Page 25 of Clean Sweep
“You have a great Aunt Martha?”
“Yes.”
“Me too.”
“Weird.”
“Is it?”
His quick question gave me pause. No, it really wasn’t that weird. Martha was a fairly common name, but itfeltweird, particularly encased in this conversation, which I still couldn’t fathom. In the background, the sound of rustling papers ensued.
“Invoice,” he murmured. “Oh, right. $300.”
“That’s it?”
“You want me to charge more?”
“Well . . . weren’t you here all day? There’s no way you accomplished this in four or five hours.”
“It was six. That’s fifty an hour. I’m fine with increasing it, if that’s what you want. It would probably just be $150 next week, a basic clean.”
“Oh, that’s doable and I’m happy to pay the $300. You earned it and more.”
“Great. I’ll go ahead and charge the card we have on file, if that works.”
“It does.”
“Okay. Well, next week sounds great.”
“Does the day before Thanksgiving work for you?” I asked. “That would be a huge help.”
“It does. You did great, by the way.”
“I’m sorry?” I asked.
“Today. Landon dropped a few too many bombs on you, with strangers around, and when you weren’t expecting it. I’m sorry he did that. There were better ways to break the news.”
“Oh . . . thanks. I agree.”
I relaxed against the seat, gratified to have another parent’s opinion. I hadn’t asked Landon if his father knew what he revealed tonight. Ethan cared more than I did about medical school and had a bitter streak toward young marriage a mile wide. A niggling suspicion in the back of my mind wondered if Landon did this to get back at his Dad.
I shoved that away.
“It’s hard, isn’t it?” I asked. “Being a parent. You want your kids to take care of themselves but you don’t want them to be idiots doing it.”
“Oh, I feel you. Of course, I have one teenager still at home. I haven’t broached the whole sending-them-into-the-world thing.”
“It sucks.”
“Can’t be worse than puberty.”
I tilted my head back and laughed. “It’s so much worse! Just in a different way. I guess as a man parenting a daughter, it may not feel that way.”
A low chuckle followed my response, and I was grateful for the easy flow of conversation after a rough day. I shifted.
“Thanks for your help out on the porch today,” I said, my cheeks warming again.
The demise of my marriage revealed to me that I didn’t dovulnerable, open conversationsvery well. Maybe if I had, I wouldn’t be single in my garden, wondering if I messed my son up beyond repair.
