Twenty-one
As Nadine anticipated, things with Wes got off to a rough start:
“That’s my box,” said Nadine, grabbing it out of Wes’s hands on the first day of searching.
“No, it’s not. It’s mine.” He snatched it back. “Stop cherry-picking the best boxes.”
“What best boxes? What the hell makes one box better than another?”
“I don’t need to explain myself to you. I know it when I see it.”
“It was my box. Give it over.”
They fought until it exploded in a flurry of dust and papers.
Nadine gave it a look. “Okay,” she said. “It’s yours.”
***
Later. Wes wondered how he thought working with Nadine was a good idea:
“Brent confirmed there’s no air-con up here and says Dot only liked fans,” Nadine said.
“What gave it away? The heat waves coming from the floor? Thefact that we drink a thousand liters of water a day?”
She ignored him. He looked up when he felt a slight breeze and saw she’d managed to get the window open. “He also told me we could chip the paint off to open these,” she said.
“Thank God. Give me air.”
“Get your own window. This one’s mine.”
“You can’t be serious. It’s a window.”
“And it’s mine.” She leaned out and sucked in a lungful, smiling at him.
***
Still later. Yes, decided Nadine. Wes was in fact the worst:
Nadine ran her sweaty hand over her sweaty hair. “Who’s turn is it to make lunch?”
“Check the chore chart.”
“The chore chart is a ridiculous idea, and two adults should be able to figure out lunch plans on their own.”
“Yet here you are asking me.”
“Wow, look at you shutting down avenues of inquiry.”
“Nadine.”
“What?”
He pointed to the wall. “Chore chart.”
***
A new day. Wes wasn’t surprised when their partnership didn’t improve:
