My husband picked me up from the training center where I was “learning to be a teller” and filled me in on what was happening.
It had been three days since we moved there. Our stuff had arrived and he had pretty much gotten it all unpacked while I worked. The regional office still hadn’t found a position for him, so we were waiting to see how that all panned out. In the meantime, it was kind of handy to have him home to meet the movers and be there for his car’s arrival and all that.
Unfortunately, as I mentioned before, the car hadn’t arrived. It was now over two days past when we’d expected it and we were a bit concerned. We weren’t used to living with one vehicle and, honestly, we weren’t sure how we’d juggle it if, all of a sudden, they found a placement for him!
They didn’t, however, and it worked for him to drop me off and pick me up from work for the next five days. A full week after we had expected it, his car was delivered. And, upon its arrival, we learned it didn’t run.
Now, this wasn’t a brand new car, by any stretch, but it wasn’t exactly old, either. It was ’99 Grand Am and it was only 2002 at the time. Because my car knowledge is very, very low, I can’t recall what all was wrong with it, but the mechanic told us it would be thousands to get it running well. He could sort of “patch it” in the meantime, to get us through, but we all knew it wouldn’t last.
We got back from the mechanic’s and a man we’d never met approached us in the parking lot.
“Are you the new people? The ones with the Envoy?”
We nodded. (The Envoy was my vehicle– less than a year old!)
“I just wanted to let you know that some guy hit your car. He damaged it quite a bit. I don’t know the guy who did it, but he’s friends with the guys in 4F.”
We thanked him for the information, then walked over to look at my SUV. It was, indeed, damaged. Fantastic.
We slowly walked back into the apartment. His car was on its last legs. Mine had been hit. He still didn’t have a job lined up.
The phone rang.
It was his dad. I listened to him fill his parents in on all the things that had happened in the last week. Our happy little move was turning on its head and it was so upsetting to have these problems keep piling up. I could hear the frustration in his voice.
I still remember, vividly, mixing him a rum and coke and sitting by him on the floor. “It’ll be okay. It’s going to work out. Right?”
We took my Envoy to the shop and got our rental. We carried on for the next two days, which got us to a Friday night. We decided to use a gift card and go out to Applebees for dinner. It was fun and relaxing and just what we needed.
We were laughing as we walked up the stairs to our third floor apartment. We saw our message light blinking, so we played it, as I kicked off my heels.
“Hi, guys. It’s Mom and Dad. We’re in Chesapeake, but we couldn’t find your apartment. Give us a call on Mom’s cell.”
His parents had driven to Chesapeake.
Without telling us.
I suddenly wasn’t quite sure I COULD handle all of this…
The rest of this story can be found here:
Part 1: Itchy Feet
Part 2: Looking Northward
Part 3: Picking a Town
Part 4: The Job “Search”
Part 5: Selling Our First Home (at 25)
Part 6: Sold!
Part 7: Virginia or bust!