Karma kitty's Arc

Chapter 2 of 8

The demolition deadline gave Karma a list, and she started at the bottom. She climbed down to the basement with a flashlight. The foundation wall leaned inward. A long crack ran floor to ceiling. Dirt pushed through the gaps. One good rain, and the wall would cave. She pressed her palm against the cold brick and felt it give. She could not fix this alone. She called a contractor. He walked the basement, tapped the wall, and shook his head. "This is the whole house's spine," he said. "Steel braces, new footing, poured concrete. Ten thousand." Karma's stomach dropped. That was almost everything she had saved. She thought of the red notice upstairs and the deadline printed in black. She wrote the check. For two weeks his crew worked below her feet. They braced the wall with steel. They poured fresh concrete. When they finished, the wall stood straight and solid. Karma knocked on it and heard no hollow groan. The spine held. But her bank account was nearly empty now, and the roof still leaked. She climbed the ladder herself. She tore off the black, curling shingles and nailed down new ones, row by row. Rain no longer found its way inside. Then she painted. She rolled dark trim around every window and brushed a deep purple across the front door. She hung a black and white floral cover over the sunroom glass. The old Victorian, once all peeling paint and broken eyes, now stood dark and whole and hers. But the money was gone. She could not finish the inside yet. She had to wait for her next paychecks to rebuild her savings. So Karma turned to the yard, where dirt cost little. She dug two holes near the porch. In one she planted a shrub heavy with pink heart-shaped blossoms. In the other she set dark, bat-shaped flowers with velvety petals. They matched the door. They matched her. Evening came. Karma sat under the drooping willow at the edge of the yard. Its branches hung low in browns and amber. She looked back at the house. She remembered the ruin she had walked into, the smell, the crunching glass. Now the walls stood straight. The roof held. The door glowed purple in the last light. She had bought the house at auction and dragged it back from demolition, one repair at a time. Catpocino darted across the grass. A firefly blinked above the flowers, and the black cat leapt after it, tail flowing. Karma laughed and pulled her knees up. Then she remembered the deadline. The house looked finished from the outside. But the city inspector cared about the inside, and inside was still bare walls and empty rooms. Her savings were gone. The countdown was still running. She had made the house beautiful. She had not yet made it pass.