Raindrops fall, one by one, before they begin to cascade over the windows. I reach into my center console and pull out a half-empty bottle of whiskey.
Take my pain away. Make it stop. Do your job, whiskey.
Chapter Nineteen
Chance
The damn cloudsare moving in again, but. I need to get moving on this job. I've spent the last hour cleaning up debris and haven't even started with the drip shields yet. I should have told Davey to come in on this one, but I wasn't expecting to have a week of storms like this.
The owners of the house aren't home. I guess they both work full time, so at least I won't have anyone hovering. If I can at least get some of the roof job started before the rain begins, it won't look like I didn't at least try. According to my weather app, once the rain starts, it's not going to quit until after midnight.
I wish May would have sent me a message last night to let me know everything was okay with August, but I guess that would be setting my expectations too high. May doesn't know me, and August probably claimed she has no idea who I am. That would make me out to be the creep just sitting in the dark with her.
Surprisingly, I got a third of the roof shingled and covered with tarp before the rain started. I guess the rain Gods decided to give me an extra hour, which was helpful, but now my day is over, and this job that was supposed to be a quick one is turning my schedule upside-down.
Just as I finish cleaning up for the day, I relocate the boxes of shingles to beneath the awning on the side of their garage, so everything stays dry.
I can't remember the last time I had this much free time. I'm not sure I like it. It might be a good time to visit the old folks, though.
I stop by the bakery to pick up a few coffees and the pastry they like. I try not to show up empty-handed because when I do, Ma feels the need to start cooking up a storm, and that's never my intention when I visit.
With heavy thoughts on my mind, I pull my phone out before driving away from the bakery. I scroll down to August's number, my newest contact, and tap the message button.
Me: Hey August, it's Chance. I acquired your number last night so that I could check in with you today. How are you feeling?
I don't expect a quick response. I don't expect a response at all, so after a few minutes of staring at the "read" receipt, I pull out onto the street.
I didn't make it over the other night like I planned, so it's been about a week since I've visited. No one mowed the grass this week, and the trash barrels are lying on their side at the bottom of the driveway. I shake my head as I crank my gear into park.
Before going inside, I pick up the barrels and the few big branches lying on their lawn. I'll have to check in with their landscaper to see what the holdup is.
Since I was eleven, I've let myself into the house, knocking on the front door simultaneously so I don't startle them.
"Ma, Pop, I'm home." It isn't my home, but it's the only real home I had before moving out on my own. This place will always be my home in a sense. I kick off my boots, afraid to dirty up their plushy pea-green carpeting, circa 1990 something, but it's homey, nonetheless.
"Chancey, is that you?"
"Is someone else calling you Ma and Pop?" I laugh, making my way into the family room at the back of the house.
Pop is asleep in his recliner, and Ma is crocheting a blanket. "It's about to storm out again. You got any windows open?"
I lean over and kiss Ma on the forehead and wave at the sleeping man in the corner. Ma nods her head with dismay. "He's always sleeping. I keep telling him there's plenty of time to sleep when we're dead, but he never listens to me."
When Pa retired a few years ago, he lost a lot of the motivation and energy he had. I think he sleeps when he's bored. I'd probably do the same, but it's rare when I'm bored, other than today, and a few other days this past week.
"I think the window might be open in our bedroom, now that you mention it," Ma says.
"Give me a minute. Oh, and I forgot something in the truck. I'll be right back."
"Is it a girl?" Ma asks. Ma has been asking me the same question, making the same joke for the last five years.
"No, Ma, I don't have a girl stuffed into my trunk, but thanks for asking."
"Real funny, Chancey."
Padding down the hall to their bedroom, I find a display of disarray, an unmade bed, tissues all over Pa's nightstand, and bottles of hair products scattered across the dresser. Ma has always been an avid cleaner, so I'm slightly concerned about the mess.
I press down on the window, closing it up and locking it shut. Then, I tend to the unmade bed. I straighten up the bottles of hair products and toss the tissues into the trash bin. I need to be coming over here more often, I guess.
