Page 55 of The Fix-Up

Damn it. Throwing my words back at me was a devilishly good move.

I looked down my nose at him. “Fred the Clown will be pedaling his heart out right next to my bed.”

“You named him Fred?”

“Of course he looks like a Fred.” I headed to the door. “I’ll just be going to bed now.”

“You do that.”

“I will.”

“Fine.”

“Goodnight.” And to show what a considerate person I was, I closed his door behind me.

TWENTY-ONE

Love is my puppy running to me first when we get home.

—LAUREN C., AGE 17

From the sticky note correspondence of Gilbert Dalton and Ellie Sterns:

Eleanor—

Would it be possible for you to close the kitchen cabinets after you open them?

Thank you.

—Gilbert

P.S. Can you pick a day and time for us to go through Ollie’s room?

Gil—

That seems kind of nit-picky, doesn’t it? I haven’t said a word about the toilet seat.

—Ellie

P.S. Sure. I’ll check my calendar and get back to you.

Eleanor—

That’s because I am always considerate enough to put the toilet seat down. You even left the microwave door open. I banged my head on it this morning.

—Gilbert

P.S. Right. Your calendar. Is it the same place you keep your keys?

“So, every Friday, he leaves?” Mae asked as she refilled her roller with a pale-green paint with the fanciful name of Sage Wisdom. But like every time she’d reloaded, she got more paint on herself and the plastic protecting the floors than on the roller. Mae was good at a lot of things. Turns out painting was not one of them.

“And comes back Sunday afternoon.” I reached up from my spot on the stepladder to cut in the paint on the top edge of the ceiling. Because I am good at painting.

“Where do you think he goes?”

“Austin. Or at least that’s what his notes say.”

“Notes?” Ali asked, peeking out from the closet where she was painting. “He leaves you notes?”

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