August 2025 #2
“Sam!” I gasped, going for horrified. The problem was, he started chuckling, and I really liked the sound, and then I started crying.
“You were scared.”
“I was scared.”
“Almost there,” he promised, and hung up.
When he got home, he came through the back gate, scooped up Dobby, who ran to greet him, talked to the firemen, got the news—probably far more succinctly than I had managed—and then shook all their hands and thanked them.
After that, he put Dobby down, jogged over to me, and the second I stood up, yanked me into his arms. Nothing better than being held tight and having your forehead kissed.
I cried a bit then, and he told me everything was fine and how brave I was and how proud he was.
“Holy crap,” he said when we finally got into the kitchen. “This is so much better than I imagined.”
“It is?” I was astounded.
“Yeah, I thought we’d be cleaning for hours, but no, we just gotta wipe down and mop. No wonder people like firemen so much.”
I smiled at him.
“And look, what was under the stove? Not much. Amazing. This speaks to how clean you keep our house.”
“You help me, weirdo.”
“Yeah, I know, but still. And now we also know where Dobby keeps his toys.”
“I don’t think he keeps them there. I suspect Chilly puts them under there because he doesn’t like all the squeaking.”
“I would agree,” he said and laughed.
“Those are done, though,” I mentioned, gesturing at the various animal and food toys.
“Oh yeah, we’ll have to get him all new ones.”
“Chilly will be thrilled.”
Now, two interesting facts. First, someone came and took Bertha in the middle of the night.
She was out there, ready to be picked up by a shelter the following morning—I had called around and offered my stove—but when I woke up, poof.
Gone. So I made a donation to the shelter instead but thought whoever grabbed Bertha will be scrubbing for days.
I did wonder what they would do about the handle.
Second, all the downstairs HVAC filters were completely black, oily, and gross, and Sam spent time, with Jake helping him when he came home, after I told him my chilling tale—which he never interrupted the telling of, by the way—changing them all out.
“Jake listened to the whole thing,” I told my husband.
“And then?”
“Well, he asked about the pie, of course, but that was gone.”
Sam chuckled.
“But he didn’t interrupt the telling.”
“That’s because Hannah tells a story just like you do, and he knows better than to question her on fear for his life.”
“Ha-ha, you’re very funny.”
“But it’s true.”
Jake and I went oven shopping the next morning, and he got on FaceTime with Sam instead of me doing it, which was smart. Jake was better with spewing out facts than me. And of course he had precisely measured, so when they delivered the oven the following day, it slid in perfectly.
Both Hannah and Kola were a bit hurt over not being called, but when I reminded them that there was nothing they could have done, and that Jake’s math was, as usual, on point, and he was already with me, they both agreed that I was, for once, being completely logical.
I didn’t know how I felt about that comment.
A bit about my new stove/oven. The top is now black glass ceramic, and I love it.
No more food falling around the burners, which I hate.
Everything stays perfectly clean. It’s beautiful.
Her name is Lucinda Darkly, from the book by the same name I read years ago, and because she is mysterious—I still haven’t figured out all the features—and sleek and deep midnight blue inside. She is, in a word, magnificent.
I know you’re all thinking, really, Jory? We needed to hear all that first? Well, yes. These updates are about us, all together as a family, not simply the state of Hannah’s love life. But I know you’re all concerned, which I appreciate.
I will say, since my daughter and the man she loves hit pause on their relationship in June, life has been different.
It probably wouldn’t feel quite so strange if Sam and I were not smack-dab in the middle of it all.
I told my husband that no matter who was living with us, Hannah or Jake, that it would be the same, but with it being Jake, I think it’s actually somewhat easier.
My son has reported that at their house, Hannah is like a dark rain cloud of sadness and regret.
For our part, neither one of us see Jake enough for that to be the case.
And while he is quieter than normal, not as quick to smile, and looks utterly wrung out, that could also be because he’s so busy.
July basically came and went with projects.
The list thus far of things that have been accomplished in my house with Jake living with us have been, in no particular order, the installation of my new oven.
The stacking and labeling of all my ornaments.
There is no more guesswork of what is in a certain box.
A complete stranger could come in and pull down everything needed for any holiday, from St. Patrick’s Day through Christmas.
They would know which box holds fake painted eggs, patchwork gourds, and the family of autumn foxes.
