After spending the entire morning and a piece of the afternoon scrubbing the walls of her bedroom, and finally declaring them as good as they were going to get, she and Matt moved onto cleaning the old, scuffed wood floor, which was covered in just as much sticky nicotine as the walls had been. It had taken three separate moppings before she felt comfortable walking on those wide planks without shoes, but once that deed was accomplished, things felt as if things were shaping up.

The next chore on the list was cleaning the bathroom—oh god, the bathroom—which was going to take a blow torch and maybe a few sticks of dynamite, in her opinion. But, before the cleaning could commence, Ella appeared in the bedroom doorway, summoning them down to have a bite of lunch.

"I made enough soup and sandwiches to feed an army!" Ella beamed at them. "You two hurry up before the men down there clean it out!"

Clydie gave her mom a nod, knowing there was not a chance in hell that was going to happen. She and Matt dropped their cleaning supplies and headed for the door, but she took hold of Matt's arm, slowing him down so they could hang back.

"Matt, I have to warn you.  My mom can't cook," she whispered so as not to be overheard. "So, take a small bite or two and then push the rest around your plate so it looks like you're eating."

Matt shot her a confused look. "Its just sandwiches? How can she mess up sandwiches?"

"She can. Trust me," she assured. "But, we can't hurt her feelings, so just try to pretend that everything's okay."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Matt shrugged, clearly disbelieving her assertion. The poor fool.

Well, she'd tried to warn him. All she could do now was sit back and watch.

Down in the kitchen, they found Ella buzzing around the table, and Frank and the man she assumed to be Mr. Tanner sitting there, deep in a seemingly serious conversation.

"Dig in, kids!" Ella urged, taking her own seat. "I made turkey clubs with some homemade sandwich spread!"

Uh oh. The word homemade was a red flag if ever there was one.

Clydie took a seat and Matt plopped down beside her. There was what appeared to be canned chicken noodle soup sitting in the bowls before them, which might be safe to eat if her mother hadn't decided to do anything other than open the cans and dump them into a pot.

While she picked up her spoon, preparing to give the soup the tiniest of taste tests, her tongue almost rebelling just from the fear of the what ifs, she noticed that Matt and Mr. Tanner were both going for the sandwiches, giving themselves rather healthy portions.

Clydie caught her father's eye and she winced, lifting a shoulder in a gesture of helplessness. She knew what he was thinking. The Tanner men had no idea what was about to happen to them and he was worried they might do or say something that would hurt his wife. But, there was nothing they could do except sit with their butt cheeks clenched and hope for the best.

As she took a sip of the soup, which only had a slightly bitter, burned after taste to it, Matt and his father both took big mouthfuls of their turkey clubs. Clydie stiffened, watching as Matt chewed a couple of times...and then froze, his eyes going wide and his features hardening. There was a brief pause and then he chewed a couple of more times, as if making sure what was happening in his mouth was actually that bad.

It was.

The look of fear and uncertainty rolling over his face was stark as his eyes darted over to the stack of napkins, clearly and swiftly debating whether or not he should spit the food out. She shot a glance at Mr. Tanner, finding the same expression on his face...as if he'd swallowed something very large and very jagged and that thing was now lodged in his throat, causing him a fair amount of pain.

As she watched the men, both frozen in time, agonized looks on their faces, she abruptly began debating whether she should fake some sort of issue that would distract her mother before either of the Tanners did something that Ella would notice. Perched on the edge of pretending to choke to death, she saw Matt and his father both glance toward one another, their wide and fear filled eyes locking. And then, after a few stalled seconds, both of them obviously decided to bite the bullet and physically choke down their food at the same instant, Mr. Tanner then coughing several times and Matt, his eyes bulging, going straight for the plastic cup of soda sitting in front of him, draining it in a couple of long swigs.

"How are the sandwiches?" Ella asked, not a trace of concern on her pretty face.

Matt looked at the woman, stiffening in his chair, his mouth opening and closing a couple of times, but it was Mr. Tanner who answered. "They hit the spot, Mrs. Weston!" he grinned, though he did fail to mention exactly which spot had been hit and just how hard.

"Well, I'm glad you like them! The sauce is my own recipe!" Ella grinned back.

"I can tell. There's nothing like homemade!" Just to back up his words, Mr. Tanner took another mouthful, chewing it and forcing it down his throat with a good amount of gusto.

Of course, the coughing at the end and the way his cheeks flushed red from the effort, or perhaps the taste, sort of gave him away. Ella didn't seem to notice, though. She just smiled at the man and went on eating her own lunch because she was naturally immune to her own cooking.

Matt, off the hook, relaxed a fraction and turned his slightly watering and almost stricken eyes to Clydie, who took pity on him and cocked her head toward the bowl of soup, picking up her spoon and taking a tiny sip of the broth, wincing only a touch as the burned taste hit the back of her throat.

