“No, just one. But you think there could be several?”
Laughing, Lauren says, “No, I do not.”
“Okay, good. You had me worried for a second.”
“Do you want to talk on the phone until you fall asleep?”
Relief sweeps over me. “Could we?”
“Of course.”
Chapter Nine
Drowning people sometimes die fighting their rescuers
~ Octavia Butler
I wake to a text from Liam.I can swing by after I drop my daughter at school to go over the quote. Will you be home in an hour?
Sounds great. See you then.
Actually, it doesn't sound great at all. As much as I have to face the reality of the renovations, I've been enjoying the last few hours of blissful ignorance. But that time is swiftly drawing to a close, just like all happy moments.Whoa, that was dark. It’s just some repair work, Abby, take it down a notch.
I text Lauren to thank her for putting me to sleep last night and promise her I’ll be fine from now on. As I look around the bright room, I feel almost sure it’s true. In the light of day, there is nothing foreboding about this place.
I dress, feed Walt, then brew a pot of coffee, becoming increasingly anxious as the minutes slide by. I toast two slices of bread, but when they pop up, I suddenly realize I’m too nervous to eat. I spread butter on them anyway, then sit down on the office chair that has found a temporary purpose at the kitchen table. Taking a bite, I chew, only to find it feels like sand in my mouth. Why the hell am I so nervous? I have almost a hundred and fifty thousand left in my account. Even if the repairs cost me one hundred of that, I’ll still have a nice big chunk left over while I write my next book.
My chest squeezes at the thought of writing again. That’s it. This feels like a very final decision. If I go ahead with the work, it’s really me saying I will write again, because I won’t have a choice. I can’t live off the money forever. The housing market is sloth-level slow here, so pouring more cash into this place will dramatically move up the timeline on the necessity for me to work again. Letting out a big sigh, I stare out the window into my mess of a backyard, then realize the choice was made when I signed the official offer on the house. I committed to starting over here and I’m not the type to turn back when I’ve made a decision. I stick to my guns. It’s one of my best traits. Or worst, depending on who you ask.
Liam arrives right on time. When I open the door, I'm greeted by a freshly shaved version of him. He’s dressed in jeans and a plain white T-shirt today. We exchange hellos and I step aside to let him in. As he walks past me, I catch just a hint of aftershave which draws out the memory of what it's like to touch the smooth, strong jawline of a man. I sweep the image away, trying to brush the accompanying guilt into the dustpan of my mind. “Hey, you arrived exactly when you said you would. I thought contractors were supposed to keep you waiting."
Liam turns and smiles. "I'm not a real contractor. Just a guy who does a little of this and a lot of that.”
“Oh, right, I almost forgot.” I chuckle. “So, men who do a little of this and a lot of that show up on time?"
“It’s one of the many advantages of hiring us.”
“One of many?” I ask as I start toward the kitchen.
“Yes, we also don’t charge an arm and a leg. You’ll see in my estimate that the customary fifteen percent for materials is missing.”
“Oh, well thatisa big advantage.”
He follows me to the kitchen, and I can't help but feel self-conscious, wondering if he's giving my enormous behind the once over. I’m suddenly aware of how I'm walking, so I straighten up my back and suck in my gut, which is pointless because he has a view of my ass, which cannot be sucked in, no matter how hard I try. And also, I already know he finds me grotesque. And I really don't care either way. I let it out again, slightly satisfied at this tiny act of defiance.
"Can I get you a coffee before you ruin my dream of living in an affordable little seaside cottage?"
"Sure, thanks. I like cream in my coffee. It makes the dream crushing taste sweeter."
Liam leans up against the counter while I prepare his coffee. I hand it to him, then gesture to the table. “Office chair or stool?”
“I’ll go stool,” he says, settling himself on it. He sips the coffee, then opens a black zip-up padfolio and hands me the two-page estimate. “You’ll see I’ve broken it down into two sections—the must-do repair work, then the nice-to-do stuff. I’ve priced out mid-range fixtures and materials, so that bit really depends on your taste. It could go lower, although I wouldn’t suggest going too much lower because you’ll only end up having to replace everything a lot sooner. You could also go as high as the clouds, if you want top of the line. Some people do that too.”
Flipping to the back page first, I start with the bottom line. $87,500 if we do everything. The amount causes my stomach to lurch. I study the numbers, making little ‘mm-hmm’ sounds, hoping to appear cool and collected.
“It’s a lot all at once,” he says. “You could break it up into smaller bits. Do the musts this year, then wait a while to do more. It’s really all up to you. And don’t feel like you need to decide today. You can think it over and let me know later.”
I lean back in my chair and look up at him. “If we did everything, how long will it take?”
