Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Water sprayed across Noah’s dress shirt as he tightened the wrench, accomplishing exactly the opposite of what he’d intended. The steady drip that had been his morning companion for the past week had transformed into an impressive arc currently soaking everything within a three-foot radius of the sink.
“Dad, is it supposed to do that?” Noah bit back a sarcastic retort to his son’s question. At six, Eli didn’t realize how unhelpful his questions were. And Noah wasn’t going to be like his own father, pointing out that rhetorical questions wouldn’t fix anything.
Noah glanced over his shoulder to where Eli sat at their kitchen table, homework spread across the worn surface, his Captain America backpack listing precariously on the chair beside him. “No, buddy, it’s definitely not supposed to spray water all over the room.”
“Then maybe we should?—”
“Almost got it.” Noah adjusted his grip on the wrench, ignoring the water trickling down his arm and into the cuff of his shirt. The mountain of YouTube videos he’d watched last night had made this look so much easier. None of them had mentioned the possibility of turning a minor leak into a makeshift fountain.
“Tommy’s dad always calls Mr. Martinez when their sink breaks. He fixes everything.” Eli’s pencil tapped against his math worksheet, a steady rhythm that matched the pulsing in Noah’s temple. “He even fixed their toilet last week when?—”
“Eli, remember how we talked about adding two numbers together to make ten?” Noah interrupted, not particularly wanting to hear about the Crowley family’s plumbing adventures. “Remember? We practiced this yesterday.”
Eli’s forehead wrinkled. “But that was yesterday. Today, it’s harder.”
The wrench slipped again, and Noah barely contained a curse. He’d spent the better part of the hour before Eli woke up attempting to fix this leak, determined to handle at least one household crisis before dropping Eli off at the elementary school so he could get to work.
Now his shirt was ruined, his son’s homework remained unfinished, and they were edging dangerously close to being late. There was a special place in hell for teachers who gave homework to first graders, and he’d say so if he wasn’t the new teacher in the district. Criticizing one’s coworkers wasn’t the way to make friends.
Behind him, papers rustled as Eli abandoned his math in favor of what Noah recognized as his “deep thoughts” voice. “Dad, why did we buy a broken house?”
The question landed like a punch to the gut. Noah shut off the water valve under the sink, buying a moment to find the right words. He wouldn’t even get upset with himself for not doing that first. “It’s not broken, exactly. It just needs some attention.”
“Like how I needed attention when I had strep throat?” Sometimes, the way his son’s mind worked fascinated Noah.
“Something like that.” Noah grabbed a dish towel, dabbing uselessly at his shirt. The blue cotton had gone nearly transparent, clinging to his skin in a way that would definitely not project the professional image he strived for at work. He could only hope there was one more clean shirt in the closet.
He’d meant to do laundry over the weekend, but the washer was yet another thing he needed to replace. This place was starting to remind him of that old movie with Tom Hanks and Shelley Long. “Houses are like people sometimes. They need care to stay healthy, and the family who lived here before us got old and couldn’t do all the work it needed.”
“Then maybe we should take it to the doctor.”
If only it were so simple . A laugh escaped before Noah could stop it. “I don’t think there are doctors for houses, buddy.”
“But there are fixing people.” Eli’s pencil started its nervous tap again. “Tommy says?—”
Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. If Noah heard one more thing about Tommy Crowley, he would scream. He was happy Eli was making friends in his new school, but this Tommy seemed like a bit of a know-it-all. He also lived in the new subdivision on the west side of town, his dad made well over six figures a year, and his mom wasn’t off on yet another extended research trip.
Noah knew it wasn’t fair to resent his ex-wife when they’d both agreed it was for the best if Eli stayed with him during the school year and when Jenna was out of town, but days like today made him wish things were different. If only they had been able to ignore the chasm between them in the bed. If only Jenna hadn’t been offered a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
If only… two simple words that wouldn’t change a damned thing.
“Five more minutes on that worksheet, okay? We need to leave soon.” Noah retreated to his bedroom, where he found a lone shirt hanging behind the closet door. He’d have to see if Megan or Rachel could watch Eli for a couple of hours tonight so he could haul their dirty clothes to the laundromat. Maybe Megan would do it so Eli could spend time with her youngest, Livy.