Looking utterly terrified, Matt took up his own spoon, dipping it into his bowl and bringing it to his mouth with a hand that trembled. He gave it a tentative sip, freezing up for a second, but then unclenching his muscles as he realized it wasn't completely inedible. It wasn't great. But, it wasn't toxic, either.

"So, what can we do in here first? And keep in mind, I really don't want to the place to be gutted. I want it to keep its charm," Ella stated, back to business.

Mr. Tanner discreetly placed his sandwich back onto his paper plate before answering. "Welp, its pretty beat up in here. We might be able to save the cabinets with enough paint, but those old Formica counter tops are so chipped and cracked, they'll probably have to be replaced."

As the conversation ran on, Matt, abandoning all hope of having food for lunch, leaned close to Clydie and whispered, "What should I do with this stuff?"

"Just push it around and we'll dump it into the trash when she's not looking," she whispered back.

"How are you not starving to death?" he wondered, making a face as he glanced down at his plate.

"I sneak out for takeout or cook something for myself later," she responded.

"She really doesn't know?" Matt asked dubiously.

"She's eating it herself, isn't she?" Clydie pointed out and Matt look at Ella, a moderate amount of disgust washing over his face as he watched the woman munching away on her sandwich.

"I'll make us something in a little while," she assured.

Matt's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Can you cook?"

"Yes, I can cook."

Matt did not seem convinced, but he offered no reply. Instead, he took her advice and began fiddling with his sandwich and soup, trying to be inconspicuous about it, but he was so awkward that Clydie felt certain her mother would hone in on him like a bird of prey honing in on a meal.

Since her nerves couldn't take wondering when her mother would become suspicious of all Matt's shuffling and clinking, she decided to intervene. "Mom, we're gonna go eat upstairs so we can keep working on my room," she said, picking up her paper plate as she stood.

"Alright. But, take a few more sandwiches. There's plenty to go around," Ella smiled complacently.

Matt followed her lead, both of them filling their plates with food that would never be touched before quickly exiting the kitchen and making for the safety of her bedroom, Matt wearing the expression of a thief who just knew he was about to be caught red handed.

"I didn't notice a garbage can in your room. What are we supposed to do with all this?" Matt wondered once they hit the stairway.

"I dunno? Maybe...chuck it out the window?" she posed that solution.

"What on earth did she do?  Why do these things taste like...like...old pennies and window cleaner?" came the question, as a visible shiver ran through him.

"Don't ask me.  I've watched her cook with my own eyes and I still don't know how she does it," she confessed.

Old pennies and window cleaner.  Poor Mr. Tanner.  He'd taken two bites!

Matt, rushing them both along at a steady clip, hurried into her room and went straight for the window, unlatching it and pushing it open. Without delay, he snatched up half a sandwich—glancing back toward the bedroom door as if he expected a slavering demon to come bursting through, ready to tear his innards out—drew back his arm and hurled the thing out of the house with all strength he could muster.

The offending item went sailing out over the backyard, exploding in mid-air, all the separate pieces raining down over the tall weeds like bread and meat shaped raindrops. Sandwich after sandwich followed along the same path and when the last of the turkey and bacon had disappeared among the tangle of vegetation, Matt huffed out a relieved sigh, swiping a hand over his damp face.

"Okay. Its done," he said in rather a dire tone.

Clydie couldn't help but find his unease amusing. "Its alright. You did what you had to do," she said in the same somber tone, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

Turning his vivid blue eyes to her, Matt lifted his mouth in something of an unsteady grin. "You're kind of dick."

She shrugged. "Guilty."

Huffing out another breath, he turned his attention out to the bedroom. "So, what's next on the agenda? The bathroom?"

Oh god. The bathroom.

"We're going to need some protection first. I'm not touching anything in there with my bare skin," she stated plainly.

"Not touching anything? Haven't you peed since you've been here?" Matt questioned, dropping his gaze down toward her nether regions, as if he could tell that way.

"Of course, I've peed. I just hover and hold my breath and get out as fast as I can," she divulged.

Showering was another matter. She had skipped that particular hygiene point since standing in the filthy tub was not something she was willing to do. A hot shower would be nice, though...but, that meant tackling all the mold and dirt and...stains.

"Well, what kind of gear do we have?" asked Matt.

Clydie did a mental inventory in her head. Her mother had been a NICU nurse and she'd managed to bring home quite a few supplies over the years, so they should have no trouble scrounging up some make-shift get ups that would prevent them both from becoming infected with cholera or diphtheria or Ebola.

"I'll run and see what I can find," she said, hurrying out of the room.

