"Mrs. Whitby..."
"I said I'll pay for the materials."
"That's not what I wanted to discuss."
"Then what?"
"I wanted to ask if you need help with the repairs. I could..."
"You could what? Climb on my roof? You can barely climb a ladder without falling."
"I've been practicing."
"Practicing ladder climbing?"
"Among other things."
"Such as?"
"Basic carpentry. Roof repair. General maintenance skills that a proper neighbour should have."
She looked at him skeptically. "You've been learning maintenance skills?"
"Thomas's been teaching me. He's surprisingly knowledgeable for a twelve-year-old."
"Thomas's been teaching you?"
"Well, teaching might be generous. He's been pointing and laughing while I figure things out through trial and error."
"That sounds more accurate." She almost smiled, then caught herself. "I don't need help."
"But will you accept it anyway?"
"Why would I do that?"
"Because your roof needs fixing, I need to prove I can be useful for something other than pretty speeches, and Thomas has a bet going about whether I can successfully complete a manual labor task without injuring myself."
"What are the odds?"
"Depressingly against me."
This time she did smile, just slightly. "Fine. You can help. But if you fall off my roof and break your neck, I'm not explaining it to the Queen."
"I don't think the Queen would care particularly."
"You'd be surprised. She and your mother were friends, you know."
"They were?"
"They corresponded regularly.”
“Well, she would be happy to know that I'm trying to be better about facing things directly now."
"Such as?"
"Such as the fact that you're still angry with me and I don't know how to fix it."
The almost-playful atmosphere evaporated. Marianne's expression closed off, and she stepped back.
