She scowls at me. “My new downstairs neighbor needs furniture.”
“I see.” Probably a good thing. One less piece of hideous furniture won’t be missed. Patting the edge of the door with my hand, I look back at her and feel uncertain enough to ask, “You’re gonna let me back in, right?”
She doesn’t answer, but she does grace me with a grin that I’ll probably remember forever. Because it’s beautiful. Sure, it’s full of mischief, but that’s what makes it special. “Be right back,” I repeat. “Oh. Where’s your breaker box?”
“Why?”
I use my thumb to point back to the baby space. “I never mess with electricity.”
“Oh. Right. It’s down there also. It’s labeled with my apartment number.”
“Three B, right?”
“Right.”
“Great. Be right back.”
The basement is fucking scary. I notice there is an apartment door on the right as I reached the bottom of the steps, and on the left side of the building are two coin-operated washing machines and two dryers, but everything else is dank and no doubt spider infested. I fucking hate spiders.
Ignoring my innate fear of arachnids, I locate the ladder. Next to it is a red metal toolbox. “I wonder if she’s got tools.” I’m going to go out on a limb and say, no, she has no tools. Before grabbing those, I search for the breaker box. I’m half worried what I’m going to find. I’ve done enough renovations to old places like this that it’s rare to see updated wiring. Knob and tube wiring is more likely. When I find the breaker boxes for the entire building, I’m pleasantly surprised to see they aren’t original; they’ve been updated, and I’d say recently. I open the metal door for the third floor, and I’m even more stunned to see everything labeled and organized so it can be easily accessed. I find the switch for 3B lights and flip it to the off position. It’s reassuring it won’t impact other things in her place. Next, with my arm underneath a rung of the ladder, I slip that over my shoulder, then bend down for the red metal toolbox.
Making my way up the steps, I make note of each of the other floors. I count two apartments on each level, and one in the basement. I feel sorry for the poor sap who has to live down there. In all, this old Victorian house has seven apartments. If they all look like Maggy’s apartment, I’d say this was a nice place to live. Her place has dormer windows, high ceilings, and tons of light thanks to the large windows. In all, Maggy’s apartment has character and warmth. It’s too bad there isn’t a fireplace. But I guess she wouldn’t want that with the baby.
The baby.
Mybaby.
I choose to shake off those thoughts. I’m only here to check on her after her ER visit. And to hang a light fixture. Then I’ll leave and never see her again.
That sounds like a solid plan.
* * *
“There you go.”I’ve attached the last of the crystals onto the pretty fixture and have stepped off the final rung of the ladder, looking up at my handiwork. The light fixture, a miniature chandelier, looks great in this small space. I’ve already gone back down to hit the power switch on the electrical panel to make sure it’s working.
“That looks nice.” I watch as she reaches for the dimmer switch I also installed. She moves the small lever up and down and watches as the light starts off at its brightest and then gradually dims to off. “Cool,” she says with a smile. “That will be a nice feature for the baby.” She looks at me, then quickly looks away.
“Are you hungry? I made some food.”
“Oh…” I knew she was cooking something. The delicious smells were driving me nuts.
“It’s the least I can do. To thank you for doing that for me.” She points to the ceiling.
“If you have enough.”
“I made extra.”
“Oh. Cool. Thanks.” God, why do I sound like a fucking teenager over at the pretty girl’s house?
I’m not a goddamn teenager.
“You can sit at the counter or on the sofa.” Her tiny table is covered with papers and her laptop.
I look over at the dilapidated sofa covered in a fabric I’ve only seen in movies from the ’70s or ’80s. “That couch,” I snicker.
“What about it?”
There’s no humor in her voice.
