T w e n t y S i d e d

The year is 2000, Lorretta Whitman is 55 years old, and she has just inherited 1605 Cottonview Lane, the house built by her grandparents in the early ’20s. She is going twice a week to Jimbo’s apartment to cook, clean, and help keep his medications organized for him.

He thinks it’s pity, but she’s worried it’s selfish. She doesn’t want to be at home. Home is quiet, and a little unsettling. She and her husband have two daughters who have now gone off to university. With the girls gone, it’s been hard for her to ignore the growing sense of distance and resentment she shares with the man she married. Instead, she has thrown herself into as many little jobs as she can.

She works for a dry cleaning agency once a week, just helping out an old friend. She goes to Jimbo’s twice a week to help him out. She goes on overly long grocery trips, and makes care packages for her out-of-state children. Anything to be out of the house. She offers to drive down to visit one of her daughters, but she is quickly and politely shut down. Her girls are learning to be their own independent people, they don’t need her right now. Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop her from missing them. She offers to take Jimbo grocery shopping with her once a week and get him out of the house, and he gladly accepts.

The day Lorretta was given the house, she went inside and explored it a bit. The smell was awful, the carpets ruined, the walls yellowed with tar. She is thankful for the gesture but unsure what to do with the place. She had suggested to her husband that they might fix it up, to sell or give to one of the girls down the line, but he was having none of it. He grumbled about it being too much work, too big of a money sink, and that it wasn’t the time to get into real estate. Lorretta admitted she didn’t know much about the property market, and he agreed with her a little too emphatically.

It was only when he suggested that they just sell it and get it out of the way, that she put her foot down. He considered it a sink on their taxes and something that was about to tank in value. She considered it a family heirloom and a very kind gift, she didn’t feel right just turning it in for a quick buck. They argued, as they usually did, and then left the matter unresolved.

With their daughters out of the house, Mr. Whitman grows more and more comfortable snapping and grouching out loud. It used to be that Lorretta could point out that they shouldn’t argue in front of the children, but without children to argue in front of, that reasoning is gone. Slowly, it’s as if twenty-two years of not arguing in front of the children is all coming out at once, the fighting becomes more regular and vile.

The next time Lorretta steps into the old house is on November 23rd of 2001, just an hour after giving her husband divorce papers.

She doesn’t get very much done, but it’s cathartic to paint and get some energy out of her system.

Unfortunately for her, painting in a state of distress can cloud judgment and perception. The next week when she returns with a clearer head, she will discover she was painting over peeling wallpaper. What idiot put up orange wallpaper?

Lorretta returns to her maiden name; Cooper, the married name her own mother, Betty had held until she died.

The splitting of assets is messy, Mr. Whitman is bitter about the divorce and Lorretta just wants it over with. They argue about their two properties, the house they bought together and the home that Lorretta inherited. He suggests again that they sell, this time to liquidate and split the proceeds. Lorretta refuses. He suggests in a fit of frustration that they each take a house, him keeping their old married home, and her getting the broken-down garbage that had been left to her.

Much to his, and maybe even Lorretta’s surprise, she agrees with him.

Their money is split, their car is sold, everything they have is appraised and valued and inspected. Life is messy and up in the air and angry, and then, all at once, 1605 Cottonview Lane is Lorretta’s only home.

They have no young children to shuffle back and forth, and no pets to fight over. She doesn’t have to see him anymore if she doesn’t want to. It’s freeing, sad, and horrible all at once.

She’s been left with about thirty-five thousand dollars in the end, and a house that she feels certain will gladly eat every penny of it. Jimbo had the good sense to warn her about the water damage he covered up in the seventies before the deal closed, but either way, she accepted it. She gets the utilities turned back on, and moves into a room upstairs, deciding to spend her restless energy redoing the place. Her eldest daughter visits to help her move and expresses deep concern for the situation, but Lorretta is having none of it. “It’s got good bones, trust me.” She insists, omitting the fact that some of the bones are deeply water damaged.

For a moment, she almost believes it herself.

Bay Jubilee Oldest child of Shamus Young. They/Them