The morning sun filtered through gauzy curtains, highlighting dust motes dancing in the air. No matter how often he dusted, there always seemed to be more settling on every surface. He bet the new houses on the west side didn’t have that issue…
Noah changed quickly, deliberately not looking at the water stain spreading across his ceiling or the way his bedroom door stuck against the warped hardwood floor. The house’s problems had seemed manageable when they’d first moved in two months ago. A fresh coat of paint here, some minor repairs there. But every fixed issue revealed three more waiting in the wings, like some sort of home improvement hydra.
“Dad!” Eli’s voice carried up the stairs. “I think I did it wrong again!”
Noah smoothed his tie, squaring his shoulders against his reflection. They’d figure this out. All of it. The house, the homework, the endless parade of small crises that seemed to multiply when he wasn’t looking. He just needed to stay organized and maintain structure. Everything else would fall into place.
The kitchen smelled of damp wood and defeat when he returned. Eli had abandoned his homework in favor of examining the sink, poking at the wrench Noah had left balanced on the edge.
“Don’t touch that.” Noah grabbed their lunches from the fridge—nut-free butter and jelly for Eli, turkey and Swiss for himself. “Did you finish the worksheet?”
Eli’s guilty expression answered his question. “I tried, but the numbers got mixed up again.”
“Okay, bring it here.” Noah pulled a chair next to Eli’s at the table, gesturing for his son to join him. “Let’s look at it together.”
They worked through the problems as Noah kept one eye on the clock, marking their progress against his mental schedule. Get Eli to the before-school program by seven-thirty, faculty meeting at seven-forty-five, first period at eight-fifteen. The familiar routine anchored him, even as water dripped steadily into the bucket he’d placed under the sink.
“See? You knew this.” Noah pointed to Eli’s corrected work. “You just needed to slow down and think it through.”
“Like how you need to slow down and think about calling a fix-it person?”
Noah’s pen stilled against the paper. For a six-year-old, his son had an uncanny ability to cut straight to the heart of things. “Get your backpack, buddy. We’re going to be late.”
They made it to the car as the older couple from down the road walked past with their golden retriever. They waved, and Noah returned the gesture automatically, pretending not to notice the husband’s concerned glance at their house’s peeling paint and sagging gutters. The whole neighborhood probably thought he was in over his head.
They weren’t wrong.
“Dad?” Eli buckled himself into his booster seat, clutching his Captain America backpack like a shield. “Are we going to have to move again?”
The question knocked the air from Noah’s lungs. He gripped the steering wheel, forcing his voice to stay steady. “No, buddy. This is home now. I promise.”
He’d make it work. Whatever it took. Even if that meant swallowing his pride and admitting he couldn’t fix everything himself.
But first, he had a class full of juniors waiting to discuss The Great Gatsby , and Eli had a math worksheet to turn in. Structure. Routine. One step at a time.
The house would still be there when they got home, with all its problems and possibilities. And maybe, just maybe, it was time to accept that some of those problems were too big to handle alone.
The faculty lounge at Maple Hill High smelled like burned coffee and exhaustion. Noah settled into a worn chair, cradling his thermos of actually drinkable coffee as his colleagues filtered in for their morning meeting. Sarah Nielsen dropped into the seat beside him, her guidance counselor badge catching the fluorescent light.
“You look like you’ve been swimming,” she said, eyeing the damp hair at his collar. He knew it wasn’t the most professional look, but drying it would’ve meant skipping helping Eli with his homework, which simply wasn’t an option. His son would grow up knowing he was Noah’s priority, professionalism be damned.
“Plumbing emergency.” Noah took a long sip of coffee, savoring the warmth. “Though emergency implies I made the situation better, not worse.”
“Ah.” Sarah’s knowing smile reminded him of his sister. “Have you considered?—”
“Calling someone? Yes, about twelve times this morning, thanks to my son’s newest friend Tommy and his apparently endless knowledge of home repair professionals.”
David Atwood chuckled from across the table, not looking up from his crossword puzzle. “The Crowley kid? Man, that family has an expert for everything. Did you hear about their new meditation room? Complete with imported Himalayan salt lamps and pillows Carrie Crowley brought back from some retreat in India. Or so they say…”
Interesting. From the sounds of it, Noah wasn’t the only person who got a vibe when it came to the Crowleys. “Because that’s exactly what first graders need,” Noah muttered. Then again, if Carrie taught Tommy to meditate, maybe he wouldn’t be such an unholy terror.
