Page 2 of Nailing Studs

How peaceful.

Uncertainty reared its head.

Did I really have to sell it?

Maybe I could make it work. Maybe I could find a way to stay. So what if the half-finished repairs seemed shoddy and there was a hole in the ceiling? The place was still habitable. As long as there was electricity, running water, and a roof over my head, I could survive.

I imagined Tabitha happy as a lark in heaven, looking down and seeing me living here, making it work, renovating her home to its former glory, one day at a time. The thought calmed me down.

I went into the kitchen with the groceries I’d carried in with me. Even though the kitchen was old, it was big. With some new granite countertops and the right lighting, I could see myself making dinners and desserts to make Tabitha proud.

I turned on the faucet, pleased with my new outlook. A loud hissing and groaning sound split the air. Suddenly the handle was in my hand, completely removed from the sink, and a fountain of water was spraying up in the air, strong enough to hit the ceiling. I couldn’t find a towel, and my boxes of belongings wouldn’t be arriving for a day or two. I got on my knees, opened the sink cabinet, and found the water valve. As water splashed all over me, I turned the valve until the fountain became more of a drizzle. Eventually, even the drizzle disappeared.

I crawled out from under the sink and plopped down hard on the soaking wet floor. Defeated, I leaned back against the rickety cabinet.

“Great,” I mumbled, hanging my head. “Welcome home, Kayla. Welcome home.”

2

Kayla

Fifteen minutes later, I’d dried the kitchen floor and ceiling by standing on the shaky counters, changed my clothes, and poured myself a glass of merlot to decompress. I couldn’t stay in a house that didn’t have a properly working kitchen sink,even temporarily, so that would have to be first on my To-Do List. Luckily, the groceries I’d bought were mostly fruit and stuff to make sandwiches, so I wouldn’t need the sink tonight.

After dinner, a PB&J paired with a banana, I poured myself another glass of wine and headed upstairs. I settled into the guest room with my luggage, unable to bring myself to go into Tabitha’s room. Propped on the gigantic bed (Tabitha had splurged on some stuff, at least) and drinking wine, I scrolled through my phone, looking for repairmen within twenty miles.

Yes, I’d managed to shut off the water in the kitchen, but I wasn’t skilled enough to fix what was wrong with it. Whether I sold the house or not—and once again, I was pretty sure selling it was my only option—I still needed a working kitchen sink.

I clicked on a local contracting company that had gotten the highest Yelp rating—the Fix-It Guys. The company website displayed two uber-handsome models to market their services. Cut abs, tight shirts around bulging pecs and biceps, gleaming smiles…the whole nine yards.

“Yeah, okay.” I giggled. “The Fix-It Guys,” I added in an overly dramatic voice laced with wine. The real workers were probably old and flabby with butt cracks showing out the back of their pants. As long as they did their jobs well, that was all that mattered. And as long as I got to drool over images of hot guys marketing construction services, all the better.

I clicked on the number and hit “Call.” A guy who identified himself as Taylor answered. I explained I was new in town and needed someone to come fix a kitchen sink.

Silence filled the line, then the man asked, “Where are you located?”

“In Fosterman.”

“Whew.”

“You okay?” I asked, wondering why the guy was chuckling under his breath.

“You’re calling from a New York City number. It would have cost you a small fortunefor me to come out there.” Taylor’s voice sounded like he was smiling, which made me smile. He was funny and had a great, deep voice that didn’t go with my mental image of Flabby Butt-Crack Plumber Dude I had in my head.

I laughed out loud, probably my first time in weeks. “No, sorry, you won’t be getting an all-expenses paid trip to NYC. I’m calling locally.”

“Address, please?”

I told him the address and waited while he mumbled it back to himself.

“Tabitha Vanderzee’s home?”

“Yes!” My heart lit up knowing that someone knew my great-aunt. Coming from a city of twelve million people, it was easy to forget that small town folks knew everybody. “She is—well, was my aunt. You knew her?”

“Yeah, sure. She was a fixture in town. Funny lady. Sweet, too.”

“She was, yeah.” Suddenly, it occurred to me…could Taylor be the contractor Tabitha had used to get the house in its current state? I frowned. If so, this would never do. “You never, uh…worked on her house, did you?”

“No. She always went for the more…uh…shall we say, economical repair guy.” There was that smile in his voice again.

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