Page 35 of Finding Storm

Well, Beck can just wait. I’m busy right now. I’ll call him back when I’m done unclogging this toilet.

Running a B&B is an easy job, said no one ever.

I love this place. I grew up here. It’s the only home I’ve ever known. All my best memories are in this house.

I just don’t love the shitty jobs. Pun intended.

I leave my cell ringing, so I can sing along with Jim Kerr.

I’m not the best singer. Actually, I’m the worst. Tone-deaf, as my best friend, Penny, tells me.

But this song is from one of the best movies ever, The Breakfast Club, so it would be sacrilegious not to sing along. And the house is empty of guests at the moment, so it’s not like I’m scarring anyone’s eardrums.

And the eighties were the best decade for films and music. Not that I was around to see them. I’m only twenty-four, but I grew up with a dad who loves the music and movies from that era, so Beck and I were raised on it. It’s not that I don’t like modern music. I just have zero interest in it.

Jim Kerr stops singing, cutting off my singing. But then, immediately, it starts up again.

I love this song, but sweet Jesus, Beck!

My hand still in the toilet, I reach over with my other hand and grab my phone off the bath edge, swiping the screen with my thumb, accepting the call.

“What?” I answer.

“Hello to you too, baby sister.”

Twelve months older than me, but you’d think it was twelve years with the way he goes on.

“Beck, I’ve currently got my hand down the toilet, so can you get to the point?”

“I need a favor.”

And there it is. Honestly, I love my brother, but I could drop-kick him at times. He always needs a favor.

I tuck the phone between my ear and shoulder and pull out a wipe I managed to dislodge, dropping it in the bucket beside the toilet. “What’s the favor?”

“I need you to go do a tow for me.”

“Ah, why can’t you or Dad go?” I sigh. I hate taking the pickup truck out.

“Because we’re right in the middle of fitting that new engine on Peterson’s truck.”

I sigh again. “Fine, but you owe me.”

It’s his turn to sigh. “What?”

“You can finish off unblocking this toilet for me when you get home.”

He makes a sound of disgust. Works with dirty cars all day long, but the thought of putting his hand down a toilet grosses him out.

I roll my eyes.

“Why can’t Gran do it?” he asks.

I let out a laugh. “Did you seriously just ask why our sixty-six-year-old grandmother can’t unblock the toilet?”

“Um … no …” he edges the words out, his voice lowering. “Stevie … is Gran there, listening right now?”

I laugh again.