Will
Devon’s back?
Price laughed gleefully and kept typing. Meanwhile, I tried to make peace with the fact that apparently everyone who mattered to me knew about my thing for Devon and said nothing about it. I wanted nothing more than to dig a hole and bury myself in it for the entire time she was here.
But maybe I’d check on Devon tomorrow, because that really had been a major fall. Her knees had been bruising even as we stood there, and her chin didn’t look so hot, either. It would be a professional visit. Strictly professional. Doing it would ease my conscience about Gigi’s meddling from beyond, too, because I could see Devon, see if that look on her face meant anything, and move on with my life.
My phone kept buzzing with my brothers’ texts, both of them giving me shit. I turned it off and left the kitchen, flipping Price off as he laughed behind me.
6
DEVON 5 MONTHS, 28 DAYS TO GO
I POURED MYSELF a coffee. In Gigi’s kitchen. With a coffee maker I’d bought yesterday. Because I was not going back to the Daily Dose anytime soon.
I grinned in victory, then cursed at the pain in my jaw. I really, really didn’t have time for this. Opening the bottle of ibuprofen I’d grabbed along with the coffee maker yesterday, I tossed back four and chased them with a swig of water. I’d keep icing like I did yesterday, because today was day one of…whatever it was I was supposed to be doing.
I took a sip and sighed contentedly. A good, strong cup of coffee could set a lot of things right in this world.
It could not, unfortunately, tell me what I was supposed to do next. The house needed so much done, and even if my plan was to give the place to Rick when my six months were up, I couldn’t just sit around and look at it until then. Thankfully, Gigi had set aside some money for house repairs in her will, because my meager savings had no chance at covering the costs.
Should she have handled the repairs herself when she was alive? Um, yes. But she wasn’t around for me to argue with, so I needed to get on with it. Besides, sitting around only led to thinking, and I didn’t like to think. Especially about Aaron, who’d made a few appearances in my thoughts in the past twenty-four hours.
I’d spent yesterday walking through the rooms, an ice pack held to my face, wallowing in memories and simultaneously wondering at the accuracy of them. Because the house looked like it’d been heading toward a state of general disrepair for far longer than five years. Three floors of fading wallpaper, peeling paint, partially clogged drains, stale and dusty bedrooms, it went on. How had I not noticed in the years I was still here? Had it been like that even then? Had I been so wrapped up in myself that I’d simply looked right past it?
I took another sip of coffee, taking care to open my mouth only the amount I needed to, and looked out the kitchen window into the backyard. It needed mowing. I picked up my phone and shot my brother a text.
Did you handle the mowing?
You think she’d let me near a mower?
I snorted. He was legendary for his inability to mow a straight line. The man was amazing, don’t get me wrong—he could fix anything that needed fixing—but yard work? Not his thing.
Pretty sure she did it herself with the electric mower. Look in the shed in the back.
The doorbell rang, so I pocketed the phone and headed to the front.
An older man stood on the porch, pointing to the street. “I’m Mark Waters. Got the rental trash bin here.”
I looked past him and saw the giant green metal container taking up the entire length of the front yard. “Back it in to the driveway.” It was the one thing I’d managed to pull off before getting here. If I was going to be stuck here for six months, I at least needed to make it productive and get the house back in shape.
As the old man headed to his truck, I heard a woof. Trotting up the street and smiling at me like I was his long-lost owner was none other than Samson. The menace got a pat from Mr. Waters before turning and beelining to me, still grinning like a fool.
I shook my head. “You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?” I leaned down to scratch his chin and ears while he wagged his tail. “Too bad you caused all this yesterday.” I pointed at my knees and chin.
He licked my hand and sat, looking up at me expectantly. I had no idea what he wanted, but if it was food, he could forget about it. I didn’t need a stray dog attaching himself to me. What would happen once I left? The devastated look on his little face, watching me leave after thinking he’d found his happily ever after…Nope. No thanks to that.
Besides, Samson was clearly being taken care of in the food department, even if his fur was a disaster. Maybe he wasn’t a stray at all, come to think of it. I sat in one of the rocking chairs to drink my coffee while Mr. Waters worked. The porch needed more attention than I’d realized yesterday. The white paint peeled off the wooden slats and was totally gone in places, but it didn’t matter because the wood itself probably needed replacing—something I couldn’t do if I wanted it to actually look good. In between the two rockers stood a small, circular metal table with a glass top, still covered with a thick layer of yellow-green pollen from spring’s emergence a couple months ago. And the welcome mat in front of the door needed a good shaking out, too, no doubt full of dirt in addition to the ubiquitous pollen situation.
After Mr. Waters got the bin dropped off and waved his goodbye, I stood and opened the door to go inside. Before I could react, Samson darted inside with a grin and a wag like he knew exactly what he was doing.
Well, hell.
“Better not pee or poop in here, Samson, or you’re dead to me.” Little dog acted like he owned the place. I took a picture of him and texted it to Rick.
Gigi didn’t adopt a scraggly dog in the last six months, right?
Nope. Especially not one that ugly.
He’s not ugly!
If you say so.
I chuckled and Samson cocked his head at me. I pointed a finger at him. “Seriously. No peeing or pooping”
After pouring a second cup of coffee, which still felt like its own sort of victory, I took a shower. By the time I was dressed in my usual uniform of ratty t-shirt and shorts, my phone was buzzing with texts.
Ceci
I sure hope you planned on drinks this week with me and Jodi, because they’re happening.
Jodi
Ooh, yes! Also, where are you this morning?
Ceci
Fending off two three-year-olds and drinking lackluster coffee from home.
