Between the Lines (The Hometown #3)

1. Fia

Fia

Inever claimed to be an expert on how houses are built, but I’m almost one-hundred-percent positive it’s not supposed to rain inside your house.

And yet, another drop of water hits me in the eye as I gape at the ceiling outside my bedroom door. Daisy laughs at my bewilderment, the way only a toddler can.

“This is not funny,” I tell my daughter, who continues to find the plinking of water hilarious. She claps her sticky little hands together. The verge of my meltdown is the best entertainment she’s had all day.

A few more drops splash the old oak floors.

I should call someone.

Someone who is not me. Someone who is qualified to deal with rain coming through your roof. On instinct, I unlock my phone and swipe to my older brother’s name . . . then I stop, belly full of dread.

I’ve survived two months since Danny moved out. Two freaking months before something happened. He would know how to fix this.

But that’s not an option, not if I want to keep living here.

I swore up and down to him and my sister, Penny, that I was more than capable of taking care of the hundred-year-old Victorian our nan left to us.

They have tried countless times to get me to move out, so we can sell it and they can cut their losses because the old house is more trouble than it’s worth to them.

If they find out about this leak . . . that may as well be the final nail in the coffin.

With a huff, I slide my phone back into my pocket and do the next logical thing: I run and grab the largest soup pot I can find buried in the kitchen cabinets and place it directly under the leak.

Plink. Plink. Plink.

Daisy bounces on my hip while I wipe sweat from my brow.

It’s only June, the summer storms in Wilmington are just beginning, and on top of the roof leaking, the AC is on its last leg.

I avert my gaze from the murky water bubbling out of the plastered ceiling and smile at Daisy. “That’ll have to do for now. Plus it’s somebody’s bath time.”

The dripping water plops louder and Daisy peers up at me with big green eyes.

“Uh-oh.” She shakes her head.

“Exactly.” I sigh. “Big uh-oh.”

Kneeling beside the clawfoot tub, I swirl the water with a lazy finger around my fourteen-month-old daughter. It’s the same tub I was bathed in as a child. That means something to me, even if my siblings couldn’t care less.

I hand Daisy a rubber duck, and she starts gnawing on it like a puppy. The rain outside grows more intense against the clapboard siding of the house. I glance out the ajar bathroom door and down the hallway towards my brother’s old bedroom.

It sounds like it’s raining in there, too.

I lay my head on the lip of the tub and groan.

“Well . . . isn’t that just our luck?”

Daisy responds by splashing the iridescent bubbles around her.

An hour later, as the rain turns to a comforting drizzle, and Daisy sleeps soundly in the room next to mine, I cuddle up in my own bed. I should sleep, tomorrow is a big day at work, but instead, I pull out my e-reader and opt to get lost in a new cowboy romance I downloaded yesterday.

Nearly ten minutes into reading about strong men who straddle bulls, a tightening sensation creeps up my chest.

I take a sip of water.

It does nothing to ease the burn.

The tightening continues until it’s like there’s a rope around me, and I bolt upright, switching on the lamp on my nightstand.

My cat, Hamburger, curls up tightly beside me, and I begin to pet his short brown fur, while naming things I see.

“Crochet basket.” Full of unfinished projects.

“Lace curtains.” Ones that have been hanging in here since I was a child.

“Picture of Penny and me.” Her twenty-three, me sixteen, both of our hair down to our waist, hers bright blonde, mine the color of a copper sunset.

I read somewhere that when you’re anxious, it helps to name things you see aloud.

But then my eyes land on my college diploma on the wall across from my bed. A bachelor’s of communications from the University of North Carolina Wilmington.

It took five years of endless blood, sweat, and tears, but it’s mine. I did it all by myself, through my nan’s sudden death, my surprise pregnancy, Daisy’s father, Brett, leaving me . . . It might just be a piece of paper, but it’s a reminder that I can do hard things.

Even when the world is crumbling around me.

I press a clammy palm to my chest, willing my heart to stop fluttering.

Selling the house would be the easy way out. Sure, there’s a lot of equity in it, but that doesn’t really matter to me. I’ve never taken the easy road, and I won’t start now. Not when I can take the cracked, potholed one and patch it myself.

So with a pounding heart, I reach for my phone in the dim light of my bedroom and search for a local roof repair company to call in the morning. The last thing I’m going to do is let my siblings find out about this fiasco before I have a chance to solve it myself.

I love this old house, and you don’t give up on things you love.

Judging by the way my bagel popped up just as my coffee finished brewing—while my toddler miraculously sat still and let me comb her hair—someone might think I have my life together.

But they’d be sadly mistaken.

Most days I consider it a win if I remember to put underwear on and pack Daisy a snack for the sitter.

“When is the maid coming?” I joke, with Daisy on my hip. “These toys are getting out of control!” I nudge a baby doll out of the way with my toe as I meander down the hall.

There is no maid, but for the last two days I’ve refused to look up. Because that’s where the leaks are. Have my floors always been this cluttered?

“Where are they?” I mumble, peering out the front window. The roofing company sent out someone to assess the leaks, and they should’ve been here fifteen minutes ago.

Just then, a van pulls in the driveway, so I wait on the front porch to greet them. Not because I’m excited, but because I need to leave for work soon.

“Mrs. Hanson?” A man with gray hair and bushy eyebrows waddles up with a clipboard.

“That’s me.” I plaster on my responsible-adult-home-owner smile, ignoring the Mrs.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says smiling at Daisy as she drools on my hand. “I need to inspect the attic, and then go up on the roof. It shouldn’t take long.”

