Page 24 of To Have and to Scold

I know, logically, it doesn’t make sense. In all actuality, my failing grade had little to do with the reason he left the house.

Still. I’d already decided by then that working hard, hustling, would be the only way to help the family.

My eyes burn as I wad up the McCord’s beautiful invitation.

Please no more couples on the Death List.

Chapter Nine

Beck

Mondays used to be my favorite day. I’m a worker, always have been, and there’s something about a new Monday that just feels good, you know? A fresh start. A chance to conquer the world.

Except, today is not my day. Karma took my Monday and held her hostage and then chewed her up and spit her out.

And it’s not even nine a.m. yet.

First, I was dragged out of bed at quarter after five because my dog, Ace, felt the need to bark and whine until I got him out of his crate and fed him his breakfast. At quarter after five! He’s stubborn and dramatic and I knew I couldn’t go back to sleep until I dumped some food in his bowl.

Then I got a phone call from a guy who’s the father of one of my friends from school, moaning and complaining about how half of his barn collapsed overnight and asking if I could please send a crew over immediately. I spent the next thirty minutes on the phone, in between trying to shove some still-crunchy oatmeal down my throat.

I guess still-crunchy oatmeal is better than burnt.

Turns out my crew is hard to get ahold of at that ungodly hour, so I end up meeting three of them at the barn, get them started with the demo all while talking the guy off a ledge—he’d been rounding up his goats all morning.

Once I arrive at Integrity, I get a text from my neighbor, Rosie, asking if I might be able to coach Leo’s beach volleyball team. It’s a casual thing, she says, a summer city league deal. They just need an adult there sitting on the bench, making sure the kids all stay in line.

Work is busy, so I consider telling her I can’t.

But then I remember how Leo’s dad, my buddy, Byron, was always their coach before he passed away. Even when he was battling cancer and had to drop out of the adult city-league games, Byron still managed to show up and lead Leo’s team. I have to swallow down a ball in my throat when I think about how Leo didn’t even sign-up last summer since his dad had just died. That Leo wants to play again is a good sign.

I take a deep breath and text her back.

Sure. I’d love to coach Leo and his friends. Sounds fun. But you have to realize that for me, the words casual andvolleyball can’t coexist. You know how maniacal I can get about volleyball.

She only sends me a laughing emoji and a “Thank you.”

It will be fun to coach Leo and his friends. I’m already thinking of drills I can run with the boys.Casualvolleyball? I think not!

Soon, my phone is bombarded with other calls and messages, things about a delayed pressure valve and how someone on my painting crew apparently used the wrong color of paint.

At least it wasn’t at the mansion. I cannot afford any more problems or delays there.

I hear the click-clack of Dallas’s shoes as she enters our office building, carrying several bolts of fabric in her arms. She’s a fast walker—all business—and since my office door is open, I catch a glimpse of her across from the reception area. Her face is etched with concern, like she’s got the weight of the world on her shoulders.

She only brightens when she sees Mary, who gets up to give her a hug around the bolts of fabric.

“Need some help with those?” Mary asks, and Dallas refuses quickly.

“I’m good.” She shifts the bolts to her other hip and cocks her head to one side. “How’s your grandson feeling? Any better?”

How does Dallas know about Mary’s grandson? I’ve worked with her for years and I’ve never even thought to ask about any of her grandkids.

That’s when they start talking and laughing about a diaper changing incident gone awry and I deliberately zone out ofthatconversation.

A few minutes later, after Dallas drops the fabric off in her office, she’s at my door, out of breath.

“Am I supposed to let you know when I’m having client meetings at the mansion, Mr. Billingsley? Because I’m having aclient meeting at the mansion today.” I don’t miss the undertone of hostility in her demeanor.

---