After a few words with her mother and a search for the appropriately labeled boxes, which had been placed in the corner of one of the front rooms, she gathered anything and everything that might prove useful, shoved it all into an empty box, tossed in a few extra cleaning supplies from the kitchen, and then hied herself back up to her bedroom.

"Alright, let's suit up," she said, dropping the box onto the bed and beginning to pull things out.

Ten minutes later, she and Matt stood facing one another, gear in place. They were both wearing white bouffant hair caps, blue surgical grade face masks, disposable lab coats, latex gloves, and she'd even found a couple of pairs of medical goggles.

Looking her up and down, Matt's gaze narrowed behind his plastic glasses. "We looked stupid," he needlessly pointed out, the mask muffling his words.

"I know," she agreed. "But, do you want to clean that toilet without protection?"

He thought about that for a second. "Not really."

"Well, then." That so stated, she filled her arms with as many cleaning supplies as she could carry, sent a quick prayer heavenward and headed toward the bathroom.

Oh god. The bathroom.

She hadn't really spent any amount of time in that room, assessing the decades of neglect, but once she was in there, facing it head on, she realized it was so much worse than she'd originally thought. The entire room was fetid! She was honestly surprised that the last occupant hadn't died from Typhoid fever. The bathtub...there were no words. And the toilet...sweet mercy, she'd never seen anything like it.

She truly doubted there were enough chemicals in the entire town of Cedar Cove to get it up to livable, hygienic standards and a part of her had already begun tossing up images of having to pee behind one of the old evergreen trees in the back garden.

Matt, however, seemed to harbour no fear of the filth and the questionable stains lingering in the tub and commode. He dove in without regard to his personal health and well-being, tackling the toilet straight off. Clydie, feeling a tad bit guilty about letting the poor guy clean that mess—but not guilty enough to jump in and take over—went for the shower.

The salmon pink tub and pea green tile walls were thick with grime and soap scum and grit and worse, she could have sworn that she could see a couple of actual, blackened footprints on the bottom of the tub, which skeeved her out in ways she couldn't even explain. But, this was her bathroom now and if she ever wanted to be able to shower, or pee, she was going to have to get it cleaned up. No matter how terrifying filthy it was.

Seriously, she was certain she could see the grimy footprints of the previous owners still stuck to the pink porcelain of the tub...

*  *  *  *  *  *

At some point, the rumbling in their stomachs drove Clydie to disrobe and head down to the kitchen in search of food. Frank, Ella, and Mr. Tanner were still there, Frank standing by while his wife and Mr. Tanner measured the counter top by the sink. With practiced ease and stealth, she made for the fridge, giving it a quick survey before grabbing out a couple of water bottles and the leftover pizza from the night before, since she really couldn't sneak and cook anything with her mother standing right there.

"So, what do you think, Frank?" Ella was asking her husband. "I hate to spend the money, but these counters are awful. I mean, they're so unsanitary, with all these cracks and crannys."

"I think you know what you're doing, Ella, so do what suits you," Frank answered easily.

"But, the budget! This will cost a fortune!" Ella worried.

Mr. Tanner stepped back while the couple fell into a discussion about cost and budgeting and Clydie took that opportunity to slink over to the man, who looked like an older version of Matt, complete with blonde hair, blue eyes, and muscular frame, and handed him a couple of pieces of pizza on a napkin.

He looked at the food offering that was ice cold and covered in a layer of congealed grease for a brief second before giving her a quick wink and shoving nearly half a slice into his mouth. She smiled back at him and then fled the room before her mother caught onto her.

After a quick break and a few slices, their hunger was slaked, and she and Matt suited back up and got right back to work. And they stayed at work for what felt like several hours. Clydie had no idea just how much her parents were paying Matt Tanner, but she hoped it was a sizable chunk of cash because the poor guy spent those hours on his knees, elbow deep in the toilet, scrubbing like there was no tomorrow. Really, he was a work horse! He didn't slow down, he didn't complain, he didn't stop to take a break, even when they accidentally mixed a chemical cocktail in the toilet that filled the room with noxious, throat burning, eye searing fumes, which forced her to flee. He just stayed the course, coughing and gagging and sniffling...and scrubbing away.

By the time five o'clock rolled around and Matt had to clock out for the day, they had managed to make a good amount of progress. The room wasn't exactly sterile, but it smelled nice, the tile walls and floor were clean, the bathtub was free of grimy, leftover footprints, and the toilet was actually usable.

"I'll be back to pick you for the bonfire," Matt said as he peeled off his gear. "You should wear something warm. It gets cold here at night and you're not used to it."

"I'll bundle up," she promised, peeling off her own gear and following him out of her bedroom.

She wasn't exactly keen on going to Matt's bonfire, but she'd committed to it, so she was going to plow through. There was no law saying that she had to stay if she wasn't into it. She was free to leave at any time.

