“You wanted to stay in that playroom. You’re free to make other choices.”
“I wasn’t complaining, just asking.”
Biyen’s crashing entry had woken Gramps where he had fallen asleep in his recliner.
“You’re back.” He patted a yawn.
“We are. Did you take your blood pressure pill, Gramps?” Sophie checked the pill dispenser marked with the days of the week and found his pill inside the section marked Sunday.
She brought it to him with a glass of water, then interrupted Biyen who was determined to leaf through every page of his fossil book.
“You can show Logan the rest tomorrow, champ. You need to hit the shower. Your feet are filthy enough to grow potatoes between your toes.”
“Peas,” he corrected. “My toes are too little for potatoes.”
“And then the vines would climb all over you!” She came up behind him and attacked with tickling hands down his front, making him wiggle and giggle.
When she released him, he slapped the book closed and went into the bathroom, turning to yell from the door, “Are my shark bajamas clean?”
He still called them bajamas with a b.
“I’ll get them.” She ran down to the basement for the basket of fresh laundry and came back to set his pajamas on the lid of the closed toilet, catching him singing George Ezra’s Shotgun.
When she came back to the kitchen, she overheard Gramps saying, “Hell, no. I’m not climbing into a bilge at my age.”
“I was thinking the hardware store.”
“Sophie said you hired Eunice Houstie’s grandson.”
“We did. He’s keen, but green. We need someone to train him.”
“I’m no help with computers, son.”
“No, the practical stuff. He can read a label and find parts on a shelf, but he doesn’t know what they’re for. We need someone who can tell a customer, ‘Yeah, that will work,’ or ‘No, you need a three-eighths.’ It doesn’t have to be full-time. Any hours you could spare would be a big help.”
Gramps took off his glasses to give them a polish with the cloth he kept beside him. “What are you paying?”
“What do you want?
“Cash.”
“That could be arranged,” Logan said dryly.
“What do you think?” Gramps slipped his glasses back on and looked over them to where Sophie was folding laundry on the kitchen table.
She thought it sounded like a healthy way to get him out of the house. Sometimes it seemed like he didn’t leave his chair all day.
“You know locals will start treating the shop like a drop-in center,” she warned Logan. “The old-timers will come in to jaw-wag with him, but won’t buy anything.”
“More chance for him to be there when he’s needed.” Logan shrugged that off.
“Why don’t you try it and see if you like it?” she suggested to Gramps.
“I’ll have to leave in time to be here for Biyen, when he gets home from school.”
“He can meet you at the shop and catch a lift in your rig. Hell, put him to work,” Logan said. “How old were any of us when you set us to sorting nuts from bolts?”
“You little shits were trouble. You needed something to do.”
“That’s a true fact,” Logan agreed. “Is there any chance you could come in for an hour tomorrow, though? I have to do Reid’s rounds at the lodge while he takes Emma’s family around the island.”
“An hour’s not worth leaving the house for,” Gramps scoffed. “I’ll be there when I get there and leave when I’m ready.”
“Perfect.” They shook on it.
Chapter Five
Logan was not a nostalgic person, especially for his childhood, but there was something quaint and familiar in the morning scramble in the Hughes-Marshall household. Socks had to be located and a sack lunch prepared. There was yelling up and down the stair well and the smell of burnt toast and Art sitting in his chair, watching the morning news with the volume a little too high.
“Did you take your morning pill?” Sophie asked as she brought Art a cup of coffee.
“I did,” he assured her.
Logan noticed she checked the dispenser on the shelf over the coffeemaker anyway.
“Leave the dishes, Logan,” Art urged him. “I’ll do them before I come to the store. You all get going or the boy’ll be late for school.”
Logan turned off the water, suspecting Art was looking forward to peace and quiet.
