Chapter 21 Collins #2
“Al is a price gouger.” My mom shook her head. “But he doesn’t dare do it to Dex. Let him take care of it.” Brady took it all in stride—gave good answers and asked thoughtful questions.
“So what did you two get up to last night?” my mom asked, looking at me, then Brady.
“Board games,” I blurted out quickly, too quickly, because Joanie’s eyes landed back on me and narrowed.
“We played Life,” Brady added on.
“Super boring night,” I said. What was wrong with me? Why was I giving her more information?
“Okay, ouch.” Brady smiled at me. “I ended up with twins.”
My mom huffed. “My thoughts are with you.” She gave me an amused smile.
I shoved a forkful of pancakes into my mouth. “All done,” I said after I swallowed. “Let’s get cracking on this basement.”
Joanie’s eyes lingered on me for a second too long before she said, “Keep your shoes on. We’ve got quite a splash zone down here.”
As soon as I stepped off the hardwood stairs and onto the basement’s orange shag carpeting, I felt the unmistakable sploosh of saturated, wet carpet. I didn’t know if the shag would survive this.
That made me sad.
“Dex is hoping the sun comes out at some point in the next couple of days, so we can try to dry stuff outside, but until then, we’re just going to have to plug in every fan we can find and hope for the best.”
“I brought the industrial fan from the shop,” Brady said behind me. He did? He must’ve put it in his truck before I was ready because we walked out to his truck together. Our shoulders bumped a few times—not like I was paying attention or anything. “Might help dry some things out in here.”
I took everything in. There were water stains three feet up the walls, and standing water was in the corners.
My mom’s phone rang—she was the only person who hadn’t had her cell on silent for the last decade. It was Clarke. I knew from the ring tone: “Free Fallin’,” by Tom Petty. Mine was “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.”
“Hello?” my mom answered. After a second, her brows knit together.
“Slow down, Clarke. Tell me what’s going on.
” Both Brady and I stilled. “The basement and the attic?” my mom asked, and brought her hand up to cover her mouth—like she was in shock.
“Okay, I’ll be there soon…No, Collins and Brady are here. I’m on my way.”
Both Brady and I waited for whatever it was Clarke had told her. Joanie’s eyes went glassy. “Clarke just got into the shop,” she said, her voice wavering. “There’s damage there, too. I have to…”
“Go,” I said. My voice wavered, too. Brady put his hand on the small of my back—steadying me. “We’ll take care of stuff here.” My mom nodded, and she turned to head up the stairs.
Once she was out of sight, Brady pulled me into his arms, and I buried my head in his chest. A breath shuddered out of me.
“This is bad,” I said. “The basement is in way worse shape than I thought, and Toades…” I couldn’t even think about Toades. Brady’s hands went up and down my spine. “It’s just…I’m worried this is going to change everything. That stupid storm blew in and pushed everything in the wrong direction.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s this developer that’s been sniffing around Toades, and my parents’ other properties in town.
” Brady’s hands stilled on my back. This impacted him, too.
“They said no to the initial offer but look at this place.” I gestured around me.
“There’s so much damage here—so much money—not even knowing what’s going on at the shop.
I’m scared that this will tip the scale. ”
Brady pulled me in again and took a deep breath. “We can’t control any of that right now,” he said. His lips were in my hair. “But we can control what goes on in this basement—how we help your parents here, and maybe tomorrow we can take on Toades, okay?”
I wound my arms around him tighter and nodded. I wasn’t used to this—worrying about the future and what the big picture of it would look like. For the past year, I’d just been focused on making it through a few days at a time.
I breathed deep. “Okay,” I said on my exhale. “Where do you think we should start?”
“There’s a decently dry spot in the middle of the room—there’s no way this house is level—so maybe we pull everything out to the dry point, and if it can be salvaged, take it upstairs.”
“All right.” I nodded. “Let’s rock and roll.”
—
“God, my parents have so much shit,” I lamented about two hours later. “I never thought it was a problem until this moment.” I was surrounded by boxes upon boxes of vinyl records and cassette tapes, pulp magazines, and random trinkets.
“It’s not too bad,” Brady said. “It seems like most of it is well organized, and it should be pretty easy to determine what will not survive the Great Flood.”
“At least the waterbed survived,” I sighed.
“Wait,” Brady said. “The bed in there is a waterbed ?”
I nodded. “My parents apparently bought it from a traveling door-to-door salesman—they’re suckers. They only slept on it one night before moving it down here. My mom said she woke up constantly thinking she was going to pee her pants.”
