“Eli, remember how we talked about adding two numbers together to make ten?” Noah interrupted, not particularly wanting to hear about the Crowley family’s plumbing adventures. “Remember? We practiced this yesterday.”
Eli’s forehead wrinkled. “But that was yesterday. Today, it’s harder.”
The wrench slipped again, and Noah barely contained a curse. He’d spent the better part of the hour before Eli woke up attempting to fix this leak, determined to handle at least one household crisis before dropping Eli off at the elementary school so he could get to work.
Now his shirt was ruined, his son’s homework remained unfinished, and they were edging dangerously close to being late. There was a special place in hell for teachers who gave homework to first graders, and he’d say so if he wasn’t the new teacher in the district. Criticizing one’s coworkers wasn’t the way to make friends.
Behind him, papers rustled as Eli abandoned his math in favor of what Noah recognized as his “deep thoughts” voice. “Dad, why did we buy a broken house?”
The question landed like a punch to the gut. Noah shut off the water valve under the sink, buying a moment to find the rightwords. He wouldn’t even get upset with himself for not doing that first. “It’s not broken, exactly. It just needs some attention.”
“Like how I needed attention when I had strep throat?” Sometimes, the way his son’s mind worked fascinated Noah.
“Something like that.” Noah grabbed a dish towel, dabbing uselessly at his shirt. The blue cotton had gone nearly transparent, clinging to his skin in a way that would definitely not project the professional image he strived for at work. He could only hope there was one more clean shirt in the closet.
He’d meant to do laundry over the weekend, but the washer was yet another thing he needed to replace. This place was starting to remind him of that old movie with Tom Hanks and Shelley Long. “Houses are like people sometimes. They need care to stay healthy, and the family who lived here before us got old and couldn’t do all the work it needed.”
“Then maybe we should take it to the doctor.”
If only it were so simple. A laugh escaped before Noah could stop it. “I don’t think there are doctors for houses, buddy.”
“But there are fixing people.” Eli’s pencil started its nervous tap again. “Tommy says?—”
Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. If Noah heard one more thing about Tommy Crowley, he would scream. He was happy Eli was making friends in his new school, but this Tommy seemed like a bit of a know-it-all. He also lived in the new subdivision on the west side of town, his dad made well over six figures a year, and his mom wasn’t off on yet another extended research trip.
Noah knew it wasn’t fair to resent his ex-wife when they’d both agreed it was for the best if Eli stayed with him during the schoolyear and when Jenna was out of town, but days like today made him wish things were different. If only they had been able to ignore the chasm between them in the bed. If only Jenna hadn’t been offered a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
If only…two simple words that wouldn’t change a damned thing.
“Five more minutes on that worksheet, okay? We need to leave soon.” Noah retreated to his bedroom, where he found a lone shirt hanging behind the closet door. He’d have to see if Megan or Rachel could watch Eli for a couple of hours tonight so he could haul their dirty clothes to the laundromat. Maybe Megan would do it so Eli could spend time with her youngest, Livy.
The morning sun filtered through gauzy curtains, highlighting dust motes dancing in the air. No matter how often he dusted, there always seemed to be more settling on every surface. He bet the new houses on the west side didn’t have that issue…
Noah changed quickly, deliberately not looking at the water stain spreading across his ceiling or the way his bedroom door stuck against the warped hardwood floor. The house’s problems had seemed manageable when they’d first moved in two months ago. A fresh coat of paint here, some minor repairs there. But every fixed issue revealed three more waiting in the wings, like some sort of home improvement hydra.
“Dad!” Eli’s voice carried up the stairs. “I think I did it wrong again!”
Noah smoothed his tie, squaring his shoulders against his reflection. They’d figure this out. All of it. The house, the homework, the endless parade of small crises that seemed to multiply when he wasn’t looking. He just needed to stayorganized and maintain structure. Everything else would fall into place.
The kitchen smelled of damp wood and defeat when he returned. Eli had abandoned his homework in favor of examining the sink, poking at the wrench Noah had left balanced on the edge.
“Don’t touch that.” Noah grabbed their lunches from the fridge—nut-free butter and jelly for Eli, turkey and Swiss for himself. “Did you finish the worksheet?”
Eli’s guilty expression answered his question. “I tried, but the numbers got mixed up again.”
“Okay, bring it here.” Noah pulled a chair next to Eli’s at the table, gesturing for his son to join him. “Let’s look at it together.”
They worked through the problems as Noah kept one eye on the clock, marking their progress against his mental schedule. Get Eli to the before-school program by seven-thirty, faculty meeting at seven-forty-five, first period at eight-fifteen. The familiar routine anchored him, even as water dripped steadily into the bucket he’d placed under the sink.
“See? You knew this.” Noah pointed to Eli’s corrected work. “You just needed to slow down and think it through.”
“Like how you need to slow down and think about calling a fix-it person?”
Noah’s pen stilled against the paper. For a six-year-old, his son had an uncanny ability to cut straight to the heart of things. “Get your backpack, buddy. We’re going to be late.”
They made it to the car as the older couple from down the road walked past with their golden retriever. They waved, and Noah returned the gesture automatically, pretending not to notice thehusband’s concerned glance at their house’s peeling paint and sagging gutters. The whole neighborhood probably thought he was in over his head.
They weren’t wrong.
