Page 33 of Sunny Skies Ahead
Imogen Phillips
Objectives and cover letter look good to me!
When she was around, I felt like I could navigate the toughest battles.
And entering this new chapter with my mom would be the toughest battle I’d fought in a long time.
Chapter eleven
Imogen
The fires I mentioned to Kameron may have been metaphorical, but the overwhelming sense of dread was not.
While re-caulking the guest bathroom—a task I’d deemed easy enough—I’d noticed mold lining one side of the bathtub. I tried to control my spiral upon noticing it, but its presence in the bathroom was troubling.
I’d called Joe, who was known as Watford’s handyman and a complete know-it-all when it came to everything building related.
I stood in the doorway of the bathroom, nervously fidgeting with hem of my shirt. Joe crouched down next to the tub, running his gloved fingers along the caulk.
“How does it look?”
Joe didn’t respond. I tapped my foot impatiently, already anxious about the findings.
“I’m going to need to peel back some of this tile,” Joe finally said. “I’m worried that the mold behind the caulking is the least of your worries.”
“You think it’s in the walls?”
Joe met my eyes in the mirror and shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”
When he’d removed one of the tiles in the middle of the shower to find the entire backside covered in black mold, my heart stopped.
“Let’s talk in the living room,” Joe said, placing the tile mold-side up in the tub. I headed for the living room, palms sweaty and stomach churning with anxiety. I knew mold was bad, but how bad, I wasn’t sure. Joe went to the kitchen first, washing his hands twice before he returned to the living room.
“You’re going to need a full mold remediation on this house,” Joe said, never one to mince words.
“You’re kidding,” I said, but I knew he wasn’t. “You’re saying every room in this house probably has mold in it? How long would that take? How much would that cost?”
“I know a guy in Brighton that owns a home repair business. I’ll ask him to draw up a quote for you,” Joe said. “It’ll be expensive, but I’m telling you Imogen, mold isn’t something you want to mess around with. If it’s in the guest bathroom, there’s a high likelihood it’s in other places, too. No home renovator is going to come within a mile of this house once they uncover mold, and you’re damn sure not going to be able to sell the place unless it’s fixed.”
I rubbed my temples. I still hadn’t decided whether I was going to sell the house or not.
“You’ll need to find somewhere else to live while they do the remediation,” Joe said. “For a case like this, I’d estimate they’ll need at least a week, if not longer.”
“A week?” I exclaimed. Joe handed me a business card with Dillon’s information on it.
“Dillon can give you more information once he draws your quote up,” Joe said. “I’m sorry, kid. I wish I had better news. For your health and safety, promise me you’ll sleep somewhere else tonight?”
“Yeah,” I murmured, blinking back the sting in my eyes. “I will. Thanks for coming, Joe.”
“I’ll give Dillon a call and tell him my findings. Let me clean things up in the bathroom and I’ll be out of your hair.”
I nodded and swallowed tightly, heading for the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea.
“Take care of yourself, kid,” Joe called when he returned from the bathroom, waving at me from the entryway.
“Will do,” I called back, sighing as I heard the front door open and close. I knocked my head back against the cabinet, feeling the weight of the financial implications of a full remediation on my shoulders. It was going to happen—if for no other reason than for my health if I decided not to sell the house.
I picked up my phone to call Abbie. She and Connor had just gotten back into town after their honeymoon, and as far as I knew, Connor was working from home organizing the next cohort and Abbie was checking in on things at Watford General.
