“Whoops . . .”
Scott rubbed his side. “I think that might be an understatement. We should probably oil your car doors or something, for everyone’s safety.”
I reached for my purse, climbed out, and slammed the door shut. “If that was the case, where would I take out all my aggression?”
Scott flinched. “Remind me to never make you angry. I should make a list. Beware of pumpkins, never stand between Marissa and cookies, likes me with my shirt?—”
“Shut up!” I pushed him and Scott laughed.
“You’re just proving my point.”
“Whatever.” I headed to the office front door with Scott right behind me.
“Okay, seriously though, I have to ask, or it will haunt me all day. What are you doing with that ladder in your car?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the worried expression on your face and then the ladder in your backseat . . . it can’t be good.” He grimaced.
“You worry too much.” I grinned as I stepped into the office. I froze. There on my computer desk, where the old paper pumpkin used to be, was a vase of lilacs.
Purple. Mom.
Scott?
I turned around to Scott. He was rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand and staring at the ground.
“Was that you?” I pointed to the flowers.
He shrugged. “Wasn’t a big deal. They aren’t real or anything. I saw them in a box in Carol’s garage and she said I could have them.” He was talking fast, and his cheeks turned red. “I wanted to say thank you for talking to me last night. I washed them though, hopefully I got all the dirt off . . .”
This was what I needed this morning, a hello from Mom. I turned and threw my arms around him. He stiffened.
“Thanks for remembering.”
His arms softened and rubbed my back. It was comfortable here after a night of no sleep. I could stay here forever.Whoa. No.
I bolted out of his arms and went to the vase. I touched one of the small, dainty petals. “Now lilacs will always remind me of my mom, and you.”
Scott cleared his throat. “Anyway, don’t change the subject . . . about that ladder.”
I went around my desk and turned on the PC. “Nothing nefarious. I'm hiding it from Nan.”
His eyebrows pulled down in question.
I sat in my chair and sighed. “Turns out we have some shingles loose. Nan picked the lock on the shed and attempted to fix them herself this morning.” I shivered, remembering her wobbling on top of the ladder. “Stinking woman can’t be trusted.”
“How old is Nan?”
“Eighty-three,” I answered.
“What? Umm wow . . .”
“She is so determined. She did this ten months ago, and I had to lock up everything in the shed. It’s like she thinks she is still in her fifties or something.” I rubbed my eyes. “I will have to fix them tonight before she gets too antsy.”
“So, you’ll be on your roof fixing shingles tonight? Alone?” Heflinched. “Do you have someone to hold the ladder . . . other than Nan?”
I waved it off. “No, but I can lean it against the siding and it should be fine.”