The three of them made their way to the library. Everyone seemed disgruntled that this meeting had been set for the start of the day when they had better things to do—like finish waking up—but at least the principal couldn’t drone on for an hour as if no one had better things to do with their time.
Principal Matthews strode in, saving Noah from further discussion of the Crowley family’s perfect life. As she launched into updates about the upcoming standardized testing schedule, Noah’s mind drifted to his third-period lesson plans. They were starting chapter seven of The Great Gatsby today, and he’d planned an activity comparing the green light to modern symbols of unreachable dreams. Hopefully, his students would engage more than yesterday. His question about the significance of the valley of ashes had been met with blank stares and the soft glow of hidden phone screens.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. Probably the plumber he’d left a message for on the drive from the elementary school to the high school returning his call. But when he glanced at the screen, Rachel’s name flashed instead.
I think I found someone who can help with the house. Luke is the best contractor in town. I gave him your number. Let him help!!!
The message hit him like a punch to the gut. Luke had been ever-present Noah’s senior year, always hanging around, tinkering in Megan and Rachel’s basement while they studied. He’d been impossible to ignore, even then—all easy smiles and capable hands, the kind of effortless charm that made everyone gravitate toward him.
“Earth to Noah.” Sarah’s voice pulled him back to the present. The meeting had ended, the other teachers filing out to start their days. “You okay? You looked a million miles away.”
“Fine.” Noah tucked his phone away, pushing down memories of the gangly freshman who hadn’t seemed to have a care in the world. “Just thinking about lesson plans.”
“Uh-huh.” Sarah gathered her files, but her expression remained concerned. “You know, it’s okay to need help sometimes. Especially when you’re juggling single parenthood with a new job and a house that sounds like it’s one stiff breeze away from collapse.”
“The house is fine.” Even to his own ears, the words sounded defensive. “It just needs some work.”
“And you need to accept that you can’t do everything alone.” She paused at the door. “Think about it, okay? For Eli’s sake, if not your own.”
The mention of his son hit its mark, as she had probably intended. Noah’s first class wouldn’t arrive for another ten minutes, giving him time to arrange the day’s handouts and battle with the ancient projector that liked to display everything in shades of green.
Instead, he found himself staring at Rachel’s message again. Luke. The best contractor in town, apparently. Noah wondered if he still had that same infectious laugh, that way of making everything seem manageable.
Not that it mattered. This was about the house, nothing more. And if Luke happened to remember Noah from high school… Well, they were both adults now. Professional. Practical. He only hoped Luke had learned when to take things seriously because if he cracked a single joke about the house’s condition or how hopeless Noah was with even the simplest fixes, Noah might lose it.
The first bell rang, jarring Noah from his thoughts. Students began trickling in, dropping their backpacks with theatrical sighs and slumping into desks. Over half the class cradled stainless steel mugs likely filled with sickeningly sweet coffee as if it was their life force. Noah pushed thoughts of Luke aside, focusing on writing the day’s essential question on the whiteboard.
“All right, everyone. Chapter seven. Let’s talk about why Fitzgerald chose to set the confrontation at the Plaza Hotel…”
He lost himself in the familiar rhythm of teaching, in drawing out reluctant responses and guiding discussions. This was what he was good at—creating structure from chaos, finding meaning in careful analysis. Everything else could wait.
Until his phone buzzed again during his planning period, this time with a number he didn’t recognize.
Hey, this is Luke Garrett. Rachel asked me to take a look at your place. When works for you?
Noah stared at the message until the words blurred. Suddenly, the careful structure of his day felt as secure as his kitchen faucet.
The responsible thing would be to reply immediately, to schedule a time for Luke to assess the damage. To admit he needed help.
Instead, Noah set his phone face-down on his desk and pulled up his lesson plans for tomorrow. One thing at a time. He’d deal with Luke Garrett later.
The afternoon sun slanted through Noah’s classroom windows, heating the room to nearly intolerable levels. Even if the school had central air, it was too early in the year for them to turn it on. His last class had filed out ten minutes ago, leaving behind the usual debris of crumpled papers and forgotten pencils. He should head to the elementary school to pick up Eli, but Luke’s unanswered text weighed on him like a physical presence.
His phone buzzed—Rachel again.
Did Luke text you yet? He’s really good at what he does, Noah. Just give him a chance. If it’s too much for him to handle, he can talk to Finn about cutting you a deal on having their company do the job. Your place is like catnip to guys like Keaton and Luke.
