Page 30 of The Top of Admiration
“It’s for a new piece I’m doing. I’m thinking of going into sculpture again. It needs to be strong enough, but I think I’m going to sit it on steel.” I was pretty sure decking and steps had metal frames.
He handed me a piece of wood, just the right width and basically the same grain. Perfect. Being the wonderful, no-doubt-future-brother-in-law he was, he didn’t charge me.
“Alright, step,” I muttered, pulling at the loose board with both hands. “I nearly killed the man once, so you need to cooperate.”
I hoped Les fromDIY Heroeson YouTube didn’t disappoint. He’d built heaps of stuff, and none of that had fallen down. I managed to pry the board up enough to squeeze glue underneath. I had nails, but the hammer didn’t look very strong. Besides, I’d used this glue to hold very heavy angel wings on a mannequin. I knew it was strong. “Good enough,” I decided, smoothing it down and hammering in three nails, just for extra support. One bent sideways, another disappeared into the crack between boards, and the third held well enough to assure me it wasn’t going anywhere. I gave the board a firm pat, dusted off my jeans, and whispered, “You’re safe now, Cam.”
I stood back and looked at my handywork from a distance. Shit. The grain was close enough, but the replacement board was much lighter than the others. If I added some dirt, he’d never know. I used my hands to scoop dirt from his garden and smooth it over the fixed board. Hmm. It needed more. Emptying the junk from my toolbox, I filled it with dirt and left at least half an inch of it coating the boards. By the time the rain washed it off, or Cam cleaned his deck, surely the wood would be permanently stained by the dirt. Or he’d just convince himself it was always that way. I mean, it was a dodgy plank to start with in his mind. He’d just gaslight himself into thinking it was a bit pale all the time.
I replaced my tools in the dirty toolbox and drove away, satisfied that my debt to Cam was one step closer, literally, to being repaid. But really, how could you pay someone back for something so gracious that was given so anonymously and without expectation? I wasn’t a rich woman, but I was resourceful. I would find other ways to pay my debt to Cam.
Chapter 25: Cam W — A good deed punished
Fortune brings in some boats that are not steered
Cymbeline, William Shakespeare
I pulled up outside the house, exhausted and glad to be home. My face still hurt, but was looking a hell of a lot better than it had. During the conference, I’d lied to people and told them I’d slipped on the dodgy step outside my house. Being in a bar fight, despite not throwing a single punch or instigating it, didn’t really convey a professional image.
Dragging my suitcase from the trunk, I walked wearily to my front door. The rain hadn’t stopped for days, and despite getting wetter and wetter, I didn’t have the energy to walk quickly. Physically I was tired, but most of my low mood came from the fact that Miranda was avoiding me. She thought she was cleverly hiding but she was not good at thinking of excuses on the fly.
The last time I visited Lucy, Miranda had fled to her room. I knocked on her door, determined to build on the flirty-but-awkward foundation we’d built on the way home from the airport.
“I can’t come out right now—I’ve got this coconut oil and egg hair mask situation going on, and I can’t be under artificial lights.” I just mumbled okay, noting the light spilling out from under her door. Lucy had just shrugged and shaken her head.
I understood she maybe wasn’t ready to jump into anything with me, another Cam, so soon after her break-up with Bad Cam, butI had hoped to just spend time with her. To show her that we were good together, and that I would always show up for her.
Used to maneuvering the dodgy step on my porch, I stepped to the side of it, avoiding the broken middle part. I’d have to fix that. I wasn’t super handy, but Damon would help. As I lifted my other foot, placing full weight on the dodgy step, my planted foot slipped. The plank was a sea of mud. Wet, sloshing dirt soaked the whole step, while the others around it were relatively clean from the rain.
“What the …” Before I could process my inner monologue fully, the step flicked up at the side that wasn’t bearing my weight. Stupidly and reflexively, my other foot stepped up to plant down on the step that was no longer in place. A searing pain shot through the flailing foot as it finally made crooked contact with the uneven dirt under the step. My body fell backward, jarring my back.
I grabbed my phone from my pocket, and despite the pain, grunted out my predicament to Damon. What was going on? Had I wronged someone in a past life?
__________
Five hours later, I was finally sitting on my sofa, my ankle in a cast. “At least you don’t need surgery,” Damon offered helpfully. He’d driven me to the hospital and waited with me. Cordy had dropped in some dinner for us, and taken the opportunity to eat with Jules, who was on break.
“Yeah, small blessings. Thanks for your help. It’s late. You should head home.”
He nodded. “Will do. I’m just going to clean up that step so no one else takes a tumble. I won’t fix it right now, but I’ll just put a board across it. I’ll call tomorrow.”
“Thanks, mate. Really appreciate it. Hopefully you’ll not have to save me again and this run of shitty luck ends.”
Five minutes later, Damon was back in my lounge holding the filthy plank that had led to my injury. “Did you try to fix this? Seriously, Cam, I know you’re not handy but three rusty nails, hammered into the wrong spot? And this looks like fucking glitter glue.”
“I didn’t do it. The thing has been dodgy for months. The glue is news to me.”
Damon paused, examining the plank. His face flushed with realization and he threw the dirty board out the front door, returning with his hands behind his head.
“Um, I think this was Miranda. I gave her that board today. It explains the terrible work and the glitter glue. I think she was trying to do something for you. Fuck.”
Despite the pain in my back, ankle, and face, my body flushed with warmth. Sure, she’d broken one of my bones, but she tried to do something nice for me. Part of me didn’t dare believe it, given the way she’d avoided me lately.
“Why would she do that? She barely speaks to me anymore,” I puzzled.
“Who the fuck knows with Miranda? Something is going on. Jules, Cordy, and Miranda have got something going on. I can feel it. I walked in on a conversation and Jules was being stern with them both, but Cordy just told me it was a ‘typical stressy Jules’ thing. Just ask her. She should leave the home repairs to Cordy, just like Cordy should leave the pranks to Miranda. How the fuck has Juliet coped all these years? Their parents are so normal.” Damon shook his head, mystified.
My Miranda was far from normal. Cordy seemed to get swept along with her plans, while Jules was always just there, like the safety supervisor. She accepted the chaos but engaged in it to ensure a responsible adult was present. Miranda’s well-intentioned gesture had broken my ankle, but still, I smiled. Did she like me? If she did, why was she hiding? This woman was a chaotic mystery, but I was determined to figure her out.
