In the Dog House. V.M. Burns

a low, throaty chuckle that caused her eyes to crinkle at the corners and her belly to shake. “You wanna know how I knew you was crying ’bout a man? Or, how I knew he wasn’t worth them tears?” She laughed again. “Only a man can make a woman cry like you was crying. And, baby, ain’t no man worth crying over.” She leaned close. “Tears are a precious commodity. You shouldn’t waste them on someone that done you wrong.”

      I sat up straight. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

      She shook her head. “Alright, why don’t you tell Miss Florrie what’s bothering you.”

      I stared at the strange woman, who didn’t seem to think anything strange about asking personal questions of a complete stranger on a train.

      Miss Florrie looked at me expectantly. Her soft brown eyes were patient and kind, and before I realized it, I was telling her about Albert, our life in Lighthouse Dunes, Stephanie and David, and even my pitiful excuse for a garden.

      Miss Florrie listened patiently without interrupting. She listened and nodded at the appropriate places and tsked her disapproval at the right time.

      When I finished my tale, I felt spent but calmer than I’d felt in months. I looked at Miss Florrie and waited for her pronouncement. Part of my brain wondered why I cared what this stranger thought. However, another part of me was more than curious.

      Miss Florrie sat quietly for several moments. Then she smiled. “Well, you been done wrong, that’s for sure, but ain’t nobody on this earth gets off without no trouble. I reckon you done had yo share. Now, whatchu gonna do ’bout it?”

      I blinked. “What do you mean?” The irony of telling my troubles to a complete stranger on a train hit me. I had no intention of reenacting the Alfred Hitchcock movie where two strangers met on a train and committed murder for each other.

      She must have read my mind, because she laughed again. “Honey, you ain’t got no cause to worry ’bout Miss Florrie.” She chuckled. “I like watching dem old movies too, but I ain’t ’bout to kill nobody.” She laughed.

      Her hearty laugh and sincerity made me realize I was being ridiculous.

      “Your husband left you.” She stared intently at me. “Whatchu gonna do now?”

      I shrugged. “Well, my daughter is an attorney and she’s working on negotiating for support and the house—”

      “You mean that house you just told me you can’t stand?”

      I stared at her. “Yeah, that house.”

      “Why you want it? Seems to me that man done you a favor.”

      “I don’t understand.”

      “Well, you don’t like the house. He wants the house. Why fight for a house you don’t want?”

      I shrugged. “I guess it’s the principle of the thing.”

      “Pshaw. You gotta pick yo battles, and that one ain’t worth the energy. Now, I ain’t saying you just give him the house. No. You entitled to a fair share. He should pay you half of what the house is worth. Then you take that money and you do the things you’ve always wanted to do.”

      “What things?”

      She laughed. “Baby, only you can answer dat.” She chuckled. “But I can tell you, if it was me and I had a chance to start over, I’d leave this snow and cold and move someplace warm.”

      I smiled. “Florida?”

      “Noooo.” She shook her head. “Florida is too hot and humid for me, plus they got gators in Florida. Miss Florrie can’t do no gators.”

      There was something lyrical in the way she spoke. Florida sounded like Floor-y-da, and I wanted to smile.

      She shook her head. “Naw, I got a sister lives in Chattanooga, Tennessee. I ain’t seen her in ten years. I’d move there.”

      “Chattanooga? I have a friend in Chattanooga, my roommate from college.”

      “Where ’bouts?”

      I shrugged. “I’m not really sure. I’ve never been there. We were best friends in college, but we drifted apart,” I said vaguely. “You know the kids came, and well, we just lost touch.”

      Miss Florrie looked at me as though she could see through my soul. Heat rose up my neck, and I knew I was blushing. She saw through all of my lies, but she didn’t say anything.

      Instead, she shrugged. “It’s warm most of the time in Chattanooga. It gets hot in the summer, but that’s okay with me.” She leaned closer. “The older I get, the harder it is for me to take the snow and cold.” She shivered. “I feel the cold down in my bones and it gets in my soul. The long, cold winters do somethin’ to folks. They gets depressed and sad with all dat snow and cold.” She shook her head as though shaking away the memory of the cold. “They got mountains and lots of green in Tennessee.” She nodded. “Yep, if it was me, that’s what I’d do. I’d buy me a house and a little building where I could start a restaurant down south and start over. Life is too short to be unhappy.”

      “A restaurant? Are you a chef?”

      She chuckled. “Naw, I ain’t no chef. You gotta go to school to be a chef. I’m just a cook. Been cooking all my life.” She sat straight and tall. “Pretty good at it too, if I do say so myself.”

      “What if you move away and you don’t like it?”

      Miss Florrie laughed. “Baby, that’s easy. I’d sell the house and the restaurant and try someplace else, and I’d keep trying until I find my happy place.”

      * * * *

      Later, when I sat in the cold cookie-cutter house Albert insisted would be a great investment, I thought about what Miss Florrie said. I thought about finding my happy place. If I was honest with myself, I hated the house. I’d always hated it. Almost all of the houses looked exactly the same. The same builder built most of them, and there were only three different plans in the entire subdivision. The same house, but with different color siding, shutters, or brick façades. I hated the fact the house had very few windows. I hated that the neighborhood association dictated my life, right down to the type of plants I could have, and refused to allow a fence. They even had rules about the type of Christmas decorations I could put up. I’d always wanted a dog, but the association would only allow invisible fences. At one time, I thought about fighting them, but Albert was allergic to dogs anyway, so it all became a moot point and I eventually gave up. If I moved, I could get a house with a fence and I could get a dog. Heck, I could get several dogs if I wanted. The children were grown and had both moved away, Stephanie to Chicago and David to New York City. There was nothing holding me to Lighthouse Dunes. No job. No husband.

      The idea of moving away and starting over had sounded scary on the train. However, in the still silence of an empty house, the idea took root and started to grow. I walked through the rooms, full of furniture and memories of a life that was no longer my reality, and realized I didn’t particularly care about any of the furniture. The pictures of the children were the only things I valued, and I could take those with me. At that moment, I decided to take control of my life and find my happy place.

      “But where to go?” I spoke into the cold, dark, empty house and waited. Thankfully, there was no answer. I sat at my computer and typed, Where should I live?

      I didn’t honestly expect an answer. However, my browser returned a list of sites with quizzes to determine the best place to live, based on my responses. I was pleasantly surprised and spent several hours taking online quizzes. I got responses for everywhere from Spain to Texas. One of the sites provided a list of ten best cities based on my answers, including climate, housing, and demographic information. I browsed the list and was excited when Chattanooga, Tennessee, showed up in my list as one of my ten places. I clicked on the link and stayed up until the wee small hours of the night looking at houses and jobs and reading as much as I could. Spain sounded exotic and fun, but my