Carola bought a twenty-year-old F-150 with more rust than color on it, and a heating system that worked only on high or not at all, but it had four wheel drive, important because it was snowing lightly every single day since she set out to find a rental place.
Not an easy task. All the summer cabins recommended by friends of Maria were located deep in the woods. Carola managed to inspect only one or two a day. On the long, treacherous drives on badly plowed country roads, cutting through low income areas looking like trailer parks, she usually wondered why she even bothered. Once there, her foreboding was usually confirmed. The cabins were uncared for, had cracked siding, slipped gutters, broken doors and windows, their yards were littered with scrap metal. No point even going inside. She couldn’t live like that.
But the alternative was to stay home with Maria, getting fat and lazy.
On day seven, she was yet again on her way to a place Maria had marked on her map. Five hundred dollars rent, well within her budget, and the description sounded promising, too. Probably too cheap to be a decent place, but still.
Beggars can’t be choosers.
Three hundred thousand to my name, but no income and no prospects.
It started to snow. Thick and heavy. The kind that limits sight and blankets the ground with a wet, slippery mass. Turning back would be the smart thing to do, but then she considered her options again. Going back to Germany? To Peter? He had a girlfriend. He had locked her out of their office. To crawl back was to admit defeat.
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