Haley was bummed to lose her for the summer. But, in a way, she craved the time to figure things out for herself. New leaf. New worries. New Haley.
Turning, Haley chewed her cheek, debating the focus of today’s efforts. Fixing up this house could cover her blog for the next decade. Maybe she’d add a vlog. Never really her thing, but it would bring in some extra cash, and provide some useful tips for DIYers. And hopefully help build up the following she would inevitably lose, switching from expensive designs to practical remodeling and décor.
Her brain flashed randomly, for the umpteenth time, to the bartender from Monday night. Odds were, someone that appealing was spoken for, but a good starting point.
Things with Nate had been stale for so long, but she’d never lost the longing. Exhausted as she’d been the last few nights, falling asleep imagining the bartender doing… well, many things, had been a lifesaver. Haley from three months ago wouldn’t have slept a wink, worrying about the next day’s agenda.
Maybe she’d hit Sutherland’s Hardware again. She’d already bought out their stock of cleaning supplies. Tomorrow. She had so much more cleaning to do, she whimpered as she opened the door to the garage and eyed her massive pile of cleaning supplies. Crap, she needed to pick up a garage door opener, too.
Soaking the mop with hardwood solution, she dug in. Through layer upon layer of dust, she found a rich, walnut tone. From entry to kitchen and into the bathroom, she had most of the downstairs shining. And before sunset, too.
Neck aching, shoulders throbbing, forearms vibrating and numb, she wiped a layer of dripping brine from her brow. Looking down at her hand, she found the sweat was black from all the grime she’d erased that day. Great. No longer on the floor or counters, but now caked onto her skin.
As the sun set, she cleaned her way in and out of the shower, and dragged her heavy limbs back in. Flipping the faucet to piping hot, she struggled to remain standing. She was sore all the way down to her toes. Was that even a thing?
“Pops?Youuphere?”Finn climbed the attic ladder, grimacing when he knocked his knee into the pathetic excuse for a rail, his vision darkening at the red-hot zap of pain from the impact. He quickly masked his reaction and popped his head through the opening. His dad was standing with his hands on his hips, glaring at the mess.
“Yep,” the old man called back. Well, not that he was old, but he washisold man. Not yet fifty, he was healthy as a horse and could probably still out-throw him on the field. Ran circles around the high school football team he coached.
“What are you up to?” When was the last time he’d been up here? If the musty scent weren’t enough, the clouds of dust that filled his nostrils was telling that not even Mom had made it up here in a while. Hell, she’d been tired before she was even diagnosed last year.
There were so many dusty old boxes. Christmas decorations, Easter, Halloween. Clothes that may come into style again one day. Generations of family photos.
“I packed up a box of your mom’s books, and thought I’d store it up here. But…” He stood in the center of the chaos and scowled. “Well, I don’t think there’s room.”
It was lucky the ceiling below wasn’t bowed under the weight of everything. “Maybe it’s time to start donating.” He pulled open a plastic tub, the lid cracking in his hand. On top, he found a crocheted Christmas tree skirt on top, some plastic ornaments below. “Are you ever going to use this stuff?”
“Well. No. But, then I got to thinking, maybe you and Zoe and Evan might want some.”
Finn lifted the lid off a weathered cardboard box that crumbled in his hand. Maniacal laughter echoed out, piercing his ears as a plastic witch with striped socks offered him a trick or a treat. “No. I really don’t want this. I mean, yeah, we should save out a few trinkets for shits and giggles, remember Mom’s quirky humor every year. But even she didn’t have enough room for all of this. I don’t think I’ve seen some of this stuff since I was a kid.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Pops?” Finn held his breath, afraid to ask the next question. He leaned his shoulder against the crossbeam next to him.
“Yeah?”
“Why don’t we do a major cleanout. Each take a corner of the house to clean out Mom’s stuff that none of us will make use of.” It was time to move forward. If Pops wasn’t ready, he was good with that. He’d be supportive.
Pops nodded, his few wrinkles darker than they’d been yesterday. “Let’s pick up some moving boxes.” Scott Halseth wouldn’t want to dawdle. Not his style.
“I can hit Sutherland’s and pick up supplies.” Finn nodded toward the steps. “I’ll follow you down.”
Pops snorted. “You barely made it up here. I’ll hang out at the bottom to catch you.”
Rolling his eyes, Finn snorted back, “Laugh now. You can’t tell me you’re not getting a bit of arthritis in those joints.”
“You kidding? I’m too damn young for that crap.” Pops whacked him on the shoulder and shimmied down the sharp steps like an agile kid. Showoff.
Sitting over the gap, feet dangling, Finn gripped one hand on each side and dropped to the floor below, landing with the bulk of his weight on his good leg, the impact jarred from his heel to his molars. Popping up, he smirked playfully and returned the whack on the arm. Hoisting up the drop ladder, he raised it back into the ceiling.
“I’ll be back.” He grabbed his keys and was out the front door before either of them had a chance to second guess the decision.
He climbed into his Shelby, the rumbling purr of the engine almost taking the edge off of whatever was digging at him. Almost. Pops seemed totally on board, but was he pushing the issue?
4
Cadence