Noah ran a hand through his hair, remembering how Rachel and Megan had practically adopted him their senior year when they realized he spent most afternoons studying alone in the library. The twins had different approaches—Rachel charging in with solutions while Megan offered quiet support—but their protective instincts hadn’t changed in the years since high school.
Yes, he sent me a message. Haven’t had a chance to respond yet.
More like he’d been putting it off. He wasn’t sure why the idea of having Luke in his space bothered him so much. If he was as good as Rachel claimed, Noah needed him. And fine, that was the rub. Yes, Luke had been annoying when they were younger, but something about him had demanded Noah’s attention. And he didn’t like distractions.
Rachel’s reply was immediate.
Don’t overthink it. The house needs work, Luke won’t screw you over. Simple.
If only anything were that simple.
Noah gathered his things, checking his watch. He only had about fifteen minutes before Eli’s after-school program ended. Maybe they could stop by the library to pick up some new books. Anything to avoid going home to the broken faucet, a mountain of dirty laundry, and the growing list of repairs he couldn’t handle.
His classroom door creaked open. “Thought I might find you still here.”
Sarah stood in the doorway, a stack of files tucked under one arm. “Hiding from your house?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Only to someone who’s been where you are.” She leaned against a desk. “You know, when Jack and I bought our first place, it was a disaster. Worse than yours, probably. I spent three months trying to convince myself I could handle it alone.”
Noah stuffed papers into his messenger bag, not meeting her eyes. “Let me guess—you finally asked for help?”
“Actually, I put my foot through the rotted bathroom floor. Jack, an air cast, and crutches made the decision for me. He called Keaton over at Anderson Homeworks, and their crew didn’t strangle me when I tried micromanaging everything.” Sarah’s laugh held no judgment. “Sometimes we need a wake-up call. Doesn’t have to be as dramatic as mine though.”
An image of his kitchen ceiling collapsing flashed through Noah’s mind. “Point taken.”
“Just think about it.” Sarah headed for the door, pausing in the frame. “Oh, and Noah? Welcome back to small-town life. Where everyone knows your business, but they also know exactly who to call when you need help.”
The drive to Eli’s school gave Noah time to think. About Sarah’s words, about Rachel’s persistence, about the way his son’s face fell every time something else broke in their house. They’d moved here for a fresh start, not to watch their home crumble around them.
Eli bounded out of the room the moment Noah came into view, his backpack bouncing against his shoulders. “Dad! Look what I made!”
Noah helped him buckle into the car, examining the craft project Eli thrust into his hands—a house made of popsicle sticks, complete with a crooked chimney and windows drawn with marker.
“It’s our house,” Eli explained, “but better. See? I fixed the broken parts.”
Something caught in Noah’s throat. “It’s perfect, buddy.”
“Can we fix our real house too?”
“Yeah.” Noah started the car, decision made. “I think maybe we can.”
At home, Eli settled at the kitchen table with his homework while Noah pulled out his phone. Luke’s message still waited for a response. Taking a deep breath, Noah typed.
I have time tomorrow after school. Around 4?
The reply came faster than he expected.
Perfect. See you then.
“Dad?” Eli’s voice pulled Noah’s attention back to the present. “The sink’s making funny noises again.”
Sure enough, a gurgling sound emerged from the pipes, followed by an ominous clunk. Noah pinched the bridge of his nose, counting backward from ten.
“It’ll be okay,” Eli said, in what Noah recognized as an imitation of his own reassuring tone. “Tommy told me a man named Luke fixed their treehouse last summer. He can probably fix our sink if you don’t want to call Mr. Martinez.”
Noah glanced at his phone, at Luke’s simple response waiting on the screen. Everyone really did know everyone else here, even the kids. Noah didn’t bother explaining to his son that there were different types of professionals for various tasks. That would derail their evening with a million questions from the curious boy. “Yeah, maybe he can.”
He spent the evening helping Eli with homework over pizza he’d picked up on his way home from the laundromat and trying not to think about tomorrow. About letting a stranger—no, a stranger would be far better than Luke—see how far in over his head he really was.
But as he tucked Eli into bed that night, surrounded by the creaks and groans of their aging house, Noah reminded himself why they were back in Maple Hill. Not only for a fresh start but for roots. Community. The kind of stability that came from knowing your neighbors, from letting people in.
Even if that meant admitting you couldn’t fix everything yourself.