She glances over her shoulder at me, looking slightly surprised that I don’t know. “Mr. Callaway, from the church.”
“The architect?” I vaguely remembered Mrs. Mayhew introducing us to a well-dressed guy with a hint of salt in his pepper-black hair and laugh lines around his eyes that made him look older than he probably was. I guess maybe I saw them chatting together last Sunday too, but I didn’t know they had much more than casual exchanges. “When did he go from Mr. Callaway to Graham?”
Mom cuts me a look at my teasing tone. “When he saved my butt and all the floors upstairs in this house yesterday.” She steps into the kitchen, and I follow, watching as her hands rest on the counter. She stops for a second, then laughs softly. “I guess I can laugh about it now, but I was in full panic mode when it happened. Everything I tried to do just seemed to make it worse. I was up there with buckets and every towel in the house, trying not to wake Goldie.” Her voice flattens as the memory plays out. “Did you know there are only five plumbers on the entire island, and all of them were either at other houses or off when I called?”
“You should have called me,” I tell her, almost annoyed thatshe didn’t. I don’t know anything about plumbing, but I could’ve at least helped empty buckets. She shouldn’t have had to deal with that alone, though clearly she didn’t.
“Well, I called Graham instead,” she says, turning to inspect one of the new cabinet hinges. “He must have rounded up half the church, including one of his sons, because he showed up with a small army after I called him. And then he stayed to wring out towels with me long after everyone else left.”
“Wow, that was... really nice of him.”
Mom stops pretending to look at cabinet doors. “It was a hectic situation, and we should all be glad to have a friend here who knows something about repairing the plumbing in these old houses.”
I stand there watching her, wondering if there’s more behind her smile than just gratitude. “Graham it is then.” I hold her gaze, and she’s the one who looks away first. “And I’m glad we have afriendhere who’ll help like that.”
She shifts slightly, a quiet laugh escaping her as she rubs her forehead. “Don’t say it like that,” she says, but there’s a faint twitch at the corner of her mouth, something reluctant and almost amused.
I widen my eyes. “I didn’t say it any particular way.” Except I kinda, maybe did. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world for her to meet someone who’s handy in one of the few ways she’s not and who’s kind enough to spend what is a pretty big holiday around here sopping up floors.
“I’ll have to say thank you on Sunday,” I add, the teasing gone now. The situation could’ve turned into a real nightmare if they hadn’t been able to fix it. My own morning keeps replaying in my mind, and I can’t help but imagine how much worseit could’ve gone if Eryn had reacted differently. I know I was pushing boundaries with Wren last night, emotionally if not physically. And unlike with the floors in our house, damage was definitely done.
Mom pauses in the act of unpacking the food. “Graham never said, but it was my fault. I’d been messing with the sink earlier in the day even though I don’t know what I’m doing. It was going great until it wasn’t.” She pulls out another container, the plastic crinkling in her hands. “I told myself I wouldn’t touch the pipes, but after all this time here, I started thinking that if I was just careful enough, nothing would go wrong.” Mom keeps talking, oblivious to how still I’ve gone at her words. “And what happened? I nearly flooded the whole house.”
I opt out of taking my bike when Mom sends me to get Goldie; it’s not too far to walk, and right now, I need to feel the ground under my feet. The crunch of gravel and the soft give of the dirt beneath my sneakers. By the time the Mayhew house comes into view, I’ve managed to piece myself back together, at least on the surface.
The house is similar to ours—saltbox style with traditional gray siding and white trim—but it’s been better cared for over the years. The shutters are freshly painted, the lawn neatly trimmed, and a row of vibrant hydrangeas lines the walkway. It’s the kind of place that looks like it would be used in a “Visit Nantucket” ad.
I draw a deep breath, preparing my polite smile and hoping Goldie won’t be too hard to extricate. Exhaustion from last night is catching up with me, and all I want is to get home. Just as I’mcrossing the yard, the front door swings open, and my sister steps outside, calling back over her shoulder, “I will! And thank you!”
She stops short when she sees me. “What are you doing here?”
I cross my arms. “Hi to you too. Glad you’re feeling better.”
She rolls her eyes and drags her feet across the grass toward me. “Hi.”
“Better.”
“But seriously, what are you doing here?”
We start walking back toward our house. “I got home early, so Mom sent me to get you for dinner.”
“Ooh, you got home early. Are we supposed to throw a parade?”
I blink at her, taken aback. “What’s with the attitude?”
She shrugs.
“Anyway, I’m going to be home a little more from now on.” Who knows how long this break from doing research with Wren will last. I watch Goldie to gauge her reaction. “I thought you’d be happy.”
Another shrug.
“We can go thrifting now.”
That perks her up. “Now?”
“I mean, notnownow; Mom’s waiting with dinner. But I don’t have to work tomorrow.”
“We can go back to Mrs. Mayhew’s! She has the coolest stuff; you won’t believe it.” Goldie is already turning, and I have to catch her arm to stop her.
