Page 36 of The Undercover Billionaire's Baby

I lunged for the boxes, all soaked and sagging. The water had crept up three boxes high. I tore into one and the books were all swollen. They’d dry out all puffy, all crispy. Unsellable. And even if they didn’t, they’d still have that smell.

“Whoever did the plumbing, before we came in, they made a pig’s ear of it. Ignored all the codes. We hooked up a hose to flush out some debris, and?—”

Gareth’s words washed over me, a stream of nonsense. My attention was fixed on the narrow back closet, where once we’d kept laundry soap and extra sheets. Since the washer quit working, I’d been storing Mom’s clothes there, and our old photo albums, and Mom’s craft supplies. I didn’t want to look, but I made myself do it. Made myself step up and pull the door open. A thin wash of water swept over my feet.

“Sorry,” said Gareth. “We didn’t check there.”

I dropped to my knees. It was worse than I’d thought. Worse than anything I could’ve imagined. Mom’s last quilt, half-finished, was soaked through with filth. Black, dirty water. Great spreading stains. Her yarn was ruined, her cloth squares, her basket. And our photo albums, bulging with wet! When I opened the top one, photos slid out, our trip to Disney when I was five. Except now, Mickey Mouse was all washed out and smeary. Mom’s face was a white smudge. Mine was gone. I flipped the pages in panic and more memories fell out, wet scraps of paper. Blurred-out moments.

“This is my fault,” I whispered.

“It’s not,” said Brad. At some point, he’d taken Gareth’s place by my side. His hand was on my shoulder, kneading gently.

“It is,” I said, shrugging away. Another photo slid out, my graduation. Mom’s beaming face. A great, ugly water stain had blacked out her teeth. “The plumber asked if I wanted him to check up here too. In case there were problems like with downstairs. I’d never seen any so— so I said?—”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“I was trying to save money.” A harsh laugh burst out of me, raw in my throat. “Those books are all ruined.”

“Your insurance?—”

“So what?” I surged to my feet, photos scattering wild. “Insurance won’t cover my memories. A lifetime of pictures, and look at Mom’s clothes!” I jerked my head at the boxes, sagging with damp. “And her last quilt I promised I’d finish…” I lifted it up and shook it open. The water had spread dirt in wavery rings, like the world’s worst tie-dye across her artwork. “This was going to be beautiful, and now it’s ruined.”

“It might not be,” said Brad. “You won’t know till you wash it. And the dirt hasn’t had much time to sink in.”

“And what about my photos? Can I wash those out too?” I was snapping at Brad, who was trying to help me, but I couldn’t stop myself. Something in me had burst like the pipe in my wall, and it was spilling out all sorts of poison, all the sadness and anger I’d been holding back. Mom had been young still. She should’ve had years. She should’ve had decades still stretching ahead, and all that was gone now, and so was her past. Our past together, all washed away.

“You can hang them to dry,” said Brad, getting down on his knees. “Or lay them out flat. Then I know a guy, he does restorations. He can scan them in, fix them, and they’ll be good as new. Better, even. He can brighten them up.”

“I don’t want them brightened. I want— I want— I want them like they always were. Like they’re meant to be!”

“Then that’s what we’ll tell him. I’m sure he can do that.”

My vision flashed red. I spun to face Brad. “I don’t want some stranger digging through my memories!”

Brad jerked back like I’d slapped him. I clapped my hands over my mouth. Sour shame rushed in to replace my anger. I couldn’t look at Brad, so I turned away. I stood staring down at our ruined trip to Disney, and tears blurred my eyes. My mouth had gone dry.

“Sorry,” said Brad. “I was being pushy. When I see a problem, my instinct is to solve it. But this isn’t my problem. I’ll give you your space.”

“Don’t go,” I croaked. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

Brad came up behind me and slid his arms around me, his chin on my shoulder, his chest to my back. I turned, hugged him back, and he held me and rocked me. After a while, I pulled away. I set up the clotheshorse and draped Mom’s quilt over it, then set to work rescuing the photos. Brad helped with that, spreading them over every surface, the counters, the ironing board, around the sink. Some of them weren’t damaged too badly at all. Others were ruined, just scraps of stained paper. I was going through the last album when my phone chirped. A text.

“I’m afraid to look,” I said. “What if it’s more bad news?”

Brad took my phone from me. “Do you want me to look?”

I did and I didn’t. My stomach was churning. If I had the grant, I was saved. I’d survive this. If I didn’t, it was over for me and my shop. My home as well, maybe. This place was a wreck. I’d have to move in with Alice and her roommate. And Brad would be out of luck. He’d have to move on.

“Check it,” I said. “But don’t tell me if it’s bad news.”

Brad tapped on the screen, and I knew. I just knew. His expression barely changed, just the slightest tightening, but I could see the grimace he was trying to suppress.

“Give me the phone.” I held out my hand.

“Maybe you should wait a while. Till you’re feeling better.”

I snatched the phone back from him and there it was. Unfortunately, we are unable to offer you a grant at this time. Blah-blah-blah, strong contender. Great presentation. But in today’s online market…

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