Page 33 of Under Daddy's Spell

She had no trouble locating the portable air conditioners because they were on display at the front of the store, but almost fainted at the price. One unit, which only cooled a 200-square-foot area, was over $500. She’d need at least four for the front, and after spending $2000, she’d have nothing to pay a repairman.

Despairing there was no return to business-as-usual in sight, Tessa reluctantly returned to the hotbox that was her bookstore. When she found Martha and Angie in front of the box fans misting themselves with water to keep cool, Tessa surrendered. She couldn’t torture them any longer.

“We’re closed. Go home where it’s cool,” she announced as she flipped the door sign from open to closed. Then, she added a handwritten sign below it, apologizing for the inconvenience and indicating their temporary mornings-only schedule because of the heat.

Everyone left and she went, too.

When five o’clock rolled around and she still hadn’t heard from either her landlord or any of the six other heating-and-air companies she’d called, she took matters into her own hands and turned to the Internet for help. Fortunately, a video on how to fix practically anything could be found on YouTube.

She located several helpful troubleshooting guides. Most of the repairs, like replacing faulty units and thermostats and blowers, she didn’t dare touch. But the routine tasks, like changing filters and flushing drains to keep them clear, seemed easy enough. The experts warned if not done regularly, which Thompson was guilty of, it could lead to problems such as an overworked unit and insufficient cooling.

Armed with step-by-step instructions, she returned to the store.

An hour later, Tessa balanced at the top of her ladder as she stretched to undo the last screw in the cover of the wall vent. The instructions called it a diffuser and said it often had a filter, which had to be changed routinely, or the lint and dust buildup could become not only a fire hazard but reduce air flow both hot and cold.

Sweat dripped off her nose as she held the vent in place with one hand and tried to undo the screws with the other.

“Why didn’t I buy an electric screwdriver?” she grumbled in frustration.

When the last screw fell and bounced off the floor tile out of sight, she uttered a bad word that started with F, adding, “A magnetic, electric screwdriver would have been even better.”

Tessa left the MIA screw for later and pried the metal grill off the air duct. It indeed had a filter, but it was reasonably clean. She owed Mr. Thompson an apology—for this, at least—because the drain lines were clear when she flushed them and the air intake filter appeared brand new, like it had recently been changed. Someone had done the recommended routine maintenance recommended by the DIY website, which meant the problem went beyond her Miss Fix-it level of expertise, which was practically nil.

Her shoulders ached and, with no circulation in her hands after having them over her head for so long, she dropped them to her sides to rest before screwing everything into place.

As she balanced atop the ladder close to tears, she couldn’t for the life of her understand why Jordan was getting air when she was getting none.

“Maybe something crawled up inside it.”

The suggestion spurred her imagination. She pictured all manner of creatures setting up house in the vent, birds, squirrels, snakes, or worse, what always came to mind in Louisiana, gators. She couldn’t put the screen on fast enough, but, in her haste, dropped two more screws.

“Dammit!” she bit out loudly, feeling free since she was alone in her empty store.

Curiosity got the best of her, though, and she aimed her flashlight inside the dark tunnel.

“No way is a thin sheet of aluminum holding up a gator,” she muttered as she peered more closely inside. Seeing something in the shadows a few feet down, not a creepy crawly, she didn’t think; she climbed up another rung for a better look. Sticking nearly her entire head inside, she noticed another duct jutted off toward Jordan’s store a few feet down to the right. She also heard a rush of air.

Out came her head. In its place, she inserted her arm, stretching as far as she could toward where it forked. The air flowing through the duct all seemed to whoosh in Jordan’s direction. In fact, the tips of her fingers, which were an inch or two shy of the opening, actually got cold. ?

“That rat! He’s hogging all the cool air!” she exclaimed.

She didn’t think it was intentional; she assumed the renovations were to blame, but still...

“It should be fifty-fifty like it was before he moved in. Fair is fair.”

Then she got an idea. Since he liked it on the hot side, she decided to give it to him.

Stepping down a rung, she scanned the shelves.

“This should do,” she announced as she grabbed a rectangular hardcover photography book entitledBeaches. Her interest wasn’t the aerial shots of coastlines worldwide but the rectangular shape and size, which looked to be the same as the duct.

“Sorry, Author Gary Maylin, but right now, I need this a lot more than you,” she said as she wedged it in.

It took a few tries, sticking her head in to gauge the angle then blindly making adjustments, and Tessa didn’t entirely block the opening leading to Jordan’s side. She only covered half so equal amounts of cool air could sail down the two tunnels. In fact, she could feel the flow of cold air hitting her in the face already.

As she climbed down to search for screws, feeling like she’d come up with an equitable solution and having no sympathy for the big jerk since he was snarky the other day and showed little for her, she muttered, “Sweet cheeks, my left foot.”

Less one screw she never found, she replaced the grate and hid the evidence.

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