She did figure that she needed to tell her parents her plans for the evening, though. She wasn't exactly a kid anymore and didn't technically need permission to leave the house, but since she hadn't really ventured out in the past two years, she wasn't sure how the rules would work for her. Or if there would even be rules.

She found her parents in the kitchen, Frank busily washing out the insides of the cabinets and Ella rummaging through the fridge. She did notice that the hours Mr. Tanner had spent in the house had resulted in a good portion of the old wallpaper being stripped off the walls. Unfortunately, there was another layer of wallpaper beneath the first, so it appeared his time had been wasted.

"Hey, honey. Are you hungry? I'm thinking of making scrambled eggs and toast," Ella said.

Clydie tried not to shiver at the thought of those little, rubbery nuggets of scrambled egg that felt and tasted like Play-doh. "Uh, actually, I'm thinking about going to a bonfire with Matt in a little while. I mean, if that's okay?"

Both Frank and Ella looked at her, their eyes wide with surprise. "You're going to a bonfire? Really?" Frank asked, almost disbelievingly.

Clydie nodded. "If its okay?"

Ella suddenly broke into a toothy smile. "Clydie, of course its okay! You should be going out and having fun! And Matt Tanner is so cute!"

That could not be argued. "What time is curfew?"

Ella gave her head a shake. "Honey, you're a grown woman now. You don't have a curfew."

"But, you still shouldn't stay out all night," Frank put in. "You're still a young lady and you need to be in by a decent hour."

"Oh, psht!" Ella rejoined. "She's going out with a cute boy for the first time in ages! Let her have fun without worrying about anything!"

Frank did not look convinced. "Well, you'll stay with Matt, right? You don't know anyone else and you never know what people are thinking."

"I'll stay with Matt," she agreed obediently.

"Frank, don't pester her! She's not twelve! She's almost twenty!" Ella fussed. "As long as you're not drinking or doing drugs, you just go on and have a good time, Clydie!"

She had no curfew? Well, that felt...weird.

"I'm so happy for you, Clydie!" Ella went on, going back to rummaging around the fridge. "You've only been here for two days and you already have two really hot guys taking notice!"

"I don't have anyone taking notice. Matt's just a friend," she replied to her mom. She chose not to comment on the other person she figured her mom was referring to.

"Well, that might be how you see Matt Tanner, but I don't think that's how he sees you," came the knowing reply. "And that Julian Donovan certainly isn't interested in friendship."

Clydie stiffened, her stomach dropping a fraction. "I-I don't know what Julian Donovan is interested in." Nor did she care to know.

"Speaking of Julian Donovan, I'd like to know why he's interested in my daughter. I think he's a little long in the tooth to be taking notice of her," Frank added firmly.

"Frank, you're nearly fifteen years older than me," Ella pointed out. "We met when I was barely older than Clydie."

"That's different," Frank grumped, going back to washing the cabinet shelves. "This is my daughter we're talking about."

"And your daughter is a grown woman. And Julian Donovan is a very handsome man who has his eye on her. Who are we to stand in the way of that?" posed Ella.

"She's only nineteen, Ella. And that guy is, what, at least thirty five?" Frank pointed out.  "Not to mention, we don't anything about him.  He could be a depraved murderer.  Or worse.  A Republican!"

Ella offered up a chuckle. "Clydie will be twenty in a couple of months. And Julian Donovan is twenty seven. His father lives in Texas, his brother and mother live in the next town over. He just moved into a house down the road a few weeks ago. And he makes a living as an IT consultant."

Frank shot his wife a look. "You learned all that from talking to him for ten minutes?"

"She's my daughter, too, Frank. You didn't think I'd screen him?" wondered Ella.

"Well, is he a Republican?" Frank pressed.

"You'll have to ask him that, dear."

Spinning on her heel, Clydie pointed herself toward the kitchen door, deciding to leave Frank and Ellla to discuss the many fine attributes of Julian Donovan. She, meanwhile, would go and have a nice hot shower in her newly cleaned tub. And she would ignore the bite of her mother's outright eagerness where the man was concerned.

She understood that things had been difficult for her parents. Dealing with one difficult daughter had been bad enough, but to then be left with a daughter...like her... But, was it really so bad that Ella would want to rush her daughter into the arms of the first available man, just to be rid of her? Because, that's what it rather felt like. It felt as if her mother was so keen to be rid of the problem, she didn't care what means were used.

It stung, knowing that she was that hard for her mother to deal with, though she'd always tried her best not to be. It stung her that she couldn't give Ella Weston the freedom and the quiet life that she wanted.

 She could only console herself with the knowledge that it probably wouldn't be too long before Ella would be set free...and then the woman could go on and live her life without any sort of burden weighing her down.