Page 7 of Finding Basil
Leaning back on the wall in the upstairs hall, Herb groaned, “What will that entail?”
“Full plumbin’ overhaul, yes, sir.”
Herb realized he really needed to go over that appraisal, so he’d stop getting these surprises. “Damn. That’s…a lot. How much?”
“Oh, well, that will take some figuring, but the size o’ this house and dependin’ on what kind of pipes you want, could be a couple thousand up to ten thousand.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Copper is what you’re gonna want, see? It’s the best thing, but if you want PVC, well, it’s cheaper. Not as good, o’ course, but it’ll do ya.”
He’d do some research but he knew he’d end up getting the copper if for no other reason than to avoid anotherplumbin’ overhaul, he’d spend the money. “How soon can you get started?”
“Tomorrow soon ‘nough?”
“That would be great. And, well, I’ll take the copper.”
“Figured ya would. I’ll be back in the mornin’, say, around six?”
“Six A.M.?”
“Yes, sir. Early to bed, early to rise and all that there.”
Herb was cautious, afraid of offending the plumber, of all people, so he asked as nicely as he could, “Could we maybe do…I don’t know…eightish?”
“Ish? I don’t do ish,” he grumbled. “I’ll be here at eight.”
As soon as he was gone, Herb poured himself a nearly full tumbler of scotch and sat on the ugly but comfortable couch, staring at the fireplace. He wanted to make a fire, but it was too warm, and it was a real fireplace. He didn’t know if he could start an actual fire.
Besides, he didn’t feel like doing a damn thing after that plumbing fiasco. He could call Cordelia and bitch, but she’d likely tell him to read the appraisal. The house suddenly felt like it hated him. It had waited for him to unleash all the problems a hundred years of being a home could have.
Then he thought about it and set the tumbler down on the clunky wooden coffee table and headed out the back door, staring at the land all around him.
It was his. The fields and the greenhouse, it was all his. It would take work too, but planting, watering, watching things grow, it appealed to him.
In his previous job, he destroyed things. He helped to tear apart businesses, helped to fire people. His job was using propaganda to make people think it was a good thing what his company was doing. He’d send out emails and make boards to show how great the company was for the country and the world.
How they were saving money, they were helping build stronger companies to be able to compete on the world market.
It was all bullshit. The only thing it was good for was to make the investors rich.
But digging in the soil, planting seeds, watching them grow, that was life. That was something good and real. Food was important, and herbs, well, were good. In fact, they were the best part of food, if anyone would ask him. A nice dill sauce over a poached salmon, or a pesto using the best basil or mint.
His mouth watered thinking of it.
Walking around the field, he saw how dark the soil was, the irrigation pipes, and a small shed with a mechanical device. Once he crouched and looked it over, he discovered it was a water pump. “For the irrigation, I presume. I also presume I do not know what the hell I’m doing.”
His cell went off, and he left the shed to take the call. “Hello.”
“It’s Cordelia Meadows, Mr. Buffet.”
“I have a feeling we’re going to become good friends or serious enemies, so please, call me Herb.”
“Well, hopefully it’s the former, Herb. I have a date and time for the porch fix. Is tomorrow at nine, okay?”
“Yes. Fine. The sooner the better.”
“He said he can replace the entire porch, which is likely what it will need, but he can’t give an estimate until he sees it.”
