Page 32 of Sweet and Salty

There is a massive, heart-wrenchingly exhausting cleaning ahead of me, but for some reason, I don’t care.

That’s not true. I know what the reason is. Sleeping in Laura’s house, being that close to her, waking up early enough this morning to make her coffee before I left to see to the ruins of my own place—that’s enough to make me feel like everything is going to be okay.

The fact that the sun is out this morning for what feels like the first time in three months helps, too. I’m going to need a UV lamp to survive the winter blues, that’s for sure.

Not that I’m going to spend the winter here. Though, if I were, Laura’s house has all the comforts needed to–

Seriously. Rein it in, Jesse.

My phone buzzes with a reminder that the hardware store is closed today. Thank goodness for Sundays, although maybe I should see if I can find the Lutheran church after I’ve cleaned up some of the wreckage. Hot ham and rolls sounds mighty fine.

I pause on my way into the house, halfway up the steps Rory Marshall helped me to fix.Mighty fine? Hot ham and rolls?Who am I and what am I thinking? I’m not a local.

Distance. I need distance, even if the thought of distance from Laura Marshall makes my chest ache in a way that no man over forty should think about without visiting a cardiologist.

“Here be dragons,” I mumble. I force myself to walk into the house and survey the wreckage.

Having lived in the South for my entire life, I’m pretty used to Mother Nature’s destructive tendencies. Still, it is a unique form of torture to walk into a place that was starting to feel…if not like home, then something approximating it. Like a college dorm, a place you have some fond feelings toward, but know will never be permanent so you don’t care if you poke holes in the walls.

The hail had done more than poke holes. The cabin isn’t large to start with. It’s maybe about eight hundred square feet, divided into a sitting room/kitchen and bedroom with a small bathroom. I can’t even fit a queen-sized mattress into the bedroom, so my full-sized pillow top—my one extravagance— lies in a puddle of water on the bedroom floor beside the sunken-in cardboard boxes I was using as bedside tables. In the sitting room, the ancient couch Moe gifted me is covered in melting hailstones of variable sizes.

If anything, that makes me feel even more like shit. Moe’s gift was unexpected and kind, and now I have a molding couch to thank him.

Whatever. There is no magic wand to clean up this mess, just me and a massive box of trash bags.

I’ve already filled one when I hear a car sputter in the mud outside. Holding the black heavy-duty bag in one hand, I step onto the porch, only to see four Marshalls step out of the sheriff’s SUV: Rory; Davey; Frannie; and Laura.

“Wow, this place is more of a dump than you prepped us for,” Frannie says, elbowing Laura in the side. Frannie’s eyes twinkle. “Watch out for rusty nails, Davey.”

“Do not touch rusty nails, Davey,” Rory admonishes. “Are there rusty nails, Jesse? Keep my son away from them.”

Laura rolls her eyes. “You’ve been here before, and the rain only just happened. Nothing will have rusted, and I bought my nephew toddler work boots. He’ll be fine.”

“I’m not a toddler, Auntie Laura.” Davey wipes his arm across his nose. “I’m in kindergarten.”

Laura ruffles his hair. “I know, hon. You’re growing so big and strong.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Rory grumbles. He turns toward me. “Are you going to get off your high horse now and stay with my sister? I mean, you can’t live in this dump now. You’ll get black mold, and trust me, our mom has shown us pictures and you donotwant that in your lungs.”

“Rory!” Laura hisses.

Frannie tosses her head back and laughs. “He’s right, Laura. Black mold is the worst. Though not nearly as bad as leishmaniasis.”

“What’s leash man assist?” Davey asks. I hide my laugh behind a closed fist.

Frannie kneels beside him and whispers something in his ear that makes the kindergartner’s eyes go wide as flying saucers. Rory rolls his eyes. “Thanks, Fran. He’ll never sleep again. When are you leaving again?”

Frannie elbows him playfully. “You’re welcome, big brother.”

“I’m on duty tonight, but aren’t you babysitting? He can hide out in your room when he has leishmaniasis nightmares.” Rory stares up at me again. “Do we need a dumpster? I’ll call and get one delivered.”

The entire thing sets me off-kilter. I open and close my mouth several times, unable to form words.

“Aww, you’ve made him speechless—or more speechless than usual.” Laura walks up the steps and passes me to examine the remains of the cabin. “Wow, this place needs to be rebuilt from the ground up. Better call for two dumpsters, Rory.”

The five ofus work steadily for the next several hours, only stopping for one half-hour break for sandwiches that Laura made and some very important piggyback riding time for Davey. After about two hours, Rory sets his son in the cab of his SUV with a tablet and a small cellophane bag of cookies from Laura’s bakery, while the rest of us keep working.

“The Drydens had better reimburse us,” Frannie says, her voice dark as she heaves soggy roof tiles into the dumpster that had arrived.

---