“Don’t push your luck.” I turned toward the sidewalk.
“You know?” His voice came from behind me. “When I thought about you, which I did a lot, I figured I’d lost my chance. Wonderful guy like you, kind, caring, smart, sexy? You’d find someone else in a heartbeat. I figured if I ever came back here,you’d be married with two-point-four children and a golden retriever. You deserve to be happy.”
I paused but didn’t turn back. I hadn’t been beating golden retriever owners off with a stick, the last twenty years. Not that I’d looked too hard. I’d been busy. “Alice deserved to be happy. We don’t all get what we fucking deserve.”
Striding toward the nursing home, I ran that conversation back through my mind. I hadn’t exactly come off as cool, competent, and mature like I’d wanted to. But maybe I’d said the important words that had lingered like a splinter under my skin through all those years.It really hurt when you left.A truth I’d wondered if he realized.I said it out loud. Now what?
Now what was me doing my job and Griffin volunteering, and our paths crossing now and then in Wellhaven. Then in six months or two years or whatever, he’d go back to touring and I’d still be here, working. I didn’t have Alice to focus on, but there was still Mom—
Speaking of, as I sat at my desk, my phone rang with her dial tone. I answered. “Hi, Mom, what’s up?”
Her tone came across high-pitched with anxiety. “The water’s leaking! I can’t stop it!”
Six years ago, that might’ve ratcheted my heart rate up. Today, I just felt tired. “Slow down. What’s leaking?”
“The hose to the washer thingy. It’s spraying water.”
“Go on Facetime and show me.”
“Can’t you just come home?”
Technically, fixing the suction pump should’ve been work time. I could get Phoebe to adjust my hours, reclaim my missinglunch break and maybe make it home and back. I didn’t want to. “Show me the problem first.”
“Well, all right.” I heard fumbling, then we connected on video and I saw Mom’s worried face, her hair a mess of graying curls. “Are you there? Oh, there you are, baby.”
“I’m here. Now turn the phone around and show me the leak.”
“It’s in the basement.” A swooping view of the kitchen and cellar stairs was accompanied by Mom’s slow footsteps and a few muttered words. Then we reached the basement and she aimed the phone at the sink. Sure enough, a pinpoint leak in one of the hoses to the washer sent a thin jet of spray through the air.
“You need to turn the water off, Mom. That round valve handle there on the pipe. Close that. I’ll replace the hose on the weekend.”
“I have to put down the phone.” I got a closeup of white enamel, then blackness. Fumbling sounds, then Mom picked up again. “I can’t turn the handle. It’s too stiff. Needs a man’s touch, I guess.”
“You could ask Oliver.” I secretly thought our neighbor was sweet on Mom. He was a decade older, but he might be capable of turning a valve handle, and would no doubt be happy to help.
“I don’t think he’s home. I hate to disturb him. The water’s getting everywhere!” Her voice climbed again.
“Shh. It’s okay.” I thought about explaining how to put a stick through the handle for leverage, but ran out of spoons. “There’s another different valve. It’ll cut off all the water to the house but it’s much easier.” I directed her to the main water line and had her pull down the knife switch. “Did that work?”
“I guess so? It’s not spraying.” I got a dizzying whirl of line-of-sight, then a view of the hose, which had stopped leaking.
“Okay, good. Just remember, you don’t have water anywhere right now. So you won’t be able to wash dishes or flush the toilet.”
“No toilets?”
“You can use them but not flush. When I get home, I’ll shut off the washer valve and we can turn the main valve back on. Or you could ask Oliver. That would be quicker.”
“Oh, well, I guess I can wait till you get home. Can you leave early?”
I ran my hand down my face. Maybe I should run home quick and deal with it. But then one of the aides stuck her head through my doorway. “That suction pump connector you rigged up is working loose.”
Waving to her, I mouthed, “I’ll be right there.” Then I said to Mom, “I’ll be home the usual time. I’ll try not to be late.” That might mean leaving some charting for the next morning, but I’d do my best. “You could call in an emergency plumber, I suppose.” The cost would be worth it, to get Mom’s water back without taking me away from Wellhaven.
“Oh, no. I think I’ll take a nap. I’ll see you later.”
“Sure. Now don’t start cooking when you have no water, remember.”
“You’re a good boy, Lee.” Mom’s voice had gone a little floaty. “I’ll see you later.”
