Page 11 of Room 1003

I pressed the doorbell and listened, but there was no respondingding-dongfrom within. I frowned. After fixing the breakers yesterday, this should’ve been working. Unless, of course, they’d had another short. So, I tried again. This time there was a faint, dull clank sound. That wasn’t right either.

Third time’s the charm, I decided and pressed the button once more. “Yowch!” A spark jumped from the button to my finger and traveled up my arm to my shoulder. My entire arm was left tingling. It wasn’t the first time I’d been zapped, considering my profession, but I was smart enough to cut the current before working on a circuit. It seemed this house had a few surprises in store for me. Lesson learned.

The door swung open, and there was Shane. “I thought I heard someone out here. Why didn’t you ring the doorbell?”

“Believe me, I tried,” I said, biting back the groan. “I think I’ll stick to knocking.”

“Well, come on in. I made breakfast if you haven’t eaten. Nothing fancy, just some French toast and fruit salad. And coffee, of course. Brewed fresh, thanks to your quick work yesterday.” He beamed at me, eager to please, and I almost felt guilty for having eaten breakfast before I left the house this morning.

“Well, I’ll never say no to coffee,” I said, feeling surprisingly bashful. “Maybe you could save me some of that French toast for lunch?”

“Of course!” Shane looked especially delectable this morning, with his rumpled shirt and the pillow creases across his eye and cheek. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed; I had no idea how he’d had time to cook breakfast.

“Rough morning?” I asked, then realized he probably wouldn’t appreciate me calling attention to his appearance. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—” I began, but he cut me off with a laugh.

“Yeah, is it that obvious? I couldn’t get to sleep last night, and when I finally managed to drift off, I had the weirdest dreams about every room in the house being filled with bananas. My dad took Kit to school this morning and let me sleep in.”

“That was nice of him,” I said, but again, I found myself wondering about Shane’s wedding ring. Where was his spouse? Why didn’t they take their son to school. Were they separated? This level of curiosity wasnothealthy.

I cleared my throat and headed straight to the living room, putting a bit of distance between us. I could feel Shane following me. “I’ll need to make some small holes in the plaster, I hope that’s all right. It’ll be up close to the ceiling, and I’ll patch it when I’m done. I need to fish the new wires through the walls down to the basement.”

“Sure, whatever you need to do. I trust you.” His words probably shouldn’t have struck such a chord within me, but they did. Trust was usually hard-earned, but I could tell he meant what he said. I had no idea what I’d done to deserve something so precious. “What about the old knobby wires?”

I smiled. “Knob and tube. It’s okay to just leave them where they are. Once the new lines are connected, it won’t be a hazard anymore.”

“Okay…” He nodded, but his mind was half elsewhere. He hiked a thumb toward the dining room, backing away. “I’ll just get to work then. I’ll be in the next room if you need anything.” I wondered if he always worked in the dining room or if it was only because he didn’t have an office yet. Maybe that should be the next room I worked on.

First step was to drill a hole in the wall. I made a couple trips out to the truck, bringing in a ladder and spools of 14-gauge wire, then I slid on my safety glasses and climbed up the ladder with my drill. Everything started out fine. I started making a small hole, just like I’d done a hundred times before, but this time, the plaster seemed to be crumbling too easily. The drill bit punched through, as if through wet sand. Then, before my eyes, a series of cracks spiderwebbed out from the hole.

“Uh-oh…”

I watched with growing horror as a large crack lengthened, extending upward, through the crown molding, and across the ceiling over my head. Plaster dust rained down on me, and I tilted my face away just in time for a large chunk of plaster to fall directly onto the back of my skull, then dropping to the floor and skittering across the hardwood.

“What was that sound?” Shane called, and I heard his footsteps approaching at a clip.

I coughed a few times, blinking my eyes open carefully, halfway expecting the rest of the ceiling to follow. When it seemed safe enough, I peeked down at Shane. He was staring up at me, his jaw gaping. “I’m sorry, that’s never happened to me before.” I straightened and reached up to press a finger gently to the plaster. It was soft, almost spongy. “Oh shit. There’s been some water damage. Let me guess, the bathroom is right above us?”

“Yeah…” No matter how calm he seemed about the situation, I could see the emotions flitting across his eyes, starting at a dawning horror, through panic, then straight to dread as he calculated the added cost of repairing water damage. We didn’t even know how extensive it was yet. Hopefully it was just on the surface, and that the supporting beams were still solid. His throat bobbed with a heavy swallow. “How bad is it?”

“Um, let me take a look, okay?”

He nodded, but his eyes were turning glassy as tears began to pool.

Shit, my heart was breaking for him. I couldn’t just stand here and watch him cry. I scrambled to find something to say to make it better. I came down the ladder and approached him. “Hey, don’t worry, I can fix this.”

He gave a wary chuckle, devoid of humor. “Seriously?”

“Sure. I may be an electrician, but I’m pretty handy. I can do all sorts of things. Plaster repair is child’s play.”

He looked skeptical, and he wiped his shirt sleeve over his eyes to catch any remaining tears. He wrapped his arms around his waist in a protective gesture, as if trying to hold himself together and keep from falling apart like this house.

“I’m sorry,” I said carefully, “I know it’s none of my business, but why did you buy this house? It’s beautiful, sure, but it’s obviously going to cost you more than you bargained for. You could’ve bought a little bungalow for less than half the cost.”

He gave a deep sigh, his entire body sagging under an unseen weight, and I wished I could take back my question. “It was my husband’s dream house,” he whispered, and a new sense of regret filled me. It hadn’t escaped my notice that he said “was,” as in past tense. “We used to drive past it sometimes in the evening when Kit was a baby and we were trying to get him to fall asleep, and Embry would say, ‘One day, we’re going to live there.’ And so, when it went up for sale, I felt like it was Embry giving me a sign.” He sniffled and wiped at his eyes again. “I know, it’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not,” I quickly said.

He scoffed. “Really, it’s okay. If Embry knew what a money pit this place was, he never would’ve bought it. Gods, what was I thinking?”

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