Dave shook his head. “I can’t say for sure until I get John Glazer back in here to look at the electricals. But for the beam work, somewhere in the order of five to seven thousand, all in.”
Rob raked his hand through his hair. “Look. I understand the wiring is a fire hazard. But what about the beam? What if we just seal it back up?”
Phoebe looked at Rob aghast. He couldn’t be serious.
Dave must have been very used to such questions. “Well, the house won’t fall down today or tomorrow. But that’s where it’s headed.”
Rob considered this for a long moment. “Well, then I guess we have no choice. I’m just glad it’s not a five-digit fix.”
Phoebe let her breath out. “Right. Thank God.”
As the crew packed up for the day, Phoebe went down to the kitchen to start dinner. At that point of the project, her “kitchen” had been reduced to a corner in the living room. A microwave rested on one of Grandma Elsie’s dovetailed occasional tables. Rob had set up a double-burner camping hot plate on the table. She went out to the garage, where the old fridge hummed loudly in the lone bay, and pulled out chicken breasts and squash. She took these to the back patio where she lit the grill. Rob joined her.
“Barbecue chicken,” she told him, smiling. “Taking a night off of the tacos.” She glanced around. “Though I can’t find the new bottle of barbecue sauce. Do you know where we put the boxes of kitchen staples?”
He feigned a smile, and shook his head. Rob looked drained.
“Baby, I’m sorry about the wiring and wall work,” she said.
“Well, at least they caught it. If we hadn’t opened up that wall, who knows what would’ve happened.”
He was right, and she was relieved to hear that he was seeing the sense this made, despite the blow to their wallet.
“But, Phoebe, this is what I was worried about. There’s no telling what’s next. Old houses have old problems. And they’re costly.”
“The inspector should’ve picked up on this stuff.” She drizzled the chicken with olive oil and glanced around for the salt and pepper. Damn it. It must be in the living room.
Rob shrugged. “The sill stuff, yes. But I don’t even blame him for this. Unless you tear open walls, who’s to say. We just can’t do anything else. After this bathroom, that’s it. Whatever else we may want or think we need, it has to wait. We can’t afford it.”
She was glad to hear him using the term “we.” Most of the ideas had been hers, even though he’d gotten on board. “I promise,” she said, looking up at him.
He watched her set the meat on the grill. “Fuck,” she said, looking around her cramped work space.
“What’s wrong?”
She gave him a sheepish look. “I don’t know where the spatula is.”
From inside the house came a crash and a shout. The boys had been cooped up in the living room this whole time. Along with the couch covered in toys, her makeshift kitchen, and what seemed like a hundred boxes, none of which ever seemed to hold what she was looking for.
“Don’t you need a platter for the chicken, too?”
She nodded, feeling about ready to cry. “And plates.”
Rob looked at her sympathetically. “I’ll go look, but, Phoebe?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s time.”
She knew what was coming.
“We can’t stay here. Not with the increase in renovations going on. I want you to call your parents after dinner.” Rob waited until she looked up and nodded.
As much as she hated to pack everything up and move,once again, she couldn’t disagree. She’d lose her mind if she stayed.
When he opened the sliding door, the noise that emanated from the living room was one of toddler disaster. She watched Rob climb over the boxes, bending to scoop up Jed, who was crying. Or maybe it was Patrick; she couldn’t tell from the late-day sun reflecting off the glass. Rob had probably already forgotten about the spatula, platter, and plates. Phoebe turned her back and stared out at the lake.
Olivia
