At least I try to.
“Who is this”—she glares at me—“big person?”
Big person?I’m sick of people saying stuff like that. I snap, “I’m Joe’s sister. Who areyou?”
She must not like me talking back, because she places her hands on her tiny waist and makes a move to step up onto the porch like she wants to throw down, but Lucky places a palm on her arm. “No.”
Ignoring him, she’s determined to say, “I’mwith Lucky.”
“Go home, Tiff.” Lucky sounds irritated now. I hope it’s not directed at me.
“Fine.” She spins on her heels. Her four-inch heels. When she gets a few feet away, she turns and glares at me. Looking back at Lucky, she chirps, “Call me.”
When our eyes meet, I give Lucky a shrug. “Sorry. I figured Joe would tell you.”
“He didn’t.” Yep. Lucky is absolutely irritated.
“I can go find somewhere else to sleep.”
Please say no. Please say no.
“I’m not turning you away, Becklyn.”
I pick up my bucket and wait for Lucky to unlock the door. He looks down at my hand. “What’s with the cleaning supplies?”
“I’m not sleeping in Joe’s room until I clean it.” I pretend shiver.
Lucky laughs. It’s a nice sound. “Good idea. Joe’s a slob.”
“I didn’t want to catch any communicable diseases.”
Another chuckle from Lucky, and I’m beaming with pride. He’s doesn’t laugh all that often, but when he does, it’s notable.
Taking my overnight bag from me, he sets it on top of the dining table. “You eat?”
“No.” I brought snacks. They’re in my overnight bag, but I’m not about to tell Lucky that.
“I was going to cook….” He flicks his eyes at the door. Which means he was going to cook for Tiff. “Chicken piccata with artichokes.”
“Wow, that sounds great.” And it does.
“I’ll cook while you decontaminate your brother’s room.”
“Right.” Since I’ve still got the bucket in my hand, I make my way to Joe’s room. Sucking in air, I hold my breath and turn the knob. Pushing the door open, I look inside before I take a step. “It’s worse than I thought.” The smell. Oh, geesh. The smell.
Setting the bucket at my feet, I reach in and pull out the rubber gloves, then snap them into place. Next, I take one of the three rags I brought and a bottle of air freshener. Entering, I begin to spray, moving my arm right, then left, sweeping the entire space.
Standing in a fog of my own making, I hear another chuckle. “At least it smells better already.”
“I don’t get it.” I look around. There are clothes literally everywhere. There’s even a shirt hanging from the ceiling fan. “My mom was always on us about keeping our rooms clean.” Motioning with the hand that’s holding the spray, I keep going. “It’s like he’s doing the opposite of her teachings.”
Lucky chuckles again. “Feel sorry for his wife.”
“Huh?” I squeak. “Is he getting married?”
“Uh, no. I mean his future wife.”
Glancing at a plate on the floor that looks to have food stuck to it older than me, I wince. “Whoever that poor soul is, she’d better have a strong stomach.”
