Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 136296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
“I was fine until you scared me.”
“Really? Because you didn’t look fine with the way you were flailing around. And your face is all red. Are your hands shaking? Are you afraid of heights?”
“No. Yes.” She blows a loose tendril of hair out of her face, and when it falls right back into place, she tries to swipe it away with the back of her gloved hand. “Maybe a little.”
“What were you doing up there?” I motion to the ladder.
“The gutters are clogged, and there’s a leak in my bathroom. I think it’s coming through the wall, but I can’t be sure. The landlord is away, so I figured I could climb up there and get whatever was blocking it out, and then the leak or whatever is going on in the wall would stop. But it’s a lot harder than I thought it would be.”
“Want me to climb up and look? I can check out your bathroom too.” I have zero experience with plumbing and leaks, but Kody and my cousin BJ recently had their entire kitchen redone because of an electrical issue, so I can probably call the guys who did the work over there if I need to.
“I’m sure you have better things to do with your time—like working on the assignment you missed because you skipped my class last night.” She gives me a pointed look.
“Sorry about that. I needed to work out some personal stuff.”
“Would that personal stuff be related to our conversation on Monday?” She clears her throat. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I shouldn’t have left like I did. I felt like an asshole. Feel like an asshole, still. I’m the one who brought it up in the first place, not you. I didn’t know how to handle the conversation, so I bailed. I apologize for that.” I motion toward the ladder. “Now can I help you with the gutters?”
“Is that you closing this discussion?”
“For now, yeah. You gonna let me take care of this?” I tap the ladder.
“I was fine.”
“If you mean fine in the sense that you’re hot as hell, then yeah. But if you mean you’re a pro on a ladder, I’d be inclined to disagree.” She crosses her arms, and I grin. “Do you happen to have gardening gloves handy?”
She shucks off the yellow rubber kitchen gloves. “Maybe in the shed.”
“Let’s take a look, then.” I motion for her to lead the way.
We walk down the driveway, between Clover’s car and her bestie’s, parked side by side, past a deck with a hot tub, and a set of stairs that lead to the second-floor apartment. We cross the lawn to the back fence where a small, rusted-out garden shed sits. The flowers around it have been trimmed back, dormant until spring. I step in front of her and put my hand over the handle before she can reach it.
“Let me go first.” I try to open the door, but it’s locked.
“There’s a key. Just under here.” She steps in close, her shoulder brushing my arm as she pushes up on her toes to retrieve it.
I hold out my hand, and she sets the small key in my palm. My skin is suddenly clammy, and a shiver runs down my spine as I push the key in the lock.
The smell of gas.
Dad’s bruised hand.
Lavender’s cut palms.
Kody’s accusing glare.
Lavender’s screams in the middle of the night that lasted for months.
The dreams that wouldn’t go away.
“Maverick.” Clover’s palm comes to rest on my forearm.
“Huh?” I look down at her, seeing the concern in her gaze.
“Are you okay?”
I shake my head to clear it. “Oh yeah. Fine. I’m fine. Sometimes raccoons make nests in sheds, and they’re pretty vicious when they feel threatened.” I turn the key and then the handle, pushing the door open.
A small lawn mower is pushed into the back corner, along with a gas can. To the right are tomato cages, empty planters, a couple of small bags of fertilizer, and an assortment of gardening tools. I find two pairs of rubber-palmed gardening gloves that are made for hands a lot smaller than mine, but they’ll do.
I get Clover to hold the ladder for me while I climb up and check the gutters. She was right about it being clogged. There’s an old bird’s nest in here damming up the water, making it impossible for anything to get past.
Clover keeps calling up to me about being careful, and I make sure I toss the crap I’m pulling out in the same direction the wind is blowing—away from Clover. Once the gutter is clear, I climb back down the ladder, peel the gloves off, and help her put everything away.
“I can come in and have a look at the bathroom, if you want,” I offer.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t mind—unless it makes you uncomfortable.”