The kugels are now easily accessed, as well as stockings, festive winter animals, snow people and, of course, the many, many wreaths.
There’s even a schematic on the wall, when you climb up into the attic, that shows you what boxes are in what area. It’s crazy.
Next, he and Sam built shelves in the basement, put up a needed wall to hang extension cords, lights, and various other things.
They redid the stairs leading from the laundry/mudroom down into the recesses of our home.
The new additions were so needed, and the overhauled stairs are wider, not as steep, and solid.
Plus, they’re now stained a beautiful warm mahogany color.
When I asked Sam if he was going to have a contractor come out and inspect everything before he and Jake hung new drywall and painted, he turned to me and told me that Jake got his certifications to be a licensed contractor a year ago.
He didn’t tell anyone, but he got it done through his dad’s business, and he could put his name on Google and take on clients if he wanted.
“Does Kola know?”
He shook his head. “He hasn’t told anyone but me, and of course, his father knows.”
I was quiet a moment.
“What?”
“Feeling pretty special right this second, aren’t you?”
He shrugged. “I’m gonna say yes.”
I smiled at him.
Finally, Jake built me a new feeder for the birds, installed the birdbath/fountain I always wanted that wouldn’t freeze in the winter, and made me a better squirrel house. I hugged him really tight when he showed me everything.
He made certain that Hannah’s herb garden did not suffer, or her gourds that she would need for Samhain later in the year.
Of course, when the kids came over, Jake was never there. At the end of July, Kola wanted to know whose motorcycle was sitting under the tarp beside the garage, and I explained that it was Jake’s.
“No,” Hannah gasped. “I forbade him from getting a—oh.”
“As motorcycles go, it’s a safe one, with an anti-lock braking system,” I said, repeating what Sam had told me. “It’s a Honda Rebel 300, and it was more fuel efficient than his very old car that he got rid of, and he always wears a helmet if he’s getting on the expressway.”
Hannah shuddered. “I hate that.”
“It’s a nice bike,” Sam assured her, “and he’s good on it.”
She said nothing.
When the kids all came over for dinner on the second Sunday in August—Dane and Aja and their offspring weren’t there yet—Jake happened to be on his way out, tool belt in one hand, hoodie tied around his waist, baseball hat and aviators on, when they all met in the kitchen.
I had packed Jake’s lunch, and he was hugging me goodbye.
“Hey,” Kola said softly, staring at his friend. “Where ya goin’?”
Tipping his head, Jake lifted the tool belt.
“You work on Sundays?”
He never had before. That was his day to come with everyone else to our house for food and sometimes a movie or games. “I do.”
“Why the hoodie? It’s crazy stupid hot outside.”
“Remember that nice cab driver we had in New Orleans that time?” Jake replied. “She said that the weather was disrespectful.”
Kola nodded. “That’s right.”
“I think that applies to what we have now. Disrespectful weather. But at night, inside this old house I’m working on, it gets really cold.”
Kola took a breath. “I miss you,” he stated, clearly tired of not saying what was in his heart.
Jake’s smile was wide, and he lifted his arm. I hadn’t seen Kola move that fast in a while, and the hug, Kola holding him tight in both arms and Jake clutching with his one, made my eyes fill. Jake was whispering in his ear, and Kola was nodding.
“I’m really sorry,” Kola barely got out.
“I know,” Jake soothed him. “It’s okay.”
Neither of them moved, just holding on.
Finally, Jake gave him a kiss on the cheek, a last pat, and eased free.
By then, all the kids were in the kitchen, and Jake smiled at all of them before walking over to Hannah, who, from the deep in-and-out breaths she was taking, was really trying to move air through her lungs.
When he reached for her hand, she grabbed it in both of hers.
“Guess what?” he asked her.
She shook her head quickly, telling him that her voice was not working, but I could see how tight she was holding on to him.
“I made the ziti.”
Her gasp was loud, and his grin was both wicked and warm.
“That’s right, me. I’ve got it wired now, and… I can put the furikake on the popcorn too.”
“No,” she whispered, clearly in awe.
“Yep. Haven’t mastered the lasagna yet, I think there’s actual magic involved, but I will attempt to get it figured out.”
“You’re sure you’ve got the furikake down?”
He scoffed like her question was ridiculous, and she looked over at me. I waggled my eyebrows in agreement.
“Plus the pot roast,” he told her.