Chapter 4
Vic spotted the white van in their driveway from the end of the block.
The side facing her bore a large golden hammer framed by a navy circle and the words “Hire a Handyman.” The idea of some poor, unsuspecting repair guy being alone with Audra made Vic temporarily forget her humiliation and misery.
She sprinted the rest of the way home as fast as her heels would let her.
She wasn’t winded when she reached the front door, but her feet—her left one especially—ached.
Ah, beautiful LVs, she thought. You are psychotic feet killers.
Once upon a time, talking to her footwear, even in her head, would’ve made her smile, but it had been a long time since she’d smiled over anything.
You’re stalling, Shoulder Devil said.
Taking a much-needed breather, Angel corrected.
Vic shook her head at both parts of herself, then steeled herself for whatever was coming. There was no way Audra would be pleased that the guy was there to fix the toilet without Vic being home.
Taking the deep breath that her imaginary angel friend referred to, Vic let herself into the house and freed herself of her toe-biting footwear.
On silent socked feet, she padded from the entranceway into the kitchen, listening for voices.
It was bizarrely quiet. Even if she couldn’t make out every spoken word, she should at least hear a rumble of voices or something.
The bathroom with the clogged toilet was just down the hall.
Then, just like that, the quiet was broken by Audra’s familiar querulous tone. “I don’t see why—”
A rumbling male voice cut Audra off mid-complaint. “Out. Now.”
“But I’m paying you!”
“You haven’t paid me a dime yet, and like I told you after your last outburst, I’m being paid to fix your toilet, not take your shit—”
A tiny snort of laughter sneaked from Vic before she could suppress it.
Audra let loose a tirade at his “gall” and called him “nothing but a wrench monkey,” thankfully preventing her from hearing Vic’s surprised amusement and perceiving it as Vic taking his side—which she was, she definitely was.
Wrench Monkey wasn’t cowed or softened by the verbal assault.
Audra popped out of the bathroom and into the hallway so quickly it was as if the man had helped with a gentle push.
Vic wasn’t genuinely concerned about that, however.
No way would Audra suffer that kind of offense quietly.
If he’d laid a finger on her, every house in a three-block radius would know it.
“Stand guard in the hallway if you must,” Wrench Monkey said from the bowels of the bathroom—ahahaha, thought Vic—“and you can check my pockets before I leave if you don’t trust that I won’t try to abscond with your toilet paper, but police me quietly and let me get on with this.”
Vic bit her lip to hold back another nervous giggle. The expression on Audra’s face was, as the famous Mastercard ad said, priceless. Also, mysterious Wrench Monkey had a slightly formal, almost old-fashioned way of speaking that Vic found quite charming. Abscond. Nice!
Oh, yeah, one of her voices—Angel or Devil, she wasn’t sure which—scoffed. It’s not his “old-fashioned” language you find charming. You like that he stands up to your mother.
Vic shrugged. The voice wasn’t wrong. What could she say? A person can have more than one attractive quality.
“Vic!”
Vic jumped at Audra’s sharp voice. Rats, she’d been seen. There was no help for it. She nodded in silent acknowledgment of Audra’s greeting and padded closer.
“It’s about time! Where were you? There’s a man here who says you called him. Who says he’s some kind of handyman. You were supposed to call a plumber. You said you were calling a plumber.”
The sound of a flushing toilet trailed through the open door.
“I did call plumbers, Mom,” Vic whispered tiredly, not wanting to risk offending the man doing the work for them by implying, as Audra clearly was, that he wasn’t up to fixing their toilet. “And I called two different general handymen. Everyone’s so busy. We’re lucky—”
A large man with dark hair shot through with silver and a big beard—also frosted with silver—suddenly filled the bathroom door, wiping his hands on a rose print hand towel that was supposed to be purely decorative.
Audra was going to love that. He wore faded Carhartt overalls and a soft green-and-gray flannel shirt that had obviously seen many washings and made his blue eyes extra blue.
His gaze landed on Vic briefly, then moved to the empty space behind her. Not spotting whatever or whomever he was apparently seeking, he turned toward Audra. “I thought Vic was here,” he said. “I need to speak with him.”
There was a second’s silence. Audra caught on first and cackled. “Oh, I see. You want to speak to the man of the house. Well, sorry to disappoint! Just us little women here. You won’t be able to get all buddy-buddy with some other knuckle dragging mouth breather and try to pull a fast one—”
“Mom!” Vic couldn’t believe Audra’s rudeness. This was a whole new level even for her.
Audra ignored her, except to wave one of her skinny arms in a theatrical flourish toward her. “This is Vic. My daughter. She’s a woman.”
The man—Vic wouldn’t call him “Wrench Monkey” again, even in her head—darted a look at Vic again and flushed a mottled red over his lumberjack beard.
“Clearly,” he said.
“What? Is it her breasts that give it away?” Audra crowed.
Omigod, Vic thought. Where is a world-ending meteor strike when you need it?
“I understand wishing she was a male,” Audra continued, “join the club. I always wanted a son. Instead, I got her. Pretty enough, but what’s pretty when you’re useless?”
That word again. Vic felt like she might be sick with embarrassment. Couldn’t Audra at least scale back her verbal assaults in front of other people? Was that so much to ask?
The man literally recoiled, stepping back, looking .
. . well, repulsed was the word that came to Vic’s mind.
The expression wasn’t new to Vic. How old had she been when she stopped asking friends to play at her house and looked for every excuse to play at theirs?
Grade three, maybe? Until then, she’d just thought all mothers were like Audra. She’d had no frame of reference.
“May I speak with you outside for a minute?” the man asked. “Without her?”
Vic nodded mutely.
“Great, I’ll just grab my tools.” He retreated to the bathroom and reemerged with a large, heavy-looking black toolbox.
Audra followed them down the hall, through the kitchen, and to the front entrance, nattering all the way.
The man peeled off stretchy blue boot covers that Vic hadn’t noticed he was wearing until now and stuffed them into his hip pocket. He paused before opening the door, however, and turned back to Audra.
“I’m sorry I used the word ‘shit’ when I was speaking to you earlier, ma’am. It wasn’t very professional.”
Audra sniffed. “That’s really the least of your problems when it comes to professionalism.”
The man shook his head and strode out.
All of Vic’s other shoes were currently stored in the big boot room at the back of the house. She had no choice but to slip her Legacy stilettos back on. Then she slid on the sweater coat she’d worn to the Second Chance shop.
Anxious and certain she was about to be chastised for letting Audra be so rude and that he’d inform her they were on their own for other house repairs going forward, Vic followed the man to his awaiting van.