She sat taller in her chair and looked at him. He could see the battle warring behind her eyes, and he waited to see what would win.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Faith gasped the word like a woman who’d swallowed a hot pepper and was calling for something to drink—part shock, part misery.
“Okay.” Hope turned to face Faith. “He’s here. He’s willing. He’s not going to rob me blind while we’re gone. He’s not going to go away until I’m back and you’re settled for the night, so he might as well have something to do while he waits. He might be a danger to himself or others if he shows up at the hospital, but if he keeps it unpredictable, he might survive the night.”
“Hope!” Faith looked from him to Hope. “Why would you say that?”
“We all know it’s true. No point in beating around the bush. Besides, I need to be able to get in there tomorrow. It’s what makes the most sense. Now, let’s go before I bleed to death.”
And with that, she spun the wheelchair and zipped out her bedroom door.
Faith was left standing in the room, mouth slightly ajar. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“You shouldn’t be—”
“Shouldn’t what? Use a drill for five minutes? I can handle it.It will take me longer to get to the store and back than it will for me to fix it.”
“Faith! Let’s go!” Hope’s voice had a teasing lilt to it.
“She’s waiting.”
Faith closed her eyes in obvious frustration. “Please don’t get killed.”
There was zero humor in her words or expression, and he responded in kind. “I promise I will do my best.”
Ninety minutes later, Luke returned to Hope Malone’s house. Faith had texted that the stitches were done and they were headed back, which Luke found highly suspicious. No one got out of the emergency room on a Friday night that fast. Faith had flashed her badge. That was the only explanation. Not that he blamed her. He would have done the same.
Faith had told him to go ahead and go inside, so he let himself in through the garage and immediately went to work. He was moving slow. His arms and back hurt, and his head throbbed. But his heart needed this. He couldn’t bring back his dead friends. He couldn’t rebuild Zane’s house or heal Gil’s head, but he could fix this closet and make it better than it was before.
He removed the old shelf and made small pencil marks on the wall for the locations of the new brackets. When he was finished, the new shelf would be secured into the studs and in a way that they would never, ever come off the wall again.
Fifteen minutes later, the alarm chimed and Faith’s voice carried through the house, echoing across Hope’s wood floors. “It’s us. Don’t shoot.”
“Back here.” He spoke around the screws he had pinched in his lips.
Luke was in a bit of an awkward position, one bracket on thewall, screw on the tip of the drill when Hope came to the door with Faith right behind her. He took a quick glance and gave them what was more of grunt than a greeting before drilling the bracket into place.
“Um. Faith?” Hope spoke in a theatrical whisper that carried over the sound of the drill.
“What?”
“Can we keep him?”
Luke dropped two screws.
Faith’s horrified “Hope!” didn’t stop Hope’s unrepentant laughter. “Relax, Faith.”
Faith came into the room and surveyed Luke’s handiwork.
He stepped down from the stool he’d found in the garage and waited for her verdict.
“You’ve been busy. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Although”—he risked a glance at Faith—“I would already be done if my help hadn’t run off.”
