Page 7 of Say Something
- 3 -
“It could be worse,” Mom said.
“Please,” I stated dryly, my hands perched on my hips, “enlighten me on how this could possibly be any worse?”
“It has a roof.”
I looked up at the white, popcorn ceiling stained with water marks. “Barely,” I scoffed.
“There could be no electricity or running water…”
I walked over to the kitchen sink and turned on the tap. The pipes groaned, but nothing came out. I sighed as my stomach knotted. “Any other words of wisdom?”
“The water is probably turned off,” she shrugged. “I’m sorry, sweetie.”
We stood in the kitchen of the small, nine hundred square foot cottage, a.k.a. disaster area, and I scanned the space. As much as I hated to admit it, my mother was right. It could have been worse. The once white carpet in the living area and bedroom was mostly brown. The linoleum in the kitchen and bathroom was worn through in several places. There were holes in the walls from who knew what—it looked like something chewed through in a few places—as well as several broken windows that were being held together with masking tape. But at least it was still standing. Silver linings and all that.
“I’m going to need to hire someone,” I muttered to myself. This was more than a quick paint job.
Mom started clapping her hands excitedly, and I raised an eyebrow at her. “You can use Michael!”
“Michael? As in my brother? Your son, Michael?” My tone must have indicated my surprise because she rolled her eyes at me.
“Of course, what other Michael would I recommend?”
“I don’t know…” I started, biting my lip. The Michael I remembered wasn’t a handy guy. He had been a bookworm all through high school. Could he really repair a house? I knew from our conversation over dinner last night that he was working in construction, but I kind of figured he did paperwork or something.
“What’s there to think about? He’s your brother.”
“He’ll probably write messages in glow-in-the-dark paint throughout the house to scare the hell out of me, Mom.”
She smiled, probably remembering the time he’d rearranged the glow-in-the-dark stars on mine and Melissa’s bedroom ceiling to make spiders and scary faces. We didn’t sleep in our room for a week after that. “He takes his work very seriously, Jess. He’d do a good job for you.”
“I’ll give him a call.”
“I think that’d make him very happy.” She squeezed my shoulder before stepping around me and heading out the door. “Call him now, then we’ll go look at paint swatches and get some lunch.”
I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and skimmed the contacts for Michael’s number, then tapped his name and waited for the call to connect.
“Michael Price,” he answered, and I smiled at how professional my little brother sounded.
“Hey, Mikey. It’s Jess.”
He was quiet for a moment before responding. “Hey, Jess. What’s up?”
Guilt ate at me. Talking to my little brother on the phone shouldn’t have been awkward. He was my brother. We hadn’t spoken much at dinner the night before, but we had exchanged some pleasantries. Nevertheless, there was a strain there.
“Mom and I are at my new place,” I told him. “It needs some work.”
“I’m pretty busy today,” he started, and I interrupted him; I knew I shouldn’t have asked.
“It’s okay. I’m sorry to have bothered you. Maybe you can recommend someone?”
“Jess, stop. If you’ll let me finish…I’m busy today, but I can probably meet you there tomorrow morning to check things out.”
I blew out a relieved breath, some of the tension left my shoulders. “Really?”
“Of course,” he said assuredly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
