Jessica made her way to the upper level, where there was a roomy master bedroom with both a walk-in closet and an en suite bathroom with a double-sink vanity. The other doors along the hallway revealed a guest bedroom, a laundry closet with washer and dryer, and a full guest bathroom. There was even a charming office nook complete with a built-in desk.
While she was flipping a light switch that didn’t seem to work, the movers arrived. She let them in and showed them around while still taking everything in herself, from the dramatic dark floors to the genuine wood-burning fireplace.
“Layout seems self-explanatory,” said the big guy, whose uniform name patch identified him as Darnell.
“We’ll start bringing everything in,” said the driver, a.k.a. Steve.
“I have a few more boxes to bring up, and I need to move my car,” she told them. “I’ll leave the door open so you can come and go.”
“Hurry back, so you can tell us where you want everything.”
Since everything they were about to bring in had been chosen by Jon, she hoped he’d be arriving soon. She fished a charging block out of her bag, plugged it into a wall outlet, and fiddled with both ends of the USB cord.
No luck.
She went down to get another load from her trunk before the movers came back.
It was raining harder now, so she moved the car to the building’s back entrance and shuttled the remainder of her worldly belongings inside.
Permanent parking? moved to the top of the list of her questions for Jon as she circled the block, looking for a spot that was both open and free of resident-only restrictions. She finally found one two blocks away.
She grabbed the jean jacket she’d left on the passenger seat, covered her head, and ran back to the building. Picking up two suitcases, she was grateful she’d included some bath towels among the few household items she’d brought.
Jessica reached the elevator at the same time as the movers and squeezed in with them.
“It says we’re supposed to have two club chairs, but there were three on the truck,” Darnell said, handing her a manifest.
She examined the list of furniture as they walked down the hall together and entered the apartment.
“I need to call my boyfriend to find out what he ordered. Do you have a USB cord I can borrow to charge my phone?”
“Sure, but I don’t think it’s going to help,” Steve said, flipping a nearby light switch up and down a few times. “Your utilities aren’t on yet.”
“They were supposed to be,” she said.
Darnell handed her his phone.
She thanked him, dialed Jon, and got his voice mail.
In what she hoped was a breezy tone, she left a message inquiring about the furniture order, asking if he knew when the power was scheduled to go on, wondering when he thought he would arrive, and suggesting where he might find parking when he did.
Then she dialed ComEd to see about the power.
She waited on hold long enough that she was able to direct the movers while they positioned an admittedly attractive navy blue, midcentury-style velvet couch and two tweedy charcoal club chairs in the living room. When the customer-service representative finally came on the line, he informed her that the power was indeed scheduled to go on today, but she needed to be patient because it was October first.
“Why does the date matter?” Jessica asked.
“October first and May first are the busiest days of the year in the Chicago rental market,” the rep said, in a tone suggesting Jessica was the only person on earth unaware of that fact. “There’s always a backlog.”
For the next hour, she brought up boxes and began to unpack while overseeing the placement of two area rugs, a distressed-wood dining room table with six upholstered chairs, a master bedroom set featuring a sleigh bed, matching dressers and nightstands, and accent lamps she would very much have liked to turn on given the intensifying gloom outside.
She didn’t know what to expect for the guest bedroom but assumed Jon would have chosen bunk beds in whichever configuration worked best for his three kids—a son, Logan, who was in grade school; Paige, a middle schooler; and high schooler Ava. When the movers brought only a single queen mattress, she felt, she had to admit, a sense of relief that he wasn’t planning overnights anytime soon. In the abstract, she loved children. She was absolutely passionate about treating and curing sick kids. But she had never really known how to be anything other than a medical professional diagnosing and treating their symptoms. As an only child who’d never done a single hour of babysitting, she had no model or instinct for cooing to a baby, handling the incessant questions of a fourth grader, or disciplining a teenager who’d blown curfew. The very thought of doing those things made her nervous. She knew she would figure out how to be with Jon’s kids, but she was more than content to wait awhile.
Having made the executive decision that the third club chair was sent in error, Jessica signed the delivery order, gave the movers a healthy tip, and sent them on their way. In the sudden quiet, she felt lonely, and more than a little worried. Jon hadn’t appeared yet, and the rain had turned to sleet. She pictured cars sliding off the Chicago expressways—or into each other.
She had to charge her phone. Dashing out to a nearby Walgreens she’d seen earlier, just this side of the elevated tracks where trains rumbled overhead, she literally ran the whole way but still got plenty wet. Thankfully, they had not only USB cords but a functional outlet right outside the restroom.
With the first sign of a charge, her phone began to ping wildly. There were texts from Jon, the movers, and her mother, who wrote, Are you there yet?? Can’t relax until I know you’re safe.
She went straight to the messages from Jon.
Back in Chicago, but Annie Wilkes is in rare form.
