“Guys,” Celine said, her voice thin and accompanied by a fraying edge I recognized. It was the tone of a person who’d held it together all day and was two seconds from breaking.
It was familiar because I lived there most days. That tenuous spot right before my sanity and patience and hope in the damn world cracked.
Her small frame was coiled up like a snake about to strike.
Despite having other things to get done tonight, the urge to help overtook me. It was fully dark now, and judging by the boxes everywhere, she was still trying to move in.
“I was just about to order a pizza,” I said casually. “You guys want some? Saves me from having to listen to the smoke detectors again.”
“You have pizza out here in the sticks?” Ellie asked.
“Really good pizza.” Nodding, I rocked back on my heels. “Tony uses local mozzarella.”
Celine’s eyes lit up.
Bingo.
I pretended not to notice. Getting attached was a bad habit. The need to witness that kind of relief was one I thought I’d quelled. It made me want to help more often. And this was a one-time offer of landlord assistance.
“I only like plain cheese,” Maggie explained. “And Julian only eats crust.”
“Crust is delicious.” I eyed the boy. “I respect that.”
Julian looked up from where he was gently stroking Wayne’s fur. “Do they have fries?”
Nodding, I slid my phone out again.
“Fries are a safe food for him,” Maggie explained.
I didn’t know what a safe food was, but who didn’t love a good french fry?
“Can we?” Julian asked, looking up at his mom, his eyes wide.
Celine nodded, though her focus was still fixed on me, her expression full of what I could only deduce was a mixture of relief and suspicion. Not that I blamed her.
“Do you always show up unannounced?” she asked.
“Only when my property is actively on fire,” I replied.
Her mouth twitched. She didn’t smile.
Tony did not let me down, and the minute the food hit the table, the kids descended like a pack of hungry foxes. Ellie tore into a slice like she had something to prove, Maggie narrated every bite, and Julian happily ate an order of french fries the size of his head.
While they were occupied, I headed for the kitchen to take care of tonight’s real issue.
The oven.
The melted Lego structure had thankfully cooled into a rainbow-color geological formation, layers of the plastic fused to the bottom rack. I worked silently. There was no point in embarrassing the kid or his mom. Or opening the door to gratitude I didn’t want or even know how to handle.
I’d seen a lot worse. This didn’t even crack the top fifty of the shit I’d witnessed. Still, this appliance had cost a lot, and now it smelled like burnt childhood.
I snagged my work gloves from my back pocket, then removed the oven racks and the bottom tray and carried them to one of the equipment barns.
Wayne trotted after me, eyeing the art installation in my hands.
With a few good scrapes, I removed most of the mess. Then I hosed off the components, removing the last remnants of the fire retardant with dish soap.
They were scratched but not destroyed. I could live with that. Once I got it all reset, I’d turn the gas back on.