Brady barked a laugh. “I didn’t know those still existed anywhere.”
“Welcome to the Cartwrights, where one traveling salesman’s waterbed is my parents’ guest bed.”
“Can I…” Brady looked embarrassed. “Lay on it? I’ve never been on one before.”
I stifled a giggle. “Knock yourself out.”
“Care to join me?” Brady asked. I nodded, and we made our way back toward the bedroom. “God,” he said. “I should’ve assumed this was a waterbed based on the white tiger bedding alone.”
“It came with it, apparently.” Brady started inching toward the bed. He looked nervous, for some reason. “You’re not going to pop it,” I said. “This thing has survived many a high school make-out session.”
Brady shot me a look, and I shrugged. Then he grabbed my hand and pulled me down onto it with him. The bed rocked and sloshed and forced the two of us to the middle. “Oh my god,” Brady laughed. He sounded light and amused. “This thing is terrible!”
“It really is,” I laughed, and when I turned onto my side to look at him, our knees touched. That was all it took for the air to leave the room.
Brady pushed his forehead against mine, and I let my eyes flutter closed. I let instinct and desire take over as I put my hand on his waist. He brought one of his hands up to cup my cheek. I felt him breathe me in.
He moved his hand from my cheek to my neck, from my neck to my shoulder and down my arm to my waist. Everywhere his hand went felt like it was on fire. At this rate, I could probably use my body heat to dry out the basement.
“Is this okay?” he whispered, and I nodded.
The hand on my hip pulled me closer to him so our bodies were flush. A small gasp escaped me, and I knotted my fingers in his hair.
“More than okay,” I said quietly.
His hand started roaming again—down my thigh and back up, over my back and shoulder until his thumb ended up on my bottom lip. He pulled it down slightly, and I wanted to suck his thumb into my mouth.
“Fuck, Collins,” he breathed. I felt it on my face; his forehead was still pressed against mine. “I’m happy I kissed you last night.”
“I’m happy you did, too,” I said. My eyes were still closed.
I felt his lips on my forehead and was immediately grateful I wasn’t standing, with the way my knees buckled under the weight of his pure affection. “Think I could beat the previous make-outs? I want to be in a league of my own.”
You already are. “Only one way to find out,” I breathed.
“We have a basement to clean,” Brady breathed.
“Ugh, fine,” I said, blinking my eyes open. I was met with Brady’s baby blues. “But I’m worried we’ll never get out of this bed.”
“Is that right?” Brady’s eyes twinkled.
“Not like that, B,” I laughed. “Have you ever tried to get out of a waterbed?”
“Considering I’ve never been on a waterbed, no.” Brady pushed my hair back behind my ear, and his thumb stayed on my chin.
“Go for it,” I said with a sly grin.
Brady sat up—or at least, he tried.
“There’s gotta be a technique involved.”
“Maybe you need to work on your core strength,” I said.
“I do not.”
“Everybody does,” I said. “And the waterbed says otherwise.”
Brady leaned back and rocked himself forward. The momentum finally got him out of the waterbed, and he breathed a sigh of relief. “I fucking hate that thing,” he said.
“Okay, now you have to leave, so I can get out of it.”
“Absolutely not.” Brady folded his arms. “The waterbed struggle observation is going to go both ways.”
“I don’t struggle,” I said. “I have a top-secret strategy, and it’s going to stay that way.” I lifted my hand and made a motion for Brady to turn around.
He rolled his eyes and let out an annoyed huff but obliged.
I tucked my elbows into my sides, crossed my hands over my chest, tucked my chin, and rolled sideways. My body was able to make a full rotation before I was airborne for half a second and then hit the floor with something between a thud and a sploosh.
Brady’s back was still to me. “Collins, did you just roll out of the waterbed?”
I stared up at the ceiling. “Sure did.” And I unfortunately did not take the water situation into account. I felt it soaking into my back.
“I’m annoyed I didn’t think of that,” Brady said as he turned and saw me on the floor. He bit his lip and tried not to smile. “C’mon, weirdo.” He held his hand out to me, and I took it.
—
Brady and I continued to work through boxes. Almost everything was damaged—there were a few boxes of vinyls that I was hopeful we could salvage if we got them dry. There were lots of vintage pillows and blankets—soft surfaces that unfortunately wouldn’t survive the water.
Every time we had to put one in the throw-away pile, I swear Brady’s shoulders dropped half an inch. Poor upholsterer.