But as we get closer to the house, I hear voices coming from the back. A female voice and a male voice. And it’s not Suzette and Jonathan. I would recognize that accent anywhere. My husband is in Suzette’s backyard.Again.
What is Enzo doing at Suzette’s house in the middle of the evening? Especially after hespecificallytold me he wouldn’t go over there without telling me.
I’m so mad, I stomp across Suzette’s front lawn to her door. Since Enzo works on yards, I’m pretty anal about never cutting across people’s lawns and ruining the grass, but I don’t care right now. I’m pissed off. I push my thumb into the doorbell, and without waiting for somebody to answer, I press it again. Then a third time, for good measure.
“Can I press it too?” Nico asks, wanting to get in on the fun.
“Go for it.”
By the time Suzette answers the door, looking somewhat hassled, we have managed to ring the bell at least seven times. But when I see her wearing teeny tiny shorts and a tank top that is tied off to reveal her midriff, I feel absolutely no sympathy for bothering her.
Or even for her broken window.
“Millie.” She flashes me an exasperated look, which only grows more irritated when she sees Nico. “I could hear the doorbell fine. Once will do.”
“Is Enzo here?”
Her irritation vanishes, and a smile creeps across her lips. “Yes. He’s just been helping me out in the backyard.”
At that moment, Enzo emerges from the back, wearing jeans and a grimy white T-shirt, his hands coated in a healthy layer of dirt. “Can I use the kitchen sink?” he starts to ask, and then he sees me and freezes. “Millie?”
Suzette is eating up this drama, but as much as I hate to disappoint her, I’m not here to catch my husband. We have a more pressing matter. I put my hand on Nico’s shoulder and give it a squeeze.
“I broke your window,” he says. “I’m really, really sorry.”
“My goodness.” Suzette clasps a hand to her chest. “IthoughtI heard glass breaking!”
“Nico.” Enzo frowns. “I told you to be careful hitting the ball in the backyard, yes?”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Well, hethoughtyou were going to be playing with him.”
Now it’s Enzo’s turn to look guilty. He should have known better though. When you tell your nine-year-old son that you’re going to play baseball with him, it’s a good idea to actually do it. Or else bad things happen. Windows get broken.
“Which window was it?” Suzette asks.
“It’s on the second floor,” I say. “The middle one on the side.”
“Oh.” She taps a manicured fingernail on her chin. “The stained-glass window.”
Stained glass? Oh God, that sounds extremely expensive. Enzo’s eyes widen—he’s clearly thinking the same thing. There’s absolutely no way we’re going to be able to afford to pay for a new stained-glass window.
“What if…” I say tentatively, “Nico performs chores around your house until he’s paid off the window?”
Suzette clearly does not like this idea. Her whole body goes rigid. “I’m not sure about that.”
I need to sell this because we cannotpay for that window ourselves. “It’s the only way for him to learn to take responsibility for his actions.”
I look over at Enzo for support. He nods his head slowly. “Yes, I agree. Suzette, I think it would be very good for my son to be able to do the chores for you.”
“Ihavesomeone to do chores.” Suzette folds her arms across her chest. “Martha comes two days a week!”
“Then that leaves five days a week for Nico to come,” I point out.
I’m fairly sure Suzette would have refused, but Enzo scrunches his brows together, his dark eyes narrowing. “Is there areasonwhy you do not want my son in your house?”
Finally, she throws up her hands. “Fine! He can do a few chores for me.”
For the first time since Suzette suggested Enzo teach her gardening tips, the tension drains out of me. Suzette hasn’t mentioned money at all. We won’t have to pay for the stained-glass window, and Nico will learn to take a little responsibility for his actions. And it also occurs to me that with Nico around, Suzette may refrain from hitting on my husband.
