Page 8 of Bitter House
BRIDGET
When I was little, I was obsessed with water. Pools, bathtubs, the pond behind Bitter House. You name it, and I was in it every chance I got. Though so much of my life has changed since then, that’s one thing that hasn’t changed at all.
As I slip into the pool in the backyard, my body seems to relax in an instant. Despite everything going on, this is the one place—submerged in water—where I can shut everything else off, quiet my mind, and just exist. Where, for at least a few minutes, I’m a mermaid on an adventure and not a woman in way over her head.
I lean into that, swimming and flipping and floating, holding my breath and diving and spinning like a kid. Forgetting everything and everyone. I even forget about the letter, at least for a short while.
I dive under the water, skimming my stomach against the concrete floor of the deep end just because I can, then flip over and stare up at the sun’s reflection against the rippling water.
When my lungs burn for oxygen, I relent, pushing up toward the surface with all my might. As I burst out of the water, I gasp for air, flicking my hair back over my head.
A voice in the distance stops me.
“And the garden, clearly. What about the backyard?”
It’s a man’s voice. One I don’t recognize.
“It’s gated.”
“And the pool? Is it this way?”
I slip out of the water, the noise drowning out whatever response may have been given, and march toward their voices, dripping wet and too furious to care.
As I round the corner of the house, walking out of the pool gate, I spot Cole—barefoot and dressed in a T-shirt and jeans—and a man in a suit and tie. The man has that look about him, like realtors and car salesmen. A giant, fake smile, charm oozing from his every pore. He eyes me with admiration that feels completely fake.
“What the hell is going on?” I shout at them both.
The man chuckles, glancing at Cole as if to say women, right? “You must be the lady of the house. I’m with Pearson and Pearson Real Estate.”
I glance at his hand with disgust. “And?”
He recovers, tucking it back into his pocket. “And I received a call this morning that you might want to list this property.”
Rage explodes in me like a ball of fire, washing over every inch of my skin from the inside. “Oh you did?” My lips form a hard line as I pin Cole with a stare. “Who would that call have been from?”
“Not me,” Cole says, hands up in the air. “I already told him we aren’t selling.”
“The call was from a woman.” The man reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out his phone. “I don’t mean to cause any trouble. I…I spoke to a Bridget Lancaster.” He looks up. “Do you know her?”
It’s as if the ground has opened up under my feet. “That’s impossible. I’m Bridget Lancaster. I didn’t call you.”
I can tell he doesn’t believe me. His gaze travels to the house as if he can’t help it. “Well, what do you say we take a look around and see where it leads? You can always say no, but what would it hurt to hear my thoughts on the property and its value? If you disagree with my numbers, I’ll walk away with no hard feelings, but I can tell you right now, you won’t disagree.” He glances up at the house again. “I’m positive you’re going to like what numbers I come up with.” He holds out his hand again. “What do you say? I’m the best there is, and I can make sure you’re set for life with this sale, guaranteed.”
Cole’s eyes flick to me with something that looks vaguely like amusement, the way my roommate, Ana, always watches her cats whenever Teddy—the younger, cocky boy—pounces toward Olivia—the older, grouchy girl—and we just wait for her to put him in his place.
“The house isn’t for sale,” I say flatly. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d get off our property.”
He opens his mouth, clearly already prepared to respond, but hesitates. I’ve thrown him off guard. “Are you…are you sure? Like I said?—”
“I’m positive.”
He looks at Cole, clearly hoping he’ll come to his defense, but Cole’s eyebrows merely rise. “I told you.”
The man takes a step back. “Can I leave you with my number in case you change your mind?”
“We won’t.” I hold up my hand to stop him as he reaches for his pocket. “Thanks for coming, and goodbye.”
With that, the man retreats. When he’s gone, I turn to find Cole smirking.