Chapter 11 #2
“Depends on a couple of things. We won’t know till we can get this bathroom flooring peeled up and see how much damage there is.
Looks like you’ve had a leak for a while now, a slow one, and I’m going to guess it’s probably rotted part of the floor under here.
” He kicks at the vinyl flooring under the sink.
I notice it’s bubbled up a little. Has it always been like that?
For years there’s been a faint odor of mildew in this bathroom, but I always attributed it to being so near the bay and our wet climate.
Looks like a slow plumbing leak didn’t help matters.
“But you can fix it?” I clarify.
“Oh, sure.” Walt nods. “Just about anything is fixable if you throw enough time and money at it.”
The two things we don’t have. I called our insurance agent yesterday and was informed that the water damage won’t be covered under our policy because the flood was caused by poorly maintained plumbing that wore out over time.
The fact that the pipe had been leaking a little for years means we are on our own to cover the cost of repairs.
I worry my lower lip between my teeth, thinking.
“Any idea how much it will cost?” I ask tentatively.
Walt grunts and shakes his head. “Not till we get in there and see what’s going on. Might be just a couple of thousand for the pipes and new carpet and such. Might be more depending on what we find.”
“Okay,” I sigh. I guess we don’t really have a choice. “Do what you have to do.”
“Now, I can speed things up if I hire someone to help me,” Walt offers. “I’ve got a guy—good worker and not too pricey. Pay him the same as me, and we can get it done quicker.”
Quicker is good. “That sounds great,” I tell him. “As long as we can try to keep the cost down and do it as quickly as possible.”
Walt nods. “Okey dokey,” he agrees, hitching up his jeans and following me from the bathroom. “I’ll give my guy a call. Plan on us starting this afternoon.”
He pauses by the fudge display case near the register and gives me a sly look. “How about I take that first quarter pound of fudge in advance?” he asks. “Go ahead and make it that vanilla walnut stuff.”
“Coming right up.” I measure out a generous quarter pound of fudge.
I see him eyeing the scale, making sure I’m not shorting him.
I hand him the wrapped package just as Mom returns from the kitchen, walking slowly with the help of her cane, Mr. Butters waddling behind her.
In his tweed outfit, he resembles a portly member of the English landed gentry, like he belongs in a doggy version of Downton Abbey.
“Gus is having a granola bar and an apple before school,” she tells me.
“See you later, Emmie. Gwen.” Walt gives a little salute to me and an elaborate sort of half bow to Mom on his way out. He looks at Mr. Butters again and shakes his head, guffawing as he goes. I lock the door behind him, and turn to find Mom wrinkling her nose in distaste.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, hiring that man,” Mom says with a little disapproving frown, gazing out the window in the direction Walt walked away from the store. “And I hope he doesn’t come to work pickled as a herring. He used to drink like a fish.”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” I tell her. “Walt says it’s probably a pretty straightforward plumbing fix and water remediation. What have you got against Walt, anyway?” I ask curiously.
Mom crosses her arms and her lips thin with displeasure.
“We have a lot of history, Walt and I. He was a friend of your father’s when they were young men.
Walt was always wild, always getting Bert into trouble.
” She shakes her head at the memory. “After we had you, I had to put my foot down. There was an…incident. Walt took your dad fishing out by Blake Island, but they capsized and had to be rescued by the coast guard. They were both almost hypothermic by the time they were rescued from the cold water, and also both three sheets to the wind. There were empty beer cans floating all around them when the coast guard pulled them to safety. That was the last straw. I told your father he needed to find new friends. And yet here Walt Perkins is again, turned up like a bad penny.”
I’m fascinated by this glimpse of my family’s history.
The dad I knew was a quiet family man. I had no idea about his wild younger days.
The thought of him speeding around in a boat with Walt, getting tipsy on cheap beer and needing to be rescued by the coast guard, is actually really entertaining.
I make a mental note to ask Walt to tell me more about him and my dad when Mom isn’t around.
“Well, this job does not involve boats or beer, so hopefully we should be okay,” I reassure Mom, ever so slightly tongue in cheek.
I’m trying to cover up my niggling concerns about this whole process.
What if it’s a bigger job than Walt thinks it is?
What if there isn’t enough money after the repair to start my chocolate shop?
How will I help bring about my vision if I can’t open my shop before Henry leaves?
Speaking of Henry, he hasn’t contacted me since the tea at his place, which is also really bothering me.
I feel very stuck. I can’t seem to move forward on anything.
I check my watch. Time to head to school.
“Gus?” I call back to the kitchen, then turn and find my son standing silently directly behind me. I jump a little and squeak in surprise. He has a quietly disconcerting way of sneaking up behind people like a ninja.
“Who was that guy?” Gus is chewing the last of his apple. He’s got his little navy blue sweater on, the one Mom knitted for him. It has a colorful depiction of the solar system on it, and it says in felt letters, “Give me some space.”
“A man we’re hiring to fix the leak,” I tell him. “Walt is helping us get the store ready to open again as soon as possible.”
Gus looks from Mom to me doubtfully. He really doesn’t like change, and he’s sensitive to anything that feels threatening or stressful. He’s picking up on my stress and it’s making him anxious. I should have prepped him better about the flood and us having to close the store.
“It’ll be okay, buddy,” I assure him. “Walt is going to get the store open again as soon as he can.”
“Mommy, did you know astronauts have vacuum toilets in space?” Gus asks, seeming to forget about Walt Perkins. He picks up his backpack by the door. “Because they don’t have gravity. And they have to drink their own pee in space. The scientists recycle it into water you can drink. Isn’t that cool?”
“Super cool.” I grimace. I check the time again. “Okay, buddy. Let’s head for school.”
Gus hugs Mom and pats Mr. Butters, then follows me out the door. I cast a last glance back at the building, at the CLOSED sign, and Mom’s small, bent figure standing at the window. She’s going to go visit with Dot at her shop for the morning.
Pausing for one second, I offer a brief prayer that the remediation will go smoothly, that our money will hold out, and that I’ll be able to move one step closer to that moment I am aiming for, the vision of my life’s purpose.
Then I turn and grab Gus’s hand and hurry to the parking lot, hoping we’re not going to be tardy, hoping this hard day takes a turn for the better soon.