconds flat with no regrets or repercussions. The future of his funds was also highly uncertain, and that made cheap a priority as well. Jim fired up his phone, logged onto the hotel’s Wi-Fi, and entered the world of GregsList. Scanning the rooms for rent section, he encountered the ad for the Mooney Family Farm.
One of three places he had decided to look at, it was the final phone call that he made. The voice on the other end of the connection was that of an older man, decidedly country in its dialect, friendly, and welcoming. When he asked for the address to come and view the room for rent, Jim was expecting the normal rural directions to be given. You know, the usual follow the road to the barn, turn left by the brown horse with the white spot on his nose, and then look for the blue house by the red silo next to the field. But this was even worse.
Copyright © 2019 J.J. West. Fiddlesticks! Tales From A Country Ghetto.
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