I pause, closing my eyes while desperately trying to center myself. “Kiki, let’s get it the fuck together before you kill yourself, okay?”
I hoist one end of the ladder, dragging the other behind me because I am absolutely not strong enough to carry this thing, no matter what my current level of spite is telling me.
I’m halfway to the house when a crew member spots me.
“Hang on a second,” he calls, jogging toward me. “I’ll help you with that.”
I’m not arguing with that offer. I hand it off to him with a smile. “Thank you.”
He glances at the ladder and then at me, a confused expression crossing his face. “Where am I taking this?”
“Dining room, please.”
His brows lift. “We’re demoing in there in about an hour.”
“I know. That’s why I’m headed there now.”
He carries the ladder inside as if it weighs nothing and leans it against one of the dining room walls. “Is this good?”
“Perfect. Thank you.”
“Are you good?”
“Yep.” Truth is, that is entirely debatable.
He nods, although I can tell by his face he doesn’t believe my bullshit either.
Once I’m alone, I grab a few tools scavenged from my cabin. It’s a pathetic collection, really, but I’ve got a pry bar and a hammer, and that’s probably enough.
I’ve seen people do this before on videos and television. How hard can it be?
Yeah. Famous last words.
I position the ladder beneath the molding and climb up, the pry bar and hammer firmly tucked under my arm, each step creaking under my weight. At the top, I steady myself and reach up, running my fingers along the edge of the crown molding.
“Kiki, old girl, you get one shot at not fucking this up.”
I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing, but since Eddie told me to handle it, I guess we’re about to find out how good I am with a pry bar.
I wedge the bar between the molding and the wall, testing the grip of the nails. Then I adjust my angle and tap the end of the pry bar with the hammer. Once. Twice. A faint creak as the wood shifts a fraction of an inch.
Hey, we’re getting somewhere. It might take me a million years, but still.
I lean in for my second attempt when a voice booms below me, “Kiki, what the hell are you doing?”
Pausing mid-action, I glance down to see Eddie glowering up at me from the floor. “Excuseme?”
“You heard me,” he snaps. “What the hell are you doing up there?”
“I’m getting a fucking massage,” I fire back, my temper snapping loose. “What does it look like I’m doing? You told me to handle it, right? I’m handling it.”
He swears under his breath, something about stubborn women, as his hands clamp onto the ladder. “Stop moving. Jesus, just stop.”
“I’m fine, Eddie.”
“You could get hurt up there.”
I roll my eyes, finally daring to meet his gaze head-on. “Like you care.”
