Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
CHRISTINE
Casey sleeps in my bed the next night. Even after I clean up all the debris that landed in his room, he’s still too afraid to go in there, convinced monsters in the attic can see him through the hole. He sends me in to rescue his favorite toys too so they won’t be scared of the monsters either.
As it turns out, Sweetspire does not come with a ton of handyman options. Of the available ones, no one can get out here sooner than Saturday, and despite my minimal knowledge of the subject, their quotes seem outrageous. Sure, it’s a big hole, but several thousand dollars?
A quick rabbit hole of internet videos later and I confirm what I already knew—I definitely cannot do it myself.
On Friday, Casey heads over to his new friend Erin’s house for a playdate after camp. I put in a few hours of work compiling some party venue and catering options for Gracie—though DIY workarounds might be the way to go for most things to stay in budget. But if we can get creative with the venue to keep costs down, that’ll give us more wiggle room.
Once I get started brainstorming ideas…it’s hard to stop. By the time I glance at the clock, several hours have passed and I’ve gained a new kink in my neck.
But God, I am buzzing .
I know she wanted to keep this casual, simple. But there are so many directions we could take it. The theme options alone are endless. On one side, we could base it off Sweetspire, keep it beachy and light, or in the complete opposite direction, we could lean into the book-slash-movie’s vibe. I mean, zombies! I’ve never gotten to do a zombie party before.
After all the luncheons and dinner parties I helped Julian with…I try to picture his face if I’d offered up that as a theme idea, and nearly snort my seltzer out my nose.
The rest of the day is spent cleaning the backlog of dishes and laundry. Every time I pass Casey’s room, I wince as I catch sight of that hole. I desperately try to come up with a solution other than calling Fletcher. I don’t know what my resistance to it is, exactly. Something about it feels like opening a door I won’t be able to close. A door that needs to stay closed.
And all the reasons why are a lot easier to remember when he’s not right in front of me.
Because when he is, I have these moments where I’m in that hotel room with him again, and I forget. I forget about Liam and the age difference and the divorce and being the town pariah. I forget about how this could blow back on Casey.
Because when he is…
I don’t let myself finish the thought.
I’m elbow-deep in hot, soapy water when my phone starts ringing on the other side of the kitchen.
“Shit.” I try to shut the sink off with my elbow.
But the entire faucet pops off instead.
Water shoots straight up in the air. The spray attachment goes wild too, flipping this way and that around me. “ Shit !” I fumble for it, getting soaked in the process, but it keeps building momentum and spinning faster until it slams against the backsplash hard enough to crack the tile.
Once I get ahold of the faucet head, I try to shove it back into place where the water is exploding from, to no avail. I scramble down to the cabinet beneath it. How the hell do you turn the water off? Is there some kind of switch?
I turn the first valve I can find, and mercifully, the water stops.
I hang my head between my shoulders, breathing hard. I am now dripping head to toe, and so is the rest of the kitchen.
I know I’m out of practice with all this domestic shit from years at the Brooks mansion, but seriously? How can I possibly be this bad at everything ?
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter under my breath as I climb to my feet. Upon closer inspection, the faucet is an old, flimsy thing, and the hole it detached from is all cracked and musty looking. I grimace as I take in the broken backsplash. Luckily, it’s only one tile. I poke at it gingerly, and it gives way…exposing dark, splotchy stains.
“Ugh!” I jump back, covering my mouth with the inside of my elbow. Is that mold ? And if it’s behind this tile, I’m willing to bet it’s plenty of other places too.
I rip off my rubber gloves and toss them in the sink. First my car, then the ceiling, the kitchen… Is this some overdue karma or something? Seriously, can anything else possibly go wrong? I wince and knock on the wooden table as soon as the thought pops into my head.
This money will last me for the next fifty years, my ass. This house is going to eat every last cent at this rate, and I’m going to end up right back where I started from.
I know it’s unreasonable with how much is sitting in the bank to feel the need to hold on to as much as possible, that once it’s gone, it’s gone. But it’s a hard habit to break.
Maybe it was stupid buying this place, stupid thinking I could do this on my own. I don’t know what I’m doing.
We could’ve rented somewhere. Maybe leaving in the first place was the mistake. I could’ve suffered through it, I think. Swallowed my pride, my dignity. Maybe Casey would’ve been better off.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to pretend I can’t hear my mother’s voice in the back of my mind. Telling me how stupid I am. How worthless. How I’ll never do anything right. That one day I’ll have a kid just like me as punishment.
Hot, frustrated tears sting my eyes, and I ball my hands into fists, forcing them down along with a few deep breaths.
Back into the corner. Just shove it back into the corner.
I can deal with this. I can.
The phone has stopped ringing by now, and I sigh as I wipe the water from my face and grab it off the table. Some unsaved number. And they didn’t leave a message.
I hesitate with the phone in my hand. The hole in the ceiling was one thing, but the mold? What if it’s not safe for Casey to be breathing in here? I can’t put this off, and my pride doesn’t matter right now. I scroll through my contacts until I find the right one, then close my eyes as I force myself to hit call.