She steps out slowly, like she’s not sure she won’t be shot for trespassing. She’s wearing jeans, a soft gray sweater, and her hair pulled back in a loose knot that’s already coming undone from the wind. She looks smaller out here, away from the community center’s walls. More uncertain. Her eyes find me on the porch, and for a second, something flickers across her face.
She closes the car door, walks up the short path, and stops at the bottom of the steps. Keeps a careful distance.
“Hi,” she says.
I don’t answer right away. Just watch her. She’s clutching a small notebook against her chest like a shield. Her knuckles are white.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she starts. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
I lean one shoulder against the porch post and cross my arms. “What do you need?”
She glances back at her car, then at the cabin, then at me. “The cottage I’ve rented. It’s… worse than I thought. The roof’s leaking like the community center; there’s a window that won’t latch; and the kitchen sink drips so loudly I can hear it from the bedroom. I can’t afford to hire anyone right now. Not yet. I was hoping…” She swallows. “Maybe you could tell me what to tackle first? Or point me to someone cheap? Or, I don’t know, show me how to stop the worst of it myself?”
Her voice is steady, but there’s an undercurrent I recognize. Fear. I’ve seen it in guys coming off bad patrols. I’ve felt it in myself some nights when the dreams won’t let go.
I study her face. Dark circles under her eyes. Lips pressed thin. Shoulders tight, like she’s bracing for a no. Why is she afraid? I haven’t been mean to her or anything.
I could send her away. Tell her to call the landlord. Tell her it’s not my problem. But the words stick somewhere behind my teeth.
She’s Declan’s sister…and she’s scared.
I exhale through my nose. “Come up.”
She hesitates, then climbs the steps. Stops just outside arm’s reach. Close enough to talk. Far enough to run if she needs to.
I turn and open the door wider. “Inside. Wind’s picking up.”
She steps past me, careful not to brush against anything. The cabin feels smaller with her in it. She stops in the middle of the living room, looks around without really looking. Takes in the sparse furniture, the woodstove, the single framed photo on the shelf that I never turn faceup anymore.
I close the door behind us. “Sit if you want.”
She shakes her head. “I’m okay standing.”
I lean against the kitchen counter, arms still crossed. “Show me what you’ve got.”
She opens the notebook, flips to a page filled with neat handwriting and little sketches. Sinks. Window. Roof spots circled in red pen. “The roof’s the worst. Water’s coming in over the kitchen and the back bedroom. I put buckets down, but it’s spreading. The window in the living room rattles every time the wind hits. And the sink…” She trails off, gives a small, tired laugh. “It’s like water torture at three in the morning.”
I nod once. “Sink’s easy. Washer’s probably shot. Window’s likely the glazing or the sash. Roof…” I pause. “That’s bigger. Needs shingles replaced; maybe check flashing. Can’t do it in one day.”
“I know.” Her voice drops. “I just need it to stop getting worse until I get paid.”
Silence stretches between us. I can hear the kettle cooling on the stove, the faint tick of the woodstove settling. She’s watching me, waiting for the verdict.
I rub a hand over my jaw. Feel the stubble. Feel the pull I don’t want to name. She’s asking for help.
“I’ll come tomorrow,” I say finally. “While you’re at work. I’ll start with the roof, patch what I can, and stop the leaks. Sink after that. Window if there’s time. You leave the key under the mat. I’ll lock up when I’m done.”
Her eyes widen. “You don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t.” My tone comes out sharper than I mean it to. I soften it. “But I will.”
She blinks fast, like she’s trying not to let anything show. “Thank you. Really. I’ll pay you back. As soon as I—”
“Don’t worry about it.” I cut her off. I don’t want her thinking she owes me anything.
She nods, swallows again. “Okay. The key’ll be there. I go to the center at eight. I’m usually there till five or six.”
“Got it.”
