Chapter 25
Tilda
Peeling my dress off, I make a face over the fact that I can smell myself.
It took approximately fifteen minutes of struggling to get those stupid ratchet straps to release.
After that, I wrestled the pool out of the truck and into a spot I liked, right below the center living room window in front of the house, between the two bushes. So if Quackers decides to use his new pond, I’ll be able to watch him.
This was followed by me circling the house, searching for large rocks to weigh down the pool. Which meant carrying the large rocks. Which was then followed by accidentally spraying myself with the hose after I failed to connect it to the spigot properly.
By the time the pool was actually filled, I was tempted to just cut a slit in the duck food bag and drop it on the ground. But I resisted and instead filled an old Halloween candy bowl with duck food and set it a couple feet in front of the pool.
The bag with the remaining forty pounds of food sits just inside my door, ready for refills.
And right next to it, on top of a cardboard box that still needs to be unpacked, are the yellow straps I need to give back to Ethan. And his baseball hat.
After dropping my dress on the floor, I grip the top of my undies and bend forward, shoving them down my thighs.
I’ve only been here a couple days, but between falling, spilling coffee, and setting up a duck habitat, I have enough dirty clothes to do my first load of laundry.
The stacked washer and dryer set in my bedroom is hardly new, but I’ve had to use communal apartment laundry my whole life, so machines of my own are literally a luxury.
The appliances are white. The bottom one is the washer, and it opens from the top. And through some feat of engineering, the dryer is mounted above it.
I’m not that short, but I’m glad all the dials are below the front-loading dryer door, because I’d never be able to reach them if they were at the top.
Naked and grinning, I open the washer lid.
Nothing happens. Nothing lights up. There isn’t a chime.
But these machines are probably twenty years old, so maybe they don’t do anything fancy like that.
I shove my clothes in, pour a capful of laundry detergent, then shut the lid.
I turn the load-size knob to medium, turn the temperature knob to cold, and then turn the washer-cycle knob to casuals.
Then I press start.
And nothing happens.
None of the indicator lights turn on.
There are no sounds coming from the washer.
Nada.
The machines are tucked in the corner of the closet, but I use the flashlight on my phone to look behind them, and yes, they’re plugged in.
Or at least it looks like they’re plugged in.
I press start again.
Still nothing.
A breeze slides in through the open bedroom window, reminding me I’m naked.
I press the start button three more times.
I turn the knobs to all different settings.
I open and close the lid.
I open and close the dryer.
I try to turn the dryer on.
Not. A. Thing.
Dropping my head back, I glare up at the ceiling.
I’m not really a heaven or hell girl. But I am a human energy has to go somewhere girl.
“Uncle Jack.” I lift my hands and cover my nipples. “If you’re out there somewhere, can you let me know if these are supposed to work?”
A loud quack replies from somewhere outside.