I open the front door, happy to get out of the stifling North Carolina heat, and welcome him inside. My long thick hair sits heavy against my neck, and I make a mental note to bring a hair clip to work.

As I lead him upstairs, kicking toys off the steps as I go, I think of my family.

If my brother, or my sister’s boyfriend, Jesse, knew I let a stranger into my house to inspect the roof, they’d give me a stern talking-to.

To them, I’m still a child who needs supervision, even with my twenty-third birthday mere months away.

“Be careful up there,” I call as he climbs the attic’s rickety stairs. “It’s a minefield!” I try to keep my voice light, cringing as I imagine him stepping around the mess of hoarded junk. All left by Nan.

I take the chance to change Daisy—again. It’s hotter than I expected outside.

“Are you going to be good for Miss Luanne today?” I kiss her chunky thighs, pulling a pink cotton sundress over her head, and clip a matching bow into her strawberry blonde curls—all courtesy of Aunt Penny.

Luanne was Nan’s closest friend, and she’s been watching Daisy since my daughter was twelve weeks old. It’s a godsend—knowing that just around the block from my house, Daisy is being taken care of like she’s Luanne’s own granddaughter.

With myself and Daisy ready, I stand in the hall, tapping my foot, afraid to look at the time on my phone.

The man descends from the attic. “I just need to check the roof, then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Okay, I’ll follow you out.” I smile politely, hauling the diaper bag and Daisy down the steps behind him.

On the front porch, I strap Daisy into her stroller, rolling her back and forth so she doesn’t start fussing, waiting for the man to finish his inspection. I adjust my white crop top, patting the back pocket of my jean shorts, triple-checking I have everything.

He rounds the corner of the house minutes later, stopping feet from me, slightly out of breath. “Alright, ma’am, so do you want the good or the bad news first?”

“How about the good news please.” I force a throaty chuckle.

He cradles the clipboard to his stomach. “You’re very lucky that you’ve had no issues thus far, because I estimate this roof to be nearly fifty years old.”

I nod, like I’m supposed to know if that’s old for a roof. All I know is Nan was born and raised in this house, so was my mother, who I don’t remember, considering she bailed on me and my siblings when I was barely older than Daisy.

But I mean . . . when do roofs go bad? I glance up at the house, and Daisy bangs her sippy cup on the side of the stroller.

“Now for the bad news,” he continues as I stare at the scraggly bushes lining the front porch.

Wait—that was the good news?

He points to the haint blue porch ceiling. I don’t follow his finger—I know the ceiling is covered in cobwebs and would rather not be reminded that I need to keep up with the outdoor cleaning too.

“So the two leaks you have are from rotted wood in the roof,” he starts, and I don’t miss the condescending undertone.

“If it’s not fixed soon, you’re going to get critters living in there.

” He belly laughs even though I'm positive my face is saying, This isn’t a joke.

I love all furry things, but if a family of raccoons takes residency in my attic .

. . Nope, I can’t even think about that right now.

“Alright, so what’s the verdict then?” I ask as sweat drips down my forehead, rendering today’s makeup pointless.

I really need to get to work.

“Ma’am, you need a new roof—”

“A whole new roof?” I jerk my head back in disbelief. “It’s only three leaks.”

He sighs sympathetically. “Yes, ma’am, I’m afraid so.

There’s a lot of soft spots, and the longer you leave it, the more likely you’re going to run into issues with the beams needing to be replaced too, and that’s a disaster in old homes like these.

As I’m sure you’re aware, leaks lead to mold, and you’ve got a little one so . . .”

He continues to ramble, but I can’t concentrate on his words.

I swallow the lump in my throat.

I’m no stranger to unpleasant news, but this downright blows.

“How much is something like this going to cost?” I ask, sounding like the child my siblings think I am.

Please say $132.

Because that’s how much cash I have on hand.

“For a house this size”—he gestures at my deteriorating home—“with the roof pitches, and factoring in new ceiling drywall, given we don’t find mold . . .” He tilts his head back and forth, as if weighing the numbers. “You’re looking at roughly $19,000 on the lower end.”

I choke on my spit. This was the affordable roof repair company in the area.

He hands me a paper with the estimate and his business card.

“Right, okay, thank you for coming out.” I take the paper and hold it close to my face like I’m reading the details, but the space between my ears is blank.

Well no, not blank.

White-hot with panic.

He looks at me with narrowed eyes and sighs. “Talk it over with your husband, or whomever." My jaw tightens at his continued assumptions. “But I wouldn’t wait too long. If you’d like to get on our books this summer, I’d suggest you call by the end of the week.”

It’s already Wednesday.

“Sounds great, I’ll be in touch,” I lie with a tight-lipped smile and shove the papers in my back pocket.

As the van backs onto the street, I lock the house up. There’s no time to think about the news I’ve just been given though.

Daisy laughs as I break into a jog towards Luanne’s house. The stroller bumps over every sidewalk crack, and my heart pounds harder with each passing second. I’ve been late for work before, but never on team meeting days, which are consequently the only days the owner shows up.

Caden Brooks isn’t a mean boss. But he’s standoffish at best, someone I don’t want to disappoint. Not after he took a chance on promoting me to manager only nine months ago.

His coffee shop, Good Grinds, might technically belong to him, but it’s my circus.

My caffeine-fueled, slightly chaotic circus where I am finally making decent money.

But decent money means I can pay my student loans, buy diapers, and buy groceries every week.

It doesn’t mean I can buy a whole dang roof.

I trudge up to Luanne’s front door, knocking twice, fanning myself as my heart sinks deeper into my stomach.

What’s $19,000 minus $132?

Whatever it is, that’s what I need to come up with